Page 17 of Touch My Shelves

My stomach rolls at the thought of what could have happened. She pulls the flashlight out and removes it from a plastic zippered bag and turns it on. I follow behind as she heads toward the cave’s opening. I have to bend to keep from hitting my head.

Moist, musty air hits me as we step inside. I grab Freeya’s hand to keep her close—or for protection, I’m not really sure which. She shines the beam of light on the walls and I’m relieved to find the ceiling is much higher than the opening. I’m able to stand up and there’s still about two feet above my head. Small spaces aren’t really my thing.

The floor of the cave is loose, dry sand which means at some point in time the cave was flooded. “Okay, that’s far enough. Let’s go.”

Instead of turning back the way we came, she leads me deeper into the cave. “Just a little more. I want to show you something.”

Reluctantly, I walk further in. I’m about to call our adventure off when my feet go out from under me. I start falling and sliding downward, screaming and flailing my arms as I try to grab hold of something to prevent my certain demise when I come to an abrupt stop and land hard on my ass with an “oomph!”

Freeya pops out right behind me, giggling. “Oops, the opening was closer than I thought.”

“Freeya, are you okay?” I ask as I run my hands over her arms and legs. Finding everything intact, I ask, “Where are we?”

“Look,” she says and shines the flashlight around the small, very small, room. Vault may be a better description.

I blink at the cache of wooden boxes stacked against the back wall. “What is that?”

Freeya pushes up from the floor. “Bottles of something. It stinks so I think whatever it is went bad.”

I stand up, dust the sand from my behind, and walk closer to inspect the booty. One crate has been opened and there are old dark bottles inside filled with liquid. Each is stoppered with a cork and covered with deep red wax.

“Rum,” I tell Freeya. “This is rum and I have no idea how old it is.”

I blow dust from the bottle to look for any identifying marks. There aren’t any I can see.

It's an amazing find and has the potential of being exactly what Freeya thinks it is—pirate loot. They would have treasured their rum. I count a hundred crates in all and each one must house a dozen bottles of rum. That’s… a lot.

The flashlight flickers and I gasp. “Maybe we should go before we lose our light.” I look around the small room and don’t see one important item. “Where’s the door? How do we get out of here?”

Freeya grins and points to the tunnel we fell out of. I’m not feeling good about this.

“We climb up the way we fell down?” I regretfully ask.

“Yep. It’s easy. Watch me.” The young, limber child then proceeds to scurry up the much-too-small tunnel, the light disappearing with her.

I take a deep breath and wiggle to get back inside the tunnel, but then I can’t find anything to brace my feet on to climb. Pulling myself up also isn’t an option.

“Poppy, are you coming?” Freeya calls down, the sound echoing off the walls.

I wipe sweat from my forehead. Memories of being trapped in the silo again invade my thoughts. “I’m trying, sweetie,” I say with false lightness.

“You have to put a foot on each wall and push with your back,” she explains and I roll my eyes.

“That’s not happening,” I mumble to myself. I try her method, but after ten failed attempts, I’m sweating profusely and start to notice how small the space really is. I wiggle back out of the tunnel as spots swim before my eyes. I have to keep it together so I don’t frighten Freeya.

Taking a few calming breaths, I call out, “Freeya, honey, I’m afraid I’m stuck. You’ll have to run and get your dad and a rope.”

“Are you sure, Poppy? Can’t you try again?” I hear the hope in her voice. If she goes for her dad, she’s busted.

I’m shaking my head forcefully, but she can’t see that I’m near to freak-out point. “I’m sure. Hurry up now. Run and get your dad.”

Reluctantly, she agrees. “Okay, I’ll hurry.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” I agree.

When she leaves, she takes what little bit of light there was with her and now it’s pitch black. Taking a deep breath in, I try all the techniques I know to fight off a panic attack. I count. I sing songs that I have no clue what the words are, so I make them up. I try to estimate how long it will be until my rescue. At least thirty minutes and it’s already been… about two.

There’s a scratching noise near me and I scream and frighten myself when the sound echoes back at me. I eye the darkened wall where the crates are stacked…

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