The Thing Under the Rug
By Greg Beatty

"Hey, let's go play in the leaves!"

"Yeah!"

"All Right!"

The pack of kids left the monkey bars and ran across the damp grass to the huge pile of leaves which the park attendants had carefully heaped together. Behind them the merry-go-round spun to a halt. The three children who'd been pushing it ran to join them in the leaves.

"Belly flop," Jonathan shouted, diving into the pile and knocking his cap off. The leaves were still crisp, and scrunched beneath his weight.

"It's snowing," Jonathan's older sister Angie said. She stepped to the center of the pile and hurled an armful of leaves up into the air, then picked up his hat and stuffed leaves in it.

"No, no, I've got it- choo choo, train coming through," Shelly said. Shelly put her head down and pumped her arms, scuffing her feet to make the leaves fly into the air.

"Chugga-chugga-chugga, woo, woo! Train crossing, heading for Chicago and all parts west. Get your tickets ready," Shelly said. Shelly's parents watched a lot of old movies.

I've got tickets," Angie said. She threw another armful of leaves, but they were from further down in the pile, and a little damp. Instead of arching up into the air, the leaves smacked Shelly in the face.

"Hey," Shelly said, spitting out a leaf. "What's going on here?" She stopped chugging and looked up. The leaves were thigh high on her, but the pile reached to Angie's chest. She must be on her knees, Shelly thought. She thought I was going to throw something back. I'll show her. I'll act like she's not even there. With that Shelly went back to being a train. She spiraled around the pile again, then once more, keeping her head down and concentrating on staying on the tracks.

"What are you doing, Angie?" Jonathan asked.

"Just standin'. Why?" Angie said.

" 'cause you look like you're scared to death."

"Nah," Angie said. "I'm just cold…"

Her voice faded, growing scratchy as the leaves. "She's co-old, Jonathan," Shelly said, "but I'm a train. Trains don't get cold." Shelly spiraled closer and closer to the center of the leaf pile as she said this, thinking that maybe she would throw some leaves in Angie's face after all, now that her guard was down.

"Where's Angie?" One of the other boys asked.

"Chug-chug…right there…" Shelly's voice trailed off. She had chugged her way to the center of the pile, but no Angie.

"She got away!" Shelly shrieked. "Find her."

"Yeah, get her," the boys shouted, but when they had scattered the pile of leaves down to where they could see the mud between the grass, there was still no sign of her.

Jonathan pulled his coat tight around his arms. "Where's my sister?"

"She must have gone home," said the boy who first noticed she was missing. "C'mon, let's go play somewhere else."

He ran off toward the pond. The rest of the pack trailed after. Shelly stood where she was, just off center in the pile of leaves, thinking wow, that's weird. Angie never goes anywhere without Jonathan. Then someone called for her to join them at the pond, and she shook her head and ran.

The main pond was pretty boring for kids, at least in the fall. The fountain was turned off, the water was too cold for wading, and all the frogs had buried themselves in the mud. But the water level in the smaller old pond always sank after summer. It left a small rocked off area that was all mud and puddles, complete with cattails that were perfect for making swords.

"Shhh. Hear that?" whispered Abram, one of the tag along boys.

"What? I don't hear nothing," Jonathan said.

"That growling. It's a swamp panther," Abram said.

Neat, Shelly thought, crouching down and growling.

"There it is again," he said. "There's only one escape-further into the great swamp, where we can beat it at its own game."

Abram pointed at the thickest patch of cattails, the only one thick enough for them to hide behind. Jonathan nodded solemnly, and they started slogging through the mud.

"This is a sissy game," one of the other boys said. "There's no jungle." He left. A bunch of the boys followed. Abram started to stand up in disappointment, but he smiled when he heard another growl from Shelly.

"It's just the two of us, so watch out for quicksand," he said. Jonathan nodded, following Abram from rock to rock. Behind them, they heard the growl of the dreaded swamp panther as it circled in for the kill.

