The cold made Arnie want to stamp his feet to get some circulation going but knew it might spook his dog Gunther, who was crouched on four feet in the classic pose of a dog taking a shit. He was a mixed breed; some basset hound, probably some chow, maybe some terrier. Gunther was twelve, his snout gray, eyes cloudy and more cautious in his efforts than in younger days. Balancing to have a bowel movement took careful concentration.
Arnie never figured he’d pay this much attention to a dog going to the bathroom. Over the past year Gunther had become more and more fussy about when and where he would go, so Arnie was grateful something was happening. Gunther had chosen a spot atop a lawn covered with leaves in front of an abandoned house. Arnie realized that retrieving Gunther’s waste with a plastic bag would be difficult with the leaves, but tried to hold still and remain quiet. Gunther needed a quiet place, without any other animals or people, no cars driving by, and dry ground. He would not go if the ground was wet. Something about the wet, squishy feeling underfoot made him uneasy. So Arnie watched as Gunther took his time doing his business. Arnie was glad it had yet to snow, as Gunther disliked the snow almost as much as damp earth.
Arnie was retired, so had plenty of time to wait for his furry companion. Plus, he was happy to see the spring in Gunther’s step once he had successfully evacuated. But Arnie didn’t like the cold. It hurt the bones in his feet and wrists. He had a stocking cap pulled down to his glasses, an insulated coat snugged around his neck, ski gloves, thick corduroy pants and wool-lined boots. Standing there so still he looked a bit like a Christmas lawn decoration. His mind didn’t wander, as he was focused fully on Gunther.
At last, the dog was done. Gunther kicked a few leaves to ineffectually cover his leavings, and stood proudly looking like he had just arrived somewhere. Arnie quickly moved in to collect the turds, anxious to return home to soak his feet in Epsom salts. As Arnie removed the poop and leaf mixture, he revealed a brass marker in the lawn. It was similar to a survey marker but instead of official jargon it simply said, “Here.” He bent down to get a better look, but the marker shared no more information. He kicked it with this foot, and was surprised to hear a hollow clang like kicking a barrel. Gunther pulled on the leash and Arnie remembered he was cold, so they hurried back to the house.
The next day, Arnie took Gunther past the same house and again Gunther took a liking to the leaf-strewn lawn. This time though, Arnie spent his time looking carefully around the yard and house for any clues about the mysterious marker in the ground. When Gunther was done, he led him around the side of the house to peek into the back yard.
It looked normal enough. A square of lawn, surrounded by a wooden fence with a scattering of trees and shrubs. The only odd thing was the garden shed. Rather than being off to one side of the yard or attached to the house, it was planted right in the middle. It was the old sheet-metal type sold to millions of Sears customers. The red paint on it had faded, but seemed otherwise in good condition. It sat on a cement pad, about three inches off the ground. Gunther pulled on the leash, and they returned home.
Arnie kept thinking about the shed. It was very strange to have it in the middle of the yard like that. Maybe the owner was old, and couldn’t walk very far. But then why not put it even closer to the back door? Maybe something else used to be on the concrete pad and it just easier to put the shed on it. But what else could have been there? A greenhouse? A gazebo? None of them made sense. Arnie looked up the house on the County Assessor’s website and learned that it had been built in 1943 and had never had any improvements, or at least any that were recorded with a building permit. From what he could tell there had only been one owner until recently when someone with the same last name took possession, but with an out-of-state address. Arnie reasoned the original owner’s kid had inherited the house but had yet to figure out what to do with it. He checked Google maps and the overhead photo showed the backyard just like Arnie had seen it. He decided that tomorrow he would take a look inside the shed.
Snow had fallen overnight and Gunther had misgivings about going on a walk. He stood at the door unmoved as Arnie tried to encourage him to follow. Arnie patted his hands on his thighs, “C’mon Gunther! Good boy! C’mon buddy! Let’s go for a walk!” Gunther took a few mincing steps into the snow, but then sat, his ears down and head slumped. There was a box filled with sawdust in the kitchen that Gunther used during bad weather, but he always made a mess when he would kick triumphantly after voiding. He had seen enough seasons come and go to know that if he waited there was a chance the weather would improve. Arnie unleashed Gunther and put him back inside, deciding to check out the shed on his own.
As he’d aged, Arnie noted that he had become more and more invisible. Just another little old man; no threat, nothing to offer, and potentially needy. People avoided him and rarely made eye contact. At first, he was insulted but over time grew to enjoy being able to move about the world unmolested. There were occasional people who had warm memories of their grandparents or some other elderly relative or friend, and they would treat him with great kindness. But young men would sometimes sling comments like, “while we’re young, grandpa!” if he lingered too long at the coffee shop counter, but they were quickly corrected by others in line as Arnie simply pretended not to hear them. He hoped his invisibility would help on his quest to explore the shed.
