Marcus lay the handsaw aside, then carefully slid his fingers into the cut he had made in the thin plasterboard of the bedroom wall. Placing his foot against the wall for leverage, he grunted and strained. Lucas fidgeted, shooting fretful glances towards the bedroom door.
"We are going to be in so much trouble."
"Dude, do you want to help me find Stanley's stash or do you want to keep moaning like a bitch."
Reluctantly Lucas knelt besides his brother, grabbing hold of the edge of the incision, the two of them straining to pull open the wall. With a loud cracking, ripping noise, a square of drywall tore away, filling the room with a blizzard of white plaster dust that settled on the carpet and on their clothes, and exposing a dark hole just wide enough to permit a human.
The building was old, had seen many uses, and had been renovated more than once - larger rooms crudely partitioned - the result of which was that the architecture no longer made much sense. Between some of the walls there existed the vestigial remains of laundry chutes or dumb waiters and in some cases there were gaps wide enough to fit a person. It was in one of these abscesses that their flatmate Stanley stored his fermentation equipment and its products, where it was warm and hidden away from the prying eyes of landlords. Rumour had it that he had even installed a copper still, and already produced gallons of potato-derived whisky.
Unfortunately for Stanley and the integrity of the walls, it was Halloween. In less than an hour, the apartment would be hosting the definitive costume party, yet Stanley - and more importantly his supply of alcohol - was nowhere to be found. After discovering that the weaselly nerd was at his lame RPG group, and would be for the rest of the night, the twins had endeavored simply to steal it.
"Great, now I look like a ghost," Lucas moaned as he brushed plaster dust off his clothes.
"I thought you were a ghost."
"I'm Tonto," Lucas replied acidly. "What did you think the raven was for?"
Marcus glanced at the black, plastic bird atop his twin's head and shrughed. "Fuck if I know. Couldn't have just gone with Captain Jack like everybody else, huh?" Craning forward into the hole made in the wall, he flicked on a torch and glanced left and right.
Within the wall, in the direction of Stanley's room, the torchlight flickered over the glass of a cluster of bottles and demijohns, vats, and copper piping. Jackpot! Marcus pulled his head free.
"Okay, they're about twenty metres to the left," he said, dusting himself off. "Go get 'em."
Lucas' eyes went wide. "Why me? There might be spiders in there!"
"Because you're the architect," Marcus replied forcefully, grabbing his twin and forcing him headfirst into the hole. "This is your area of expertise. Besides, I'm older and I say so."
"By seven minutes!" Lucas yelped as Marcus placed his foot on his backside, squeezing him deeper into the cramped darkness between the walls. "Ah! It's dusty! Do I even get a torch?" He flinched as the torch bounced off the back of his head. "Thanks," he muttered bitterly, flicking it on and beginning to crawl in the direction of the distant bottles. His knees and elbows moved over a thick layer of dust and ancient mouse droppings that coated the bare wooden planks. His shoulders were squeezed against the walls, but gradually he squirmed his way forward.
Stanley's Special Reserve, read the label on one of the bottles, as he grew close enough to read and almost touch. 'Not Stanley's for much longer,' Lucas thought giddily, reaching out a right hand to grab it... just as the floorboard beneath his left splintered and gave way with a snap of old, woodwormed wood, tipping him forward into the hole in the floor.
He seemed to fall for a long time, his heart racing, his body bracing for the hard impact. To his pleasant surprise, the floor that broke his fall was soft and rubbery, almost like a trampoline. He lay on it, hands over his head, as planks of wood and Stanley's Special Reserve thudded and shattered around him.
As the dust settled, he cautiously climbed to his feet, not an easy thing with the floor wobbling beneath like a bouncy castle. The torch lay not far away and he picked it up, running its beam over the hole in the ceiling high above, then over the room itself. He seemed to have fallen into a disused part of the old medical science building, though judging by the decor, the decay, and the dust, it looked to have been abandoned for well over a century. The windows and door were sealed with brick, and onto the walls had been nailed or carved several crucifixes.
A large slab, perhaps a dissection table, sat in the center of the room, surrounded by terraced rows of benches. Stalactites of what looked like rubber hung down around the edges of the slab and the floor immediately surrounding it (onto which he had fallen) was coated in a thick layer of black, spongy rubber. On top of the dissection table was a box that drew his attention. It looked to be made of thick, sturdy wood that had been carved with more crucifixes than he could count. At one point the lid had been nailed shut, though the force of something from within had pushed out the nails and forced open the lid. As he watched, a bubble of the ta-like substance bubbled out from beneath the lid to dribble down the side.
He opened the lid. A pool of dark, viscous goop filled the box to the brim. Curiosity overcoming him, he plunged his hand into the gunk, his fingers connecting with something smooth that sat on the base. Lifting it free, he discovered it was a brush, dripping with the rubber gunk that now coated his hand.
A strange thing to keep locked away and fascinating to be sure, but at the moment he had more pressing concerns - getting out of this sealed room.
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