Screamscapes: Tales of Terror Read Online Free PDF Page A

make a call from under the house was definitely worth a shot, Tom thought.
    If he could get through to Miranda, even for a second, she could come and set him free. She would come running to help him. Then, afterwards, they could have a good laugh in a hot bath about his misadventure.
    Tom eagerly slipped his hand into his pants pocket to retrieve his cell phone; not finding it, he remembered putting it in his coat pocket – and his coat was outside.
    His momentary hope deflated faster than a balloon in a pin factory, but all was not lost. Miranda would be here tomorrow. No matter what happened, the very thought of her, his new love, always filled him with hope. He was sure he would find a way to get out before then, but if worst came to worst, at least she would be here soon.
    He decided not to let it come to that; he would find his own way out of this predicament.
    Tom took stock of his equipment: A small flashlight, a box cutter, four rolls of plastic sheeting, and the wet muddy clothes on his back. The box cutter might be useful, he thought, and perhaps he could use the plastic sheeting to keep warm.
    He rolled onto his knees next to the crawlspace door; the space was so tight that he couldn’t lift his head without hitting the floor above.
    He pulled his filthy gloves from his fingers and inspected the door frame of the entrance. The doorway was about two feet high by three feet wide, constructed from solid steel tubing welded at the corners. Whoever had built the door had wanted to make sure it would never need to be replaced.
    He ran his fingers around the edges of the steel frame. The door fit so snugly that he was unable to slip even a fingertip into the hairline crack that remained between it and the jamb.
    The steel door extended over the jamb on the side opposite the hinges, and he realized kicking it open would be impossible. He would have to pry it open.
    He tried his best to move the door back and forth, pushing lightly and releasing. But the door had zero give, not even the slightest hint of a jiggle.
    His flashlight was starting to give out. He turned his attention to the crawlspace door, hoping to unscrew the two big hinges with the blade of the box cutter. But the screws had been welded into place; escape was going to be trickier than he had hoped.
    No, he decided, he would have to find something he could use to pry it open. Maybe a forgotten tool, a loose pipe – he might have to pull out his own plumbing to climb out through the floor, he thought. Whether or not he would have to do something that drastic before the day passed - before Miranda got here and could help him out - he wasn’t sure.
    He remembered that the door had been propped open with a crowbar; perhaps it had fallen over in the soft mud and was lying somewhere nearby?
    Tom shone the flashlight around, illuminating the ground near the crawlspace door.
    To his left, he could clearly see a hole in the mud, now half-filled with water, the spot where the crowbar had been. He maneuvered his head to the left and the right, careful to avoid striking it on the low-hanging beams only inches above, feeling for the crowbar in the sludge, but it wasn’t there. Whoever had closed the door must have taken it out.
    Tom turned around and rested, with his back pressed against the sealed exit, his neck bent sharply forward due to the low clearance. He wished desperately that he could sit up straight, for even one minute.
    He panned the weak light around the crawlspace again, intently looking for anything useful. The mag-light was only bright enough to see a small radius of the ground around him. The naked incandescent bulb still burned steadily in the center, but he wasn’t ready to try to crawl back to the far side of the house to look around just yet.
    He leaned his head back against the steel door and sighed deeply. His breath emerged into the cold air as a phantom of steam, illuminated in the flashlight’s dim beam.
    He set the flashlight on the