The Box: Uncanny Stories by Richard Matheson Read Free Book Online

sheriff was testing the closed door. She shuddered as the man in the white ducks came down and stood beside her.
    “I told her it don’t open,” he said to the sheriff.
    “It’s locked on the other side. How could the man get out?”
    “Someone might have opened it on the other side,” Jean said nervously.
    The man made a sound of disgust.
    “Anyone else been around here?” the sheriff asked Jim.
    “Just Sam McComas havin’ some beer before, but he went home about—”
    “I mean in this shed.”
    “Sheriff, you know there ain’t.”
    “What about big Lou?” the sheriff asked.
    Jim was quiet a second and Jean saw his throat move.
    “He ain’t been around for months, Sheriff,” Jim said. “He went up north.”
    “Jim, you better go around and open up this door,” the sheriff said.
    “Sheriff, ain’t nothin’ but an empty shed in there.”
    “I know, Jim, I know. Just want to satisfy the lady.”
    Jean stood there feeling the looseness around her eyes again, the sick feeling of being without help. It made her dizzy, as if everything were spinning away from her. She held one fist with her other hand and all her fingers were white.
    Jim went out the screen door with a disgusted mutter and the door slapped shut behind him.
    “Lady, come here,” Jean heard the sheriff say quickly and softly. Her heart jumped as she moved into the washroom.
    “You recognize this?”
    She looked at the shred of cloth in his palm, then she gasped, “That’s the color slacks he had on!”
    “Ma’am, not so loud,” the sheriff said. “I don’t want them to think I know anything.”
    He stepped out of the washroom suddenly as he heard boots on the floor. “You goin’ somewhere, Tom?” he asked.
    “No, no, Sheriff,” said the man in the fedora. “Just comin’ down to see how you was gettin’ on.”
    “Uh-huh. Well—stick around for a while, will you, Tom?” said the sheriff.
    “Sure, Sheriff, sure,” Tom said broadly. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
     
    T hey heard a clicking sound in the washroom, and in a moment the door was pulled open. The sheriff walked past Jean and down three steps into a dimly lit shed.
    “Got a light in here?” he asked Jim.
    “Nope, ain’t got no reason to. No one ever uses it.”
    The sheriff pulled a light string, but nothing happened.
    “Don’t you believe me, Sheriff?” Jim said.
    “Sure I do, Jim,” said the sheriff. “I’m just curious.”
    Jean stood in the doorway looking down into the damp-smelling shed.
    “Kinda beat up in here,” said the sheriff, looking at a knocked-over table and chair.
    “No one’s been here for years, Sheriff,” Jim said. “Ain’t no reason to tidy it up.”
    “Years, eh?” the sheriff said half to himself as he moved around the shed. Jean watched him, her hands numb at the fingertips, shaking. Why didn’t he find out where Bob was? That shred of cloth—how did it get torn from Bob’s slacks? She gritted her teeth hard.
I mustn’t cry
, she ordered herself.
I just mustn’t cry. I know he’s all right. He’s perfectly all right
.
    The sheriff stopped and bent over to pick up a newspaper. He glanced at it casually, then folded it and hit it against one palm casually.
    “Years, eh?” he said.
    “Well, I haven’t been here in years,” Jim said hurriedly, licking his lips. “Could be that—oh, Lou or somebody been holin’ up in here sometime the last year. I don’t keep the outside door locked ya know.”
    “Thought you said Lou went up north,” the sheriff said mildly.
    “He did, he did. I say in the last year he might have—”
    “This is yesterday’s paper, Jim,” the sheriff said.
    Jim looked blank, started to say something and then closed his mouth without making a sound. Jean felt herself trembling without control now. She didn’t hear the screen door close quietly in front of the cafe or the furtive footsteps across the porch boards.
    “Well—I didn’t say Lou was the only one who might have sneaked