Shelly had planned to sneak up on them, but Abram outsmarted her, doubling back to the front of the cattails. She couldn't see Jonathan- wait, there he was, crouching really low in the weeds. Shelly continued to circle, occasionally remembering to growl. I'll get Jonathan first, she thought, spiraling back to the place where she'd last seen him, but as she got closer Abram began to squeal with delicious anticipation.

"No, no, no," he yelled. Shelly obligingly pounced off to the side, so Abram could almost escape, then grabbed him. She landed with a squelching splash that drowned out the sound of a small voice crying out for help, then falling silent.

"Now for Jonathan," Shelly whispered, having left Abram pleasantly dead in the mud. But when she panther crawled her way through the last clump of cattails, Jonathan was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey," she said. "Where'd he go?" Shelly looked down at the place in the muck where the footsteps stopped, then up at Abram.

"Don't know, but wherever he went, he left his hat behind." Abram said.

"Where?"

"Right there, stupid," he said.

"Sure enough, when Shelly looked back down at the mud, there was Jonathan's bright pink cap. It was covered with a thin layer of something yellow, and a single blue leaf was stuck to it. But he wasn't wearing it, Shelly thought. Not since he jumped in the leaf pile. His sister had it.

"Come on, let's go play with someone else," Abram said, walking off.

"Okay," Shelly said. She looked back at the cap one more time, just in time to see the mud bending down around it, like a piece of plastic wrap with someone pulling down on the other side. The cap vanished with a little popping sound. The mud was flat again, except for a small yellow bubble that burst while Shelly watched. She smelled sour eggs.

Wow, Shelly thought, that's weird. When nothing else happened, she ran to join the others.

The wind started picking up, and the sun was going down. Shadows grew longer and colder. The kids broke up into ones and twos and headed home. Mothers appeared at the edges of the park. Everyone promised to come back the next day, and agreed that the gardeners would have raked the leaves back into a pile, which they were sure would be even larger. Shelly trudged home, knowing it was almost dinner time, but not really hungry.

Shelly had her key ready, just in case, but the door was unlocked. She slipped upstairs, to the half of the house that her family rented. It was, her mother always said, big enough for all their things, but small enough to be cozy.

"Hi mom, I'm home," Shelly called.

"Hey honey. How was the park?" her mother called from the living room.

"Fine. We played in the leaves," Shelly said, voice muffled as she pulled her coat off and bent to take off her shoes.

"That's nice. Don't forget to take your shoes off. They're probably muddy."

Shelly made a face. "Yes mom." She walked into the living room. Her mother was sitting in the center of the big rug, surrounded by stacks of paper. A cardboard box sat in front of her, and their cat Jeffery was sleeping on one of the taller stacks.

"Um, mom…" Shelly began.

"I know, dear, you wanted to use the living room. You'll have to find somewhere else to play. You know I have to," her mother spread one hand wide as the other absently tugged at her hair, "update all this paperwork from time to time. Besides, dinner's almost ready."

Shelly flounced onto the couch to sulk. Her mother carefully ignored her. The phone rang. When Shelly didn't move, even after her mother looked at her, her mother hoisted herself to her feet with a sigh.

"This is so boring," Shelly said. She stood and began to wander around the room, shuffling through the stacks of paper in her way. I'll be a train, no, I've been a train today. A car. No. A pirate, following a secret path to the treasure chest. That's it, she said, beginning to follow the rug's pattern around the room in a loose spiral. She stopped occasionally to listen for rival pirates who might be on her trail, but all she ever heard was Jeffery's soft tenor snoring.

"Shelly?"

"Hmm?" Shelly answered. She turned to look towards the kitchen, where her mom was still on the phone, and then froze. Right there in the middle of the rug, in her own house, was the strangest thing she'd ever seen. The box of her mother's files had sunk into the floor, no, below the floor, and the rug was puckered around it like the mud had back at the pond. It looked, she thought, like it does when you poke your finger into a balloon and the balloon pulls tighter all around it as it bends. Except that the box was just sitting there, and there wasn't any reason for it to press into the rug.

"Did you see Angela or Jonathan while you were at the park?"

