Tom Pawlik - Beckon

Miriam was shaking her head. “I don’t like this. Why would they have a secret passage? What are they hiding?”

“I don’t think I want to kn—”

Suddenly they heard muffled footsteps approaching and one of the hooks along the pegboard wall began to move, twisting to the left. George switched off the light and pulled Miriam into the corner just as a section of the back wall swung outward and a pale-green light shone in through the opening. They moved farther into the corner, behind the shelving unit, as a figure emerged.

In the shadows of the closet they could see it was Henderson again. He was still carrying the bucket, but his face looked somewhat distraught in the pale light. George held his breath as Henderson pulled the secret door closed again behind him. They heard a metallic click, and then Henderson exited the supply room through the main door. They listened to his footsteps retreat down the hall and climb back up the stairs.

Then they both breathed a long sigh.

“I’m too old to go sneaking around like this,” George whispered into Miriam’s ear.

“We need to find out what’s back there.”

“It’s too dangerous.” George flipped the light on. “If they catch us…”

But Miriam was busy feeling around the wall where Henderson had emerged. “We’ve got to find out what’s going on out here.”

George knew it was better not to argue with her. He pointed to the hook he’d seen move earlier. “I think this might be some kind of latch.”

He tried twisting it to the left and could feel it swivel on its mounting bracket. He continued turning until he felt it snap into place like a dead bolt. The doorway was disguised as a section of pegboard mounted to the cinder-block wall, hooks and all. The board had numerous mop heads and brooms hanging from it along with other supplies. It was ingenious, really. George never would have suspected it was a doorway had he not seen it in use.

The board loosened on its hinges, and George was able to push it outward. It opened into a rough-hewn tunnel carved into solid rock with a series of stone steps leading down and out of sight. A line of light fixtures was mounted to the rock ceiling, each with a pale bulb, casting a sickly glow into the tunnel.

George glanced at his wife, still not quite used to her youthful appearance. “What do you think?”

Miriam grabbed a flashlight from one of the shelves and handed it to George. Then she gestured into the tunnel. “Let’s go.”

George nodded, his jaw clenching. “That’s what I was afraid you were going to say.”

They stepped through into the tunnel beyond and George pushed the door closed behind them, turning the locking mechanism back into place. Then they crept down the stairway, ever listening for any sounds. George wondered how many of the other residents knew about this passage. He was certain that Vale did. And obviously Henderson was using it too. He also assumed Frank Carson knew about it, since he was the one who’d brought the woman down here in the first place. In fact, it wouldn’t have surprised him if all the residents of Beckon were aware of the passage. And if that was the case, why bother keeping it a secret?

The lights were spaced every forty feet or so, creating brief, dimly lit patches amid lengthy sections of darkness. They descended the stairway as it curved away out of sight, making it difficult to see too far ahead at any given time. After several minutes of cautious descent, they arrived at a large wooden door. It looked to him like something out of a horror movie. Thick wooden beams held together with iron bands and bolts.

George put his ear to the wood but couldn’t hear anything. He pushed against the handle and felt it swing open with a dull creak. On the other side the tunnel continued straight.

They had come this far; they might as well keep going. But once through the door, they paused to listen again, and what they heard sent chills down George’s spine. Voices echoed up through the dark passage. Wailing and moaning as if in torment. George’s heart pounded and his throat went dry. It was as if they had in fact descended into some subterranean dungeon of horrors. They had left the modern world behind them and gone back into the Dark Ages, into a torture chamber.

Miriam gripped his arm. “Those are people, George…. What is this place?”

George felt sick inside. The voices grew louder as they made their way down the passage, and soon they came across side tunnels off the main corridor. At this point, George was glad Miriam had found the flashlight in the supply room.

He shone the beam down one of the tunnels. There were in fact more doors built into the rock walls. It was a prison of some sort. They could hear a weak male voice pleading to them in Spanish, but George couldn’t make out what he was saying.

He called out, “Where are you?”

The voice grew more earnest, and in the beam of the flashlight George could see fingers reaching out from a slat in one of the doors.

Miriam rushed down the corridor to the door. “Here, George.” She pulled on the iron latch, but it wouldn’t budge. “Help me open it.”

George followed her and inspected the handle. “They’re all locked,” he said. “We have to try to find the key.”

Miriam peered in through the opening. “We’ll get you out…. Don’t be afraid. We’ll find the key.”

Then George heard a voice from one of the other doors. A woman’s voice, speaking English. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

George panned the light toward the new voice and saw a hand reaching out through the bars.

“Who are you?” the woman said again.

Miriam turned and clutched the woman’s fingers. “Oh, my… don’t worry. We’re going to get help.”

“How did you get down here?”

George leaned in. “We were snooping around the lodge and found this tunnel in the basement. It’s hidden. We’re… we’re just guests there.”

“Guests? You know Thomas Vale?”

“Yes, he invited us here,” Miriam said.

“Then listen to me. You’re in danger too. You need to get out and call the FBI. You can’t trust him. You can’t trust any of them. None of the people in this town.”

“Who are you? Why did they lock you up down here?”

“I’m a police officer—from Los Angeles,” the woman said, her voice cracking with emotion. “My name is Elina Gutierrez. I was investigating a kidnapping. I followed the van here and they captured me.” Her tone became insistent. “You need to contact the FBI. They’re engaged in some kind of human trafficking here. There’s something horrible going on.”

George’s head spun as he searched the corridor. These had to be the people they’d brought in the van and the woman he’d seen the day before. “We can’t get these doors open. We have to go back and find the keys.”

“Please help us,” Elina pleaded. “You have to get help right away. Don’t trust them. Don’t trust any of them.”

Miriam was squeezing Elina’s fingers through the bars. “We’ll get you out of here. Don’t worry. We’ll get you out.”

Elina began weeping. “I was praying that someone would find us. I was praying He would send someone to save us.”

Miriam leaned close and said softly, through her own tears, “He heard you. God heard you.”

George suddenly felt as if the darkness were closing in on him. As if something were pursuing them. He grabbed Miriam’s arm. “We need to go—now.”

He led her back up the tunnel as Elina’s voice came from behind him.

“Listen to me,” she said. “Be careful. There’s something in the caves. They said there’s something terrible down there.”

George steered Miriam away. “Don’t worry. We’ll contact the FBI as soon as we can.”