Page 4 of Why Cheese?
The piercing smell hits me first, pungent in a way that turns some stomachs but sets my mouth watering. I spot the rich veins of blue running through the white cheese that’s so hard it’s like holding steel.
Is this what my uncle was hiding—fancy cheeses?
A giggle breaks out at my leaping to conclusions. He wasn’t a murderer, he was making cheese, of course. He loved the stuff. Why wouldn’t he try to do it himself? I stare back at the industrial vats wondering how much I could sell them for. Or how to get them out of the basement.
My phone rings.Damn it.They must have fixed the cell tower. Answering it, I make my way back up the ladder. “Hi, Mom.”
“Where are you?” she shrieks.
“Still in the store.” It’s only been fifteen minutes.
“What? It’s night there.”
I move to close the basement door and stare out through the windows. Sure enough, it’s slightly darker than it had been during the storm. The sun must be down.
“I’m not scared of the dark.”
“You should be. Do you have any idea who’s hiding in that dark just waiting for an opportunity to slit your throat?”
I fight back rolling my eyes at her hysterics.
“Did you even remember to lock the door?”
My heart leaps. Guilty, I stare at the lock to the only entrance left wide open. Anyone could have strolled on in and I wouldn’t have noticed. “No, Mom,” I mumble and juggle for the keys.
“Then do it,” she orders before tacking on, “Don’t be weird about it.”
Don’t be weird. I’ve got it. I can just put the key in and turn it once.
Again.
Just the one time.
Do it again. Turn it. Five times. If you don’t, this place will burn down. You’ll die.
I should make sure it’s actually locked by unlocking it, then locking it again. I turn the key quickly back and forth, but the voice grows louder.
Five times. It has to be five or else…
My hand starts to shake, rattling the key chain. An exasperated sigh echoes down my ear. My mother’s heard that I lost to myself. I know it’s stupid, that a fire won’t start just because I didn’t lock the door enough times. That’s logic.
But logic never works against the gremlin in my head.
Two more. After that, you’re done. You’re safe.
I grip the key and twist it toward the left.
“I could piss for days.”
My entire body freezes. “M…m…mom?” I ask even though that disembodied voice was very masculine.
“How long do you think we were out?” another man inquires.
I’m imagining this. It’s my brain gremlin. Somehow, it learned ventriloquism.
“Has to be a few days at least,” a third voice answers.
The final one damn near growls from deep in the basement, “That wasn’t the deal.”