"What?" Why did her mother have to call her now, when stuff was happening. Shelly took one step, two steps, three. With her third step, the box sank quickly down through the floor. The rug slowly flattened with a liquid popping sound. A heavy smell, like the time her dad had cleaned out the clogged disposal, then left the squishy stuff he'd found in the trash can over the weekend, filled the room.

"I said, did you see either Angela or Jonathan Miller while you were playing at the park today? Their mother's on the phone and she says they haven't come home yet." Shelly's mom sounded impatient.

"Wow," Shelly said. "I wonder what happ--"

"What?"

"I said, yes, I saw them at the park, but they left before I did."

Now, she thought. Let's try this again. Shelly returned to the spot where she'd started her treasure hunt and carefully paced through a spiral towards the center of the rug. The rug stayed flat. Shelly paused. She could still hear her mother talking away in the kitchen. Now, she thought, what can I use to test this? As if in answer, a soft snore emerged from Jeffery.

"Jeff-y. Come here kitty." Shelly scooped the cat into her arms. "Have a jump."

Shelly tossed the still sleepy cat towards the center of the rug. The rug, and, Shelly thought, the floor, bent downward about three feet, then stopped. The cat didn't stop. It kept right on going down. Jeffery let out an agonized yowl as he passed the level of the rug, but that cut off quickly. When it did, Shelly heard a sound like her dad made when he was eating steak and bit into a piece of gristle near the bone. Shelly winced.

"Ooops." The rug went back to flat. Shelly stood where she was, one foot suspended in awe.

"Honey?"

"Yes mom?"

"Mrs. Miller says she's calling the police. They've been looking for the kids for a couple of hours now without any sign of them. The police will probably come over here and talk to you about when you saw them last, if they don't find them right away.

Shelly put her foot down, then slowly walked over and touched the center of the rug with one toe. It was solid. "Whew."

"Did you hear me?"

"Yes, mom. I'll talk to them."

"Okay. You come and eat now, so you won't miss dinner."

"Okay." After one more toe touch on the rug, Shelly went into the kitchen. Her mother dished up a bowl of chili and some corn bread. The bread crumbled in Shelly's hands as she tried to butter it. One crumb fell to the floor and Shelly thought, Jeff will get that. Oh. Shelly's mother watched without speaking, her face a mask over worry.

When Shelly was done, her mother set the bowl to soak, gave Shelly a pair of oatmeal cookies, and went back into the living room to work.

"Shelly? Did you move my box of files?"

Shelly froze. A chunk of oatmeal fell to the floor. "I didn't touch it."

"Are you sure? I had it right in the middle of the room, and I certainly didn't move it. Shelly Rene, are you--"

At the buzzing sound, Shelly cried, "Doorbell!" and ran to answer it. "It's the police, mom." Good, she thought. I won't have to tell Mom about the box. But what am I going to tell the police? Shelly gnawed her knuckle, knocking more of the cookie to the floor. Her mother talked to the two men. Nothing, Shelly decided. But then maybe the truth. They won't believe me, but maybe I should tell them.

"Gentlemen, would either of you like coffee?" Then why don't we go sit in the living room where we can talk more comfortably?"

When Shelly stepped into the living room, she saw that her mother had plopped all of the loose paper into a single stack. Shelly sat down on one end of the couch, as far from the center of the rug as she could get. Her mother took up a protective stance behind her, and the cops squared off in a similar position, one sitting, one standing, at the other end of the couch, a single cushion of no man's land between them.

The cop on the couch spread his thick hands, smoothing his pants. "Good evening, Shelly. I'm Officer Corrigan, and this is Officer Jefferson. Before we start talking, I should tell you that your friends are almost certainly alright. Despite all the scary stories on the news, most kids who are late coming home are just that: late coming home. But since Angela and Johnny haven't come home, we have to look for them. Some men are looking around down at the park; Jefferson and I are talking to their friends, to see what we can find out about when they were last seen. We've talked to Abram…"

He snapped his fingers, and the other policeman put in "Hershowitz."

"Right. We've talked to Abram Hershowitz, and now we need to find out if you can tell us anything that might help."

"Don't be shy, Shelly," her mother urged. "You can talk to Officer Corrigan."

"Park. I saw them at the park."

