A Simple Job

Times are tough. Used to be when you didn't like a job you jus up'n quit. No point in taking crap when lots of other places were beggin' for work. Now, though, a job is something more precious than an air conditioner in hell. So I took the job when it was offered me, despite the fact that the three guys 'afore me all killed themselves whilst a'workin. James Roberts don't worry none about stuff like that.

It's not like it's a hard job, it's jus sorta lonely. I let people in 'n out of the archives area. They show me their IDs, and I let 'em in. Only trouble is, the supply area is in the basement and nobody hardly ever wants in. See the company I work for is a big real estate deal, always buyin' an sellin' properties and such. Once in a while they want to know the history of a particular piece of property, building, or some other such nonsense, an the information ain't in the computer. Then they gotta come to me.

Seems pretty inefficient, if ya ask me. Sometimes nobody comes down here for days. I jus sit at the desk and stare at the stacks and stacks of old papers. I don't know why they can't jus get a machine to check them IDs. Still, I ain't complainin'. I know I'm jus lucky to have a job.

The few people who do wander down here never like to stay too long. They's always lookin' at whatever they be needin' and then high tailin' back to wherever they come from. I tried bein' sociable wit 'em, but they jus gives me a real nervous glance and says nuthin'. So here I sit. It's not well lit, and it can be mighty spooky, specially at night.

The walls down here are lined with ol' books and papers stacked from floor to ceiling, and there ain't a window to be found. Durin' the night I could swear I hears papers rustlin' even though nobody's around. Whenever I look to see what the noise was, I notice a few papers scattered on the floor. I picks 'em up and puts 'em back, but somthin' ain't right. There's no wind down here. Bein' that it's below ground, they don't cool it in the summer, and they only use a space heater for me in the winter.

Last week I started lookin' at the papers that kept endin' up on the floor, jus out of curiosity. I don't know all the legal mumbo jumbo, but they seem to have to do with a plot of land not too far from here that belongs to the guy what owns this place, a Mr. Winston W. Bells(hence the name Bells Properties Incorporated).

It does appear that Bells' pappy got this particular piece of land from another fella, a Mr. D. L. Douvon. The writin' on the papers is kinda old, but it looks like Winston's dad got the land from Douvon for song.

After I seen those papers, some different ones took to fallin'. When I read those, they was about some graves that was eventually dug up on the former Douvon property to make way for a swimming pool for Winston. Nuthin' was said about what become of the bodies. After I read them papers, all was quiet for a while.

Somethin' else has got me worried, though. I was talkin' to a friend of mine in town the other day that says his brother was hired by Bells Properties Incorporated for a position that involved work in the basement. Now I know the fella's brother, an he couldn't tell the difference between a warehouse an a henhouse, so I know they ain't hiring him cuz of his real estate know-how. When I asked my friend when his brother is startin', he told me it would be any day now.

They asked me to work late tonight. Says they got some real important deal to finish up with and think they might need some archives. I says okay, but I got my suspicions. It's 10:00 p.m., and I kinda think everybody else has left the building. I ain't heard a peep from upstairs in a couple hours.

I decided to sneak upstairs to see if anybody's still around. There's a couple lights on, but nobody is here. I went over to the desk of my immediate supervisor, Mr. Garfield Bells(who is Winston's nephew, by the way). I noticed a drawer half open and spotted my name on a piece of paper. I pulled it out to give a little look.

It said:

G.B.,

D.D. expected tonight. Be sure to come in early tomorrow morning to arrange things as planned with James Roberts. I have arranged with the P.D. and M.E. to have it go down officially as an M.I., as a fourth of the same would be just too suspicious. You can bring in the new hire next week.

W.B.

I looked at the paper for several minutes, but I didn't know precisely what it was sayin'. I jus knew it didn't sound good for me. I stuffed it in my pocket and ran back down to the basement to gather my stuff. When I picked up my backpack and headed for the stairs, the lights went out. It was blacker than tar, but I began slowly gropin' my way towards where I thought the stairs were. I was startin' to feel like circumstances were agin' me.

I reached the bottom of the stairs and tried the light switch. Nuthin' happened. It was then I heard the sound of somebody behind me. The sound was like real slow footsteps, kinda shufflin' towards me. It occurred to me that maybe the three guys 'afore me killed themselves outta fear. I was sure as heck frightened.

I tried to run up the stairs as fast as I could, but somethin' real strong grabbed my ankle. I was tempted to scream, but James Roberts ain't never screamed a day in his life, and I wasn't about to start now. Instead, an idea come to me, and I think it was a right good one.

I took the piece of paper out of my pocket and held it up to whatever was behind me.

"I don't know who you are, but maybe you want to read this before you do whatever you gonna do.", I said.

I felt the paper get pulled from my hand, and after a few moments, my ankle was released.

"Bells.", a weak, breathy voice spoke.

It didn't say another word, so I carefully made my way up the stairs. I heard footsteps comin' after me, but I didn't look back. When I got to the top and out into the lighted office, I dared a look behind.

There stood a gaunt, ashen fella like I never seen before. He was still clutching the paper, but I don't know how he coulda read it, since he had no eyes; jus black spots where they shoulda been. He had an almost pleading look on his face, and I remembered what he said.

I walked over to Mr. Garfield Bells' desk and pointed to it.

"Bells.", I said.

The corpse nodded somberly. I motioned for it to follow me and led it to Mr. Winston Bells' office and spoke the same word. The creature nodded again. I then left the building.

I fled town that night and never came back. I read that Mr. Garfield Bell and Mr. Winston Bell were both found dead the following morning. The coroner said that, in a strange coincidence, both had died of myocardial infarctions(a fancy term meanin' a heart attack).