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left side, but the dirt floor was only four or five feet down. A light switch was mounted on the right side of the opening. Forgetting the power was out, Sam flipped the switch on and off, expecting lights to come on below.
    Paulie leaned over Sam’s shoulder, trying to see down into the cellar.
    “Irwin?” Sam called down the hole. Sam swept his flashlight around, trying to see as much of the cellar as he could without committing to going down into the shaft.  
    He suddenly straightened up, kept his eyes locked on the access hole, but addressed his son. "Robby, I want you to go stand by the front door. You hear me give the word and you dash home, okay?”
    “Yes sir,” Robby said. He turned and walked back down the hallway to the living room. He didn’t obey completely. He stayed near the door to the hall so he could listen to his dad talk to Paulie.
    “You think that’s blood?” asked Paulie. “Could just be motor oil or something. Hard to tell on a dirt floor.”
    His dad replied to Paulie, but Robby couldn’t make out the words.
    “Oh, no shit,” whispered Paulie. Robby heard that part, loud and clear.
    Sam yelled out to his son. "By the door , Robby.”
    Robby moved to the front door, wondering how his dad knew. Robby’s eyes danced from the swinging door to the kitchen, then to the hallway, the staircase, and back again to the kitchen door. The living room was bright enough, with the lantern throwing off sharp shadows, but the doorways were gaping black holes. Anything could come out of those doorways. Robby backed up until his elbows pressed back against the front door. He took off his glove and rested his hand on the door knob behind him.
    It felt like forever, waiting for his dad and Paulie. As soon as he took his post at the front door, he decided he had to pee. With every second he stood with his back to the door, his need to urinate grew exponentially until he could think of nothing but peeing and monsters coming out of the kitchen doorway, or zombies lumbering down the gloomy staircase.
    The lantern on the coffee table began to sputter again. With each pop it flared a little brighter, but then dimmed even more when it fizzed. Robby knew what to expect—they kept nearly the same lantern at home. It took liquid fuel, white gas, and required pumping it up to keep it going. But his dad pumped it earlier, so it would need a refill to stay lit. He knew he only had a few more minutes of light before it would sputter out.
    At least the failing light gave him something other than his bladder to worry about. Robby almost welcomed the distraction. The shadows throbbed with each sputter of the lamp; they became deeper, like they were gaining strength. The ebb and flow of the shadows made the door to the kitchen look like it was swinging slightly.  
    Pop-hissssss-POP-hiss-pop-hisss, Robby felt himself swaying with the rhythm of the lantern. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from the kitchen door. It looked like the swinging gained momentum. Robby imagined that soon it would swing open all the way, and Irwin would be standing there.  
    Robby shook his head and tried to look away from the door. It had to be an optical illusion making it look like the door was swinging; just a trick of the wavering shadows cast by the failing lantern. When he first heard the squeak, he almost ignored it. It made perfect sense—it sounded like the squeak of a rusted hinge, in perfect time with the apparent movement of the door. But that would mean the door was moving. Robby tried to remember if the door squeaked when they had entered the kitchen earlier. He couldn’t recall.  
    The lantern would fail at any second, and he would be alone in the dark with the squeaking door and whatever was making the door swing in and out. Robby straightened up and stood tall. He didn’t especially want to know what was behind the door, if anything was, but if he had to, he wanted to find out while there was still enough light to see. He took a