By the time Steve dropped the things off at the supply closet, Mr. Jones was already headed to the third room. Steve jogged down the hall to catch up with him and was surprised at Mr. Jones’ demeanor. His head was hanging lower than normal and there was obvious discomfort on his face.
“What’s the matter Mr. Jones? Compared to the last room, you don’t look so hot.” Steve hoped this wouldn’t upset him. It seemed like the old man had a bit of a mean streak in him.
Mr. Jones lifted his head to look at Steve. “Is that supposed to be a joke? His mouth was a straight line and his eyes burned with fire.
“What? No, of course not. I just mean, you aren’t looking so good right now, sir.”
“Take a look here.” Mr. Jones pointed to the wall. “That’s what got me in this mood.” He dropped his head down again. “It’s a killer on my back,” he whispered.
Steve could tell it hurt the old man’s pride to admit this to him. And looking where he had pointed, Steve could see near the bottom of the wall there was an abnormally small door. It only came up to his knee.
What could this be? Steve wondered how anything could use this door—let alone two grown men: one being an elderly man of an unknown age, and the other being a tall, lanky, out-of-shape comic book nerd.
Are we really going through that tiny door?” Steve asked.
“Yup, that’s exactly what we’re going to do,” Mr. Jones said calmly but with a tinge of regret.
“What? That’s crazy. What could possibly be in there?”
“Well boy, you’re about to find out.” Grimacing, Mr. Jones got down to his knees, took out his key ring, then inserted a tiny key into the lock and turned it.