Chris Grabenstein - The Smoky Corridor

He chuckled quietly.

And that was when the small dog darted through the front doors Eddie must have forgotten to close when he’d entered the building.

43

“Mrs. Pochinko?”Mr. Crumpler yelled into his walkie-talkie. “Alert animal control! We need a tranquilizer gun!”

He and the new janitor had chased the dog west, out of the main hall, past a few classrooms, up the steps, and into the cafeteria.

The fifth graders, who ate earliest, were squealing with delight as the mangy mutt scampered under their tables.

“Stop! Bad dog! Bad dog!” Mr. Crumpler was screaming. The bewildered children stared at him. “Eat your vegetables!” he hollered. “Eat them now!” He punched the talk button on his radio again. “Mrs. Pochinko?”

“Sir?”

“Give me a hallway lockdown. Give it to me now!”

“On it, sir.”

Mr. Crumpler stood frozen, mopping the top of his bald head with a paper napkin he had swiped from a boy who looked like he used his shirt sleeve instead of his napkin anyway.

This was Carl D. Crumpler’s worst nightmare come true. A wild dog running amuck, jeopardizing the safety of all his students. Chaos. Rabies. Armageddon.

“You think maybe we should chase after it?” asked the rookie janitor.

Crumpler gave the man a look. “You bet I do, mush mouth!”

44

When Zippersprang through the open door and leapt up onto Zack’s desk, the whole classroom cracked up.

When the dog started licking his face like he was a ham-flavored ice cream cone, they went wild.

“Friend of yours?” asked Ms. DuBois.

“Yes, ma’am. This is Zipper. I guess he missed me.”

That was all he got to say before Mrs. Pochinko started braying over the PA: “Teachers, students, please stay in your classrooms. There is an animal control issue in the hallways. Mr. Crumpler has the situation under … eh … he’s working on it.…”

“Uh-oh,” said Ms. DuBois.

Malik raised his hand.

“Yes, Mr. Sherman?”

“If animal control comes, they will undoubtedly want to take Zipper to the dog pound. I think it would be wise for us to hide him.”

“Where?” asked Ms. DuBois.

“We’ll find a place,” said Zack.

Ms. DuBois gestured for them to hurry. “Go on, boys. I’ll call your mother, Zack, to tell her to swing by and pick up the dog. Meet her out front in the visitor parking lot after the next bell.”

“Thanks, Ms. DuBois! You’re the best!”

“Hurry! Before Mr. Crumpler sees you!”

So Zack grabbed Zipper; then he and Malik hightailed it out the door.

45

Mr. Crumplerand his new janitor, Captain Cornpone, had cleared the cafeteria and the wood shop and had entered the infamous smoky corridor when he noticed an open door.

The DuBois woman’s classroom.

“This way!” he said, and they stepped inside.

“Hello, Mr. Crumpler,” said the history teacher, who had the same sort of Southern drawl as the new mop pusher.

“Your door. Has it been open long?”

“Not very.”

The classroom was full of students. Two desks, however, were suspiciously empty.

“Is there some sort of problem?” asked Ms. DuBois.

“Yes!” said Mr. Crumpler. “I am looking for a dog. Have you seen one?”

Ms. DuBois rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “A dog? Hmmm …”

Some of the kids giggled.

“Oh, you mean that sweet little pooch who just jumped out our window?”

“What?”

“Heavens, I almost forgot. See, we had the window open—this old room gets stuffy sometimes—and all of a sudden, out of nowhere, the cutest little doggy you ever did see comes scootin’ through that door, zips up the center aisle, and with a hop, skip, and a jump leaps out the back window.”

“You let him get away?”

“Why, we barely knew he was here before, zip, he was gone.”

“Which way did it go?”

“Heavens, I couldn’t say.”

Mr. Crumpler narrowed his eyes. “Who sits in those two seats?”

“The two empty desks?”

“That’s right.”

“Nobody. I believe that is why they are empty.”

The children looked ready to giggle again.

So Mr. Crumpler gave them his glare. The one that said, I’ll see you all in detention hall if you so much as breathe!

That shut ’em up.

“If the dog returns, call the office!”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Crumpler straightened his tie and strode out the door.

When he hit the hall, he wasn’t sure, but he thought he might’ve heard children tittering behind him.

No. That was impossible.

The children feared Carl D. Crumpler far too much to laugh at him behind his back.

46

“We shouldhead downstairs and double back!” shouted Zack, hugging Zipper close to his chest.

The dog kept licking him. First the chin. Then the nose.

“Excellent idea!” said Malik.

They raced down a staircase to the basement.

“We need to stay close to the main entrance!”

“Well, we can’t take him up to the cafeteria,” said Malik. “And if we head out to the parking lot too early, Mr. Crumpler might see us.”

“How about the janitor’s closet?” said Zack.

“Excellent! It’s dead ahead. Is it unlocked?”

Zack jiggled the knob. “Yes!”

“Hurry.”

They scurried into the dark room and closed the door.

“Lights?” Malik asked.

“No,” said Zack. “Someone might see it under the door.”

Zipper grumbled and squirmed, so Zack put him down on the ground.

“Stay right here, Zip, okay? Judy’s on her way. How much time till the bell?”

Malik pushed a button on his wristwatch and the numbers glowed. “Twenty-five minutes.”

Zack exhaled. “Ms. DuBois is so cool … covering for us.”

“Yeah.”

And then the boys heard the tick-tick-tick of dog claws on concrete.

“Zipper?” Zack said in a tense whisper. “Come back here. Zip? Zipper!”

Zipper started to whine. And then scratch. And then dig the way he did when his ball got stuck in the corner of the couch.

A flashlight clicked on.

“I found it on a shelf,” said Malik. He handed it to Zack.

Zack shone the beam over to where Zipper was pawing furiously at the leg of an industrial shelving unit crammed with jugs and bottles and boxes of toilet paper.

“Zipper? You’ve got to be quiet. There’s no food on those shelves. It isn’t like the pantry. It’s just a bunch of janitor junk.”

Zack leaned on the shelving unit to make his point.

“Leave it alone.”

And when he let go, the whole steel rack slid forward.

“Wow! What is that?” asked Malik, who had grabbed a second flashlight and was examining the opening in the wall.

“I dunno,” said Zack. “Some kind of secret entrance?”

“To what?”

“Good question. Come on! But watch your step. There’s a low stone wall.” He stepped over the short barrier and sniffed the air. “It smells different back here.”

“Indeed,” said Malik. “Earthy.”

Wooden, not steel, shelves lined the walls on the other side of the secret entryway. A few held old-fashioned glass jars. Malik picked one up. Blew the dust off the lid. “‘Wild indigo root compound,’” he read. “‘Prepared 1875.’ Amazing. This must be the root cellar for the old Pettimore estate. This is where they would store food for the winter.”

“Zipper must’ve liked the smells leaking under the hidden panel.” Zack swung the flashlight across the dirt floor. “Zip? Zip?”

Finally, the light hit Zipper. He was standing in front of a hole in the stone wall, pawing at something on the ground.