"Thank you, Shelly. That's a good place to start. They were playing at the park. With you? Yes, that's good. You can just nod if that's easier. Now, did you see anyone strange at the park today? No? No adults you didn't recognize who hung around longer than usual? No. Did you see Angela and Jonnie go off anywhere Shelly?"

"I didn't see them leave."

"And what exactly do you mean by that? They aren't at the park now, but you told your mother that they left before you did. You just didn't see…?"

Shelly shook her head. "No. Not that. Not exactly. Angie was in the leaf pile and Jonathan was in the jungle, I mean, in the old pond."

"And then?" the other officer prompted.

"And then I walked around them and they weren't there."

"You walked around them and they weren't there." The second officer repeated.

"Can you tell us a little more about what you mean by that, Shelly?" Corrigan asked.

Shelly shrugged, then shook her head. "I knew, I was being a train. I walked around Angie, and then she just wasn't there."

"Your daughter often tell stories like this?" The standing officer asked darkly.

"Josh! I'm sorry, Mrs. Watts. It's just that, well, we're not too accustomed to missing children around here, and I'm afraid my partner's patience is a little strained."

"That's quite understandable, Officer Corrigan. I'm rather tense myself. Shelly, could you"

"Oh, I knew you wouldn't believe me. It's just too weird. But I think I can show you," Shelly said.

"Show us? You mean, take us to the park?" Corrigan asked.

Shelly stood up and shook her head. "I don't know how, but I can show you. They were standing there." Shelly motioned to the center of the circle. "I twirled in on them, and then they just weren't there. That's what happened to your file box, Mom. And to Jeffery too. I'm sorry about Jeff."

"Jeffery?" Corrigan asked.

"That's the cat," Shelly's mother said. "And apparently, my daughter's done something to him."

Grown-ups. "Just watch," Shelly said. Shelly started chugging around the rug again, a train once more. None of the grown-ups spoke. The only sounds were the scuffing of Shelly's shoes, and the burr of the kitchen alarm clock. Shelly looked up once, to see her mom gnawing a knuckle. When Shelly got near the center of the rug, she stopped.

"There," she said. "That's what I did. That's where they were standing. And then they were gone."

"Uh. Huh," Jefferson said. "They just vanished, right? Just like that?"

"Well, it looked more like they were sinking. And sort of stretching."

"So if I stood there," Jefferson said, "I'd sink and 'sort of stretch' too?"

"Stop! Yes, I think so. But be careful. I can't tell where it is just by looking. I guess we'll have to try it again."

"Here," the standing cop said, contempt in his voice, "use my hat."

In two steps he was beside Shelly. He dropped his hat where she was pointing. The rug sank several feet. It's getting faster, Shelly thought. A lot faster. The hat vanished, and the rug returned to its flatness.

"Son of a bitch!" Jefferson said, his hand going to his gun.

"God. Damn. God damn indeed," Corrigan said as he got to his feet. He turned and gave a bobbing nod. "Mrs. Watts, I apologize for doubting your daughter."

"I wonder…" Jefferson said. He took another step forward, just to the edge of the section of the rug that had dimpled, and slid his foot across the center. He dug his heel around, but met resistance everywhere.

"Oh, I don't think it works that way," Shelly said shyly. "Before, only one thing would go through at a time. But we could try it again."

"Son of a bitch," Jefferson said again. "No, don't try it yet. Let's see if we can get my hat back first. He crouched to peer more closely at the rug. "Damn, that's a nasty smell."

"That always happens too. Pretty icky."

"Yes it surely is, girl," Jefferson said. "And it always happens?"

"Always today, yes."

"Does it." He stared a minute longer, then stood up. "Tell you what, Miss Watts. Let's see what happens when you start where you are and 'show us what happened,' only backwards. Go the other way. I want to see if we can get my hat back."

Shelly felt the chili move in her stomach. "I don't like that idea much."

"Just do what they say, Shelly," her mother said.

Shelly sighed and turned around. She began to trudge her train in the other directly, a quarter speed. Grown-ups. This wasn't fun anymore. From behind her she heard "Hey, there's my hat."

