Page 120 of Not That Ridiculous

“Kevin?” I said.

“Yeah.” He shook himself, blew out a breath and grabbed the last bit of wood down by the floor. He crouched, yanked it, and it came away with a loud crack. He straightened with none of that excited energy he’d been brimming with only seconds ago.

“Is something wrong?” I asked him.

He stared at the wardrobe. “No.”

I tipped my head to one side. “I don’t think it’s a wardrobe,” I said.

“I don’t think it’s a wardrobe, either.”

It was approximately six and a half feet tall, and two feet wide. No handle on the door. It was more like a long, narrow box. I leaned to the side. Hinges. I leaned to the other side. A clasp, with a hook and an eye.

“This is beautifully made,” I said, reaching out. I paused before I made contact. “I can touch it, right?”

“It’s yours. Technically.”

“I know.” I grinned. “It’s definitely worth some money. This isn’t any old pine storage box. You don’t put just anything in a fancy thing like this. So I can touch it?”

He hesitated.

“Kevin, come on. I want to look inside. See if I’m the proud owner of treasure as well as all the junk in the garage and the loft. It’s not against special worksite rules for me to touch it without gloves on, is it?”

“No,” he said uncertainly.

“Unless you want to do the honours? You did all the hard work, after all. I’d never even have known this was here without you. I’d have lived in peaceful ignorance.”

The mask and the goggles made it difficult to read his expression, but he looked oddly stricken.

“No? I’ll do it then. There are two more hollow spaces to check out, don’t forget.” I nudged him aside and reached out to the clasp.

“Three,” he said, voice wavering. “Not two. Three more. Uh. Charlie? I think maybe you shouldn’t?—”

I undid the clasp, opened the door, and looked straight into the shrunken eye sockets of a dead man dressed like a cowboy.

“Ahhhhhhhh!” Kevin screamed beside me, and bolted.

He got about two paces away before he ran back, grabbed me, and shoved me ahead of him down the stairs, down the hall, and out the front door.

Screaming the whole time.

I’d never moved that fast in my life.

Kevin pushed me out onto the doorstep, slammed the front door behind him, and set his back to it, panting roughly.

We stared at each other. He was still making a faint noise.

I was busy processing the fact that I was somehow outside and not still in my room looking atthe dead man standing up in a box in my wallwhen Kevin went rigid and shouted, “Phil!”

He didn’t hesitate.

He threw himself against the door, popped it open, and vanished. I heard his boots pounding down the hall, the bang of what I assumed was the kitchen door impacting the wall as he crashed through it, his running feet again, and he came back out at admirable speed with a thrilled but confused Phil in his arms.

“Shut the door!” he said urgently. “Shut it! Shut it!”

“I don’t need to?—”

“Charlie!”

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