Once he arrived at the house, Arnie realized that the snow would reveal his footprints. Without Gunther’s prints to offer cover, it would be difficult to explain why he had gone in the back yard. He decided to walk along the fence line to get into the back, then circle over to the shed. At least that way his footprints wouldn’t be as obvious, and since the house was abandoned, there wouldn’t be anyone to see his footprints in the back yard. If he was caught, his backup plan was to act confused and say he was looking for his wife and was sure she had gone into the back yard to feed the dog. He would then gradually remember that his wife had died several years ago, act embarrassed and start to tell stories about her, at which point whoever caught him would gladly let him go.
Arnie crept along the fence line, circled back to the shed and slid open the doors. The wobble of the metal made more noise than he expected, so he stopped when there was only enough room for him go in sideways. He clicked on a flashlight he’d brought and saw wooden shelves on three walls, some with ancient cans of paint, ant killer, a few garden tools and some dried gourds. In the center of the floor was a steel trapdoor locked with a large padlock. Arnie kicked it and the lock crumbled into a pile of rusty metal. The handle on the trapdoor was still partly intact, and Arnie pulled on it to test the weight. It was much lighter than he expected and turned out to have a pulley on it with a counterweight. He aimed his flashlight into the void and saw a ladder leading to a large underground room. Arnie realized he had found an old bomb shelter, which explained the weird location of the shed. He closed the shed door, and started down the ladder.
He noticed a light switch once he reached the floor, but it was dead. The ladder was at one end of a ribbed tunnel that went under the house. Shelves lined the walls and it was wide enough that he could walk with his arms out and not touch the sides. There was hardly any dust and no cobwebs but all the shelves were empty. Arnie kept on, and noticed a door cut into the wall with the word “basement” painted on it. He guessed it was an access point from the house to the shelter or vice versa, but the lock on it wasn’t rusty so he kept on. He passed some enormous barrels marked “H2O” which made a familiar thunk when kicked. “Still full,” Arnie thought. Beyond the water tanks the tunnel opened into a round corrugated metal room divided by a curtain. On one half, there were two twin beds and a set of bunk beds, the blankets still neatly tucked. Posters of works by the great masters hung on the walls. On the other side of the curtain was a small kitchen, with a stove, countertop, drawers, and cupboards filled with utensils, cups, plates, a coffee percolator, pots and pans just like some sort of rental cabin. There was a laundry sink which drained into a bucket. Next to that was a door that led to another smaller curved room that turned out to be the bathroom, which included a shower operated by filling an overhead tank with heated water. There was a kitchen table and four chairs with plastic flowered placemats. Arnie guessed that the food and other supplies would have been stored along the shelves in the hallway but there was no sign they had ever been used.
There was plenty of head room and as he looked around he noticed a brass pole sticking out of the ceiling with a trumpet-shaped horn on the end of it. He reasoned it was what gonged his presence when he kicked the brass marker on the lawn.
Arnie sat at the table and pondered the absolute silence of the shelter. He wondered who knew about it and when they had decided to abandon it. It looked like it had been left untouched once the water tanks had been filled. How much time and money did someone spend as he worked to protect his family from a danger that never arrived. Did they support him, or think he was crazy?
Arnie’s eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light, and he noticed a small door on the wall near the entrance to the living quarters. He turned the latch and inside were family photo albums, birth certificates, and medical records of the mother, father and two kids including dates of birth, blood type, allergies, immunizations, and any past injuries. The father had some shrapnel embedded in his calf from his time in the army, and the boy was allergic to cats. Arnie wondered if that boy was now the owner of the house and the secret beneath it. Underneath the documents, Arnie found a pistol, a box of ammunition as well as a tin with four cyanide tablets. At least that was what how the tin was labeled.
Arnie started to flip through the photo albums and noticed the family dog, which made him think of Gunther. He put everything back as he’d found it and latched the little door shut. He went back up the stairs and into the brilliant winter sunlight, having to wait for several minutes for his eyes to adjust. He closed the lid, opened the shed doors and was greeting by silence. No one had seen him and no one was looking for him. He was still invisible. Arnie closed the shed doors and walked to the front, this time not trying to hide his footprints.
When he got home, Gunther was waiting by the door and greeted him with an excited hooting bark. Arnie cleaned Gunther’s box, made some popcorn, put in a DVD of “The Great Escape” and they both fell asleep on the couch.