Shelly paused where she was and looked over one shoulder. Officer Jefferson's hat hung from the end of his pistol barrel. A foul yellow sludge dripped from it, and Shelly fought the idea to tell him to get it off his gun. He reached the same conclusion on his own, though. He shook his hat loose, and frowned at the barrel's discoloration. He sniffed his gun and winced, then said, "Go on, girl. Let's see what else there is to see."

Shelly trudged on. She made one reluctant circle of the room, then another. She stopped when her mother screamed.

Shelly looked over her shoulder again. Jeffery lay on the rug. At least, the front part of him lay on the rug. His smooth gray fur was caked a dark red, except where it was covered with more of that yellow sludge. His back half was very wet, and looked like he'd been turned inside out. Both of the policemen had drawn their guns.

"Go on," Officer Jefferson said. Mr. Corrigan had been the talker when they first started, Shelly thought, but now it was like Jefferson was in charge of everything. Or trying to be.

Shelly walked on. This really isn't fun anymore. I don't want to see any of this, and I don't think the grown-ups know as much as they think they do. Shelly heard a choking sound, and once again she stopped. It was her mother, trying not to get sick. Sicker. Shelly glanced at the center of the room. Both parts of Jeffery were now fully visible, jumbled together with the shredded file box and a bunch of papers. At the bottom were some matted leaves, and the tip of something that looked like a kid's tennis shoe.

"Go on."

"I-I don't want to."

"Go on." It was a toss up if Shelly was more afraid of what was going on behind her, or of what was being exposed on Officer Jefferson's face, but in the end, a grown-up was a grown-up, and Shelly was used to obeying. Slowly, slowly, she took another turn around the rug.

"Stop! Not another step!"

Shelly stopped where she was, one foot suspended in the air. She didn't want to look back, but eventually she had to. Too weird, she thought. It was so weird that she forgot to be scared. The pile of, well, stuff, was about knee high. Shelly could see Angie and Jonathan, all blended together. The whole pile was dripping yellow goo. It's like the dumpster back of the Chinese restaurant that mom hates but dad sometimes takes us to, Shelly thought, only even that never smells this bad, even when they dump the old grease. But weirdest of all was the rug. It bulged up around the pile, like a blanket with air under it. It was moving. Something underneath it was moving quickly, scuttling in irregular spurts like a crab, but it was big. Bigger than the Henderson's Saint Bernard, Shelly thought. One foot still hanging in the air, her leg starting to tremble, Shelly looked at her mom, then at the policemen. Both of them had their guns ready.

"What should I do now?" Shelley asked. For once none of the adults had anything to say. Then a strange look came over Officer Corrigan's face. "Isn't there another family living in the lower half of the house?"

Shelly's mom started to answer him, but before she could finish there was a shout from the kitchen. "Hi everybody, I'm home!"

"Daddy," Shelly squealed. He'd know what to do. Shelly ran to hug him. In the process, of course, she put her foot down.

One of the cops yelled, "No!" By then it was too late. Behind her, Shelly heard a wet tearing sound, a scream from her mother, two gunshots, and then a scream from one of the cops.

"Daddy, it wasn't my fault. I didn't want to walk around the rug, but Mom and the police said I had to and--"

"Slooow down, punkin. Just what are you running on about? And what was all that noise?"

"Dad, I think we should get out of here," Shelly said. But by that time it was too late. Shelly heard a moist scuttling sound on the linoleum, and saw her father's eyes widen with fear. Then an oversized claw snipped his head from his shoulders. But it won't kill me, Shelly thought. She stood very still while it chewed on her dad's body, pausing occasionally to belch yellow goo over the body. Her dad's body steamed and softened where the goo hit. Shelly tried not to choke at the smell, or stare too hard at the blood and goo mixing on the thing's outer shell.

Shelly managed very well. She didn't start to choke, or to scream, until the thing from under the rug turned its dark and faceted eyes towards her, bobbed its jaws once, as if nodding, and began to scuttle around her in an ever-tightening spiral. Then, then Shelley screamed.

The End

Story copyright Greg Beatty, published by the Fortean Bureau
http://www.forteanbureau.com