This Side of Jordan by Monte Schulz Page B

rinds under the porch over there,” Rascal gestured in the direction of the front of the house, “but some nocturnal creature keeps digging them up when I’m in bed. Very troublesome situation. Unsanitary to say the least.”
    â€œMaybe you ought to put them out with the garbage.”
    â€œOh, except for collecting my groceries, I rarely go outdoors anymore.” The dwarf jumped up, his head stopping just short of the support beams. “Do you care to play some marbles? I found a few of my aggies this morning. There’s a place all smoothed out under the kitchen.” Rascal grabbed Alvin by the wrist. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
    â€œI can’t. Got an appointment downtown in half an hour. Sorry.” He wondered what Chester was doing just then, where he’d gone off to. He never saw fit to tell Alvin anything that mattered.
    The dwarf tugged. “Please? It’ll only take a minute.”
    â€œOh, all right. But I ain’t got all day.” Reluctantly, Alvin rose as high as he could without hitting his head, and followed the dwarf on a crooked path between the support pillars and foundation blocks from one end of the house to the other, dodging clots of spider web and gunny sacks stuffed with dirt and assorted broken toys like those lying about in the grass outside. The stink under the house worsened the farther in they went. More than rotted fruit, the stench of a summer outhouse whose wooden walls and damp soil collected and preserved the odor. Alvin shuffled behind Rascal until they came to a narrow hole crudely hacked out of the floor overhead.
    The dwarf stopped and smiled. “That’s my bedroom up there. Would you like to see?” He pulled himself up into the opening and disappeared. Alvin heard his footsteps scrambling across the floorboards. A drawer opened and shut. Something heavy was dragged across the floor. Trying to follow Rascal up into the hole, Alvin only managed to get his head through. He saw Rascal staring at him.
    â€œAren’t you coming?”
    â€œI can’t fit.”
    â€œHow come?”
    â€œMy shoulders are too wide.”
    Alvin swiveled his head to get a better look at the room. It had no window and only two doors, one of which opened to a small closet. There was a small iron bed, a common oak dresser, and a low nightstand with a kerosene lamp. Clothes were jumbled up at the foot of the bed, Post Toasties cereal boxes stacked together beside the dresser, fruit jars filled with preserves on top, six water jugs next to the closet, Big Little books piled on the nightstand. Odds and ends collected beneath the bed: rubber galoshes, mousetraps, used-up pencil tablets, a shoe stretcher, and a pocket spyglass. Rascal dove into the shallow closet and began rummaging through the clothes and assorted junk that had piled up, tossing things out onto the floor behind him. After a couple of minutes, he came out dragging a little old leather suitcase.
    â€œMaybe you ought to go open the back door,” said Alvin, “so’s I can come in and sit down. This ain’t all that comfortable.”
    Rascal played with the latches on the suitcase, trying to flip them up. “Door’s locked.”
    Alvin bent his knees slightly to ease the pressure on his shoulders. If he were a foot shorter, he could have been standing straight up with his head in the hole. “I know, I tried it. Just go open it from the inside.”
    â€œI mean, my bedroom door’s locked, too,” said Rascal, pointing over his back. “That’s why I had to pry a hole in the floorboards with a butter knife. Auntie locked me in and took the key before she left. This used to be a pantry until my behavior last year apparently warranted a change of scenery.” The dwarf banged the suitcase hard on the floor. “Dammit!”
    â€œCan’t you force it open?”
    â€œI’m trying,” said Rascal, banging the suitcase a