Free Fraidy Hole: A Sheriff Lester P. Morrison Novel by Warren Williams Page A

breath, staying calm, or trying to, and struck it. Fire, again. This time the candle eagerly took to the flame, sputtered once, but caught.
    “Let there be light!” she said and allowed herself a smile . She blew out the match but put the remainder back in the box in case she needed it later .
    Using the candle, she decided to take one more look around before lying down for the night. Hoping she had missed something she could use —like a big club if the bad guy came back . She inched her way to the rear, moving mostly b y feel, kicking leaves as she went. There was nothing, just more leaves and little sticks, nothing on the walls, nothing else on the shelf where she had thankfully found the candle, nothing hanging from any hooks, and no back door … of course. “Damn it , ” she said again, kicking out at the leaves in frustration. But with the very next step, her foot landed on something cool and smooth . She bent over to investigate, holding the candle close to the floor , and touched it with her hand . Plastic, a clear, thin piece of plastic, dirty and half buried. Garbage sack? Using both hands, the girl gently placed the candle on the shelf and held up her latest find for a better look. It was a raincoat, a poncho to be exact.
    Oh yeah . I’ve seen these in Wal-Mart, she thought. Emergency rain gear they call it. Sells for a dollar or two. Yep , that’s what it is all right. Makes sense, it being down here. Somebody threw it on when a storm was coming and then forgot about it. Probably knew it was good for only one use anyway, flimsy as it is.
    She shook out the dirt and leaves as best she could and returned to the cot. “Got me a blanket, that’s what I got. ” Then, with as much sarcasm as she could muster, the girl yelled out at the night, “ Boy, things are really looking up around here . ” Wincing from her injuries, she gingerly lay back on the cot, pulled the poncho over her bare legs, and tucked it in. Within minutes, Melissa felt the warmth, her body heat held close by the insulating plastic. With one last look around, she mustered her courage, brought the candle to her lips, and blew out the flame. As the sun slipped below the horizon, the faint halo of red at the cellar door faded to black.
    At the rear of the cellar, in the far right corner, leaves moved.
     
    *****
     
    At fifteen minutes after five , Lester pulled up to the chain link fence that surround ed the football field for the Boise City Bobcats. Cars were already beginning to trickle into the parking lot for the game. A yellow bus with the name Shattuck Public Schools on the side sat unoccupied at the far end of the stadium. A gate between the concession stand and a booth marked Tickets was open . The woman inside nodded at Lester as he walked in , the badge being his pass . Tiered metal bleachers ascended on ea ch side of the playing surface, twenty rows for the home crowd, only ten for the visitors . Depending on the success of this year’s team, the school had tentative plans to increase the seating capacity and enlarge the closet - sized announcer’s booth.
    A group of boys wearing orange jerseys and black pants limbered up on the field. Some sat on the grass with one leg out in front, stretching their hamstrings, while others ran short wind sprints between the forty-yard lines. A few were throwing a football around. The visiting team had yet to make an appearance. Two men wearing matching orange ball caps, stood on the sidelines with their arms folded, deep in conversation , watching the warm up activity . As Lester approached , the coaches turned to meet him. One of them extended his hand.
    “Sheriff Morrison? My name’s John Blankenship. I’m the coach of the team out there. My second job is math teacher at the high school. Neither one of them pay that well but what can you do? This other fella here is my assistant, Roy. He has the title of assistant, but he doesn’t get paid a lick. Mr. Moody told me you ’d probably drop