Grandpa's New Hole: Chapter Three
- Hamlin
- Apr 16
- 6 min read
Updated: Sep 4
The late afternoon sun hung low, a heavy orange glow bleeding across the sprawling backyard. Janey stepped out from the house, her sandals sinking into the soft earth, the hem of her blouse clinging to her skin where sweat had kissed it. The air was thick, warm and lazy, carrying the scent of dry grass and something faintly metallic. She wandered toward an overgrown corner, her steps slow but deliberate, drawn by a pull she couldn’t name. Tangled ivy spilled over the fence, wild and choking, and she paused as her eyes caught on something—a narrow passageway, half-hidden, its frame of old wooden beams bolted with rusted metal jutting out like bones from the earth.
She knelt, dry leaves crunching under her knees, and brushed the ivy aside with a careful hand. The passage was small, a hatch really, its wood weathered to a dull gray, the bolts pitted and dark with age. A padlock gleamed faintly in the fading light, its surface coarse under her fingertips as she traced it, testing its weight. It didn’t budge, solid and cold, a silent refusal. Her breath hitched, a quick little gasp swallowed by the breeze that stirred the tall grass around her. The setting sun stretched shadows long and thin across the yard, draping the hatch in dusk’s embrace, and she squinted at it, imagining the dark tunnel beyond—down, under the house, to somewhere locked away.
Her fingers lingered, rough splinters snagging her skin, and she rose slowly, brushing dirt from her knees. Her jaw set, a firm line cutting through the softness of her face, and she glanced back at the passage one last time. It wasn’t just a door. It was a question, a secret Al kept buried out here, and the thought of it sank into her, sharp and hot. The house loomed behind her, its windows glinting like eyes, and she turned back toward it, the crunch of leaves under her feet a steady rhythm matching the thud of her pulse. She’d ask him tonight. She had to.
The kitchen was cramped but orderly that evening, a warm bubble of light against the creeping dark outside. Janey stood at the counter, slicing carrots with a practiced flick of the knife, the blade flashing under the bulb overhead. The air smelled of simmering broth and the faint bite of tea steeping in a pot. Al moved beside her, a solid presence in his faded apron, wiping his hands with a slow, deliberate motion that made the fabric rasp. She’d been waiting for the right moment, letting the day’s discovery simmer in her chest, and now it spilled out, casual but edged with intent.
“Grandpa,” she said, keeping her tone light as she set the knife down, “what’s behind that locked door out back?” Her eyes flicked to him, catching the way his hands stilled for a heartbeat before resuming their task.
He didn’t look at her, his gaze fixed on the counter as he reached for a steaming mug of tea.
“It’s just an old storage space,” he said, his voice measured, low, like he was reciting something rehearsed. “Nothing more.”
He set the cup on the table with a soft clink, his thick fingers tapping the rim once, twice—a controlled little tic that betrayed the calm in his words. The apron hung loose over his broad frame, the edges frayed, and he turned back to the stove, stirring the pot with a wooden spoon.
Janey leaned forward slightly, her elbows resting on the counter, her eyes narrowing as she watched him. Those hands—big, steady, precise—moved like they knew every inch of this house, every secret it held. He wouldn’t meet her gaze, and that avoidance prickled at her, a thread of unease weaving through the heat of her curiosity.
“Storage for what?” she pressed, her voice still soft but sharper now, testing the edges of his answer.
“Old junk,” he said, clipped and final, his back still to her. “Tools, boxes, things I don’t need cluttering up the place.” He tapped the spoon against the pot’s rim and set it aside, the motion brusque. “Leave it be, Janey.”
The words landed heavy, a warning wrapped in care, and she nodded, though he couldn’t see it.
“Okay,” she said, her tone submissive but hollow, a good girl’s reply that didn’t match the spark flickering in her gut. She picked up the knife again, the blade sinking into a carrot with a crisp snap, and the silence stretched between them, thick and uneasy. He sipped his tea, the faint slurp loud in the quiet, and she stole glances at him—his jaw tight, his shoulders squared, a man guarding something she couldn’t touch.
They finished prepping dinner in that silence, the clatter of dishes and the bubble of the pot the only sounds. She set the table, her movements quick and neat, but her mind churned. Old storage space. Nothing more. It didn’t fit—the lock was too new, too sturdy, for forgotten junk. And the way he’d dodged her eyes, the tap of his fingers—it was off, a crack in his usual steady calm. She sat across from him as they ate, the broth hot on her tongue, and watched him chew in silence, his presence filling the room even when he said nothing. The passage loomed in her thoughts, a twin to the basement door inside, and she knew she wouldn’t let it go.
Night draped the house in a hush, the dim glow of a streetlamp seeping through Janey’s bedroom window. She sat at the edge of her neatly made bed, legs crossed tight, her fingers twisting the hem of her nightshirt. The room was small, sparse—a single dresser, a lamp flickering faintly—and the quiet hum of crickets drifted in from outside, a restless lullaby. She glanced toward the window, her eyes tracing the backyard’s dark outline, and stood, unable to sit still. Her bare feet tapped the wooden floor as she paced, a soft, uneven rhythm that matched the thudding in her chest.
She stopped at the window, pressing her hands against the cool glass, her breath fogging it in quick little bursts. The passage was out there, a shadow among shadows, its lock glinting faintly under the streetlamp’s glow.
“I need to know what’s behind it,” she murmured, her lips barely moving, the words slipping out like a confession. Her fingertips tapped the glass, a nervous echo, and she leaned closer, squinting into the night. The ivy swayed slightly, a soft rustle cutting through the stillness, and she pictured the hatch again—those rusted bolts, that unyielding lock, the dark beyond it.
Her reflection stared back, wide-eyed and flushed, a girl caught in a want she didn’t fully understand. She pressed harder against the glass, the cold seeping into her palms, and let her mind wander. Tools, he’d said. Storage. But the sounds from the basement last night—thumps, murmurs, clanks—danced in her head, and now this locked passage out back. They were connected, she was sure of it, two pieces of a puzzle Al wouldn’t let her solve. Her breath quickened, a steady rhythm against the hum of the crickets, and she bit her lip, tasting the faint salt of her own skin.
What was he hiding? Her thoughts spun—boxes of old junk didn’t need a padlock like that, didn’t need a door he wouldn’t look at her when he talked about. She imagined him down there, under the house, his big hands working something secret, something forbidden. The idea sent a shiver through her, hot and sharp, pooling low in her belly. She wanted to obey him, to be the good girl he expected, but the need to know clawed at her, relentless and raw.
A rustle outside snapped her back—wind, or maybe an animal—and she flinched, her hands sliding off the glass. She paced again, three steps to the dresser, three back, her nightshirt brushing her thighs. The passage stayed fixed in her sightline, its outline etched in the dim light, a silent taunt. She returned to the bed, sinking onto it with a sigh, and crossed her legs again, her eyes locked on the window. Sleep wouldn’t come easy tonight, not with that lock staring back at her, not with Al’s voice—“Leave it be”—ringing in her ears. She lay back, the mattress creaking under her, and stared at the ceiling, the enigma of the passage burning bright behind her closed lids. Tomorrow, she’d listen closer. Tomorrow, she’d push harder. For now, she waited, restless and wanting, the night stretching long and unanswered around her.
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