9/28/2015

Story Orgy Creature Feature: Mum's the Word #malexmale #storyorgy


Good morning friends and readers!
Welcome back to Monday with Story Orgy. Ready to see what happens next?




Mum's the Word
Chapter Nine
Sept 28: Once…

“What the hell?” Scrabbling quickly to his feet, Owen darted toward what now looked exactly like a grubby, flat wall.
The prospect of what… or who… lay on the other side of that wall raised goosebumps on Izzy’s arms. “No!” Izzy grabbed for his friend, but his fingers slid right over the fabric of Owen’s sweatshirt. He missed and reluctantly chased after Owen, finally snagging a belt loop and tugging impatiently. “What are you doing?” He stared incredulously at his friend. “Are you…” Insane, he finished the thought.
“There’s got to be a secret door of some kind.” Owen insisted, shaking Izzy off and reaching out to the wall. His fingers traced a line down its length, a thin nearly invisible crack that he wouldn’t have seen at all if it hadn’t just recently been illuminated so brightly. “See if you can find a latch or something.”
“With someone on the other side of it!” Izzy protested, flinging his hands in the air. “Someone who obviously doesn’t want us to know they’re here.”
Owen glanced over his shoulder, flashing Izzy a wicked, heart melting grin. “Yeah… someone who shouldn’t be here either.”
Becoming aware that he’d been bouncing in frustration at Owen’s risky behavior, Izzy stilled himself with conscious effort. “What do you mean?”
“Only three people we know of are authorized to be in this building, right? The professor who’s upstairs apparently moving furniture.” Owen held up three fingers and ticked one off.
Izzy nodded. He remembered that scare, yeah. “Okay. Yeah.” The reminder that they were alone but for a potential maniac did nothing to ease his concern.
The other two fingers waggled madly then pointed back and forth between Owen and Izzy. “Us. The Professor, you and me. That’s it.”
“All the more reason not to go chasing after some guy who isn’t supposed to be here in the first place!” Izzy declared, eyeing the secret door nervously. “That… intruder… could be anybody. A thief, a serial killer…”
“Don’t you want to know who it is? More important, don’t you want to know why there’s a secret door in the basement of the museum? What’s so awesome that it had to be hidden instead of just parked in one of these gazillion dirty, dusty, musty spider filled rooms?”
A spark of interest flared to life. It was true, what Owen was saying. There were maybe not a gazillion rooms, but there was plenty of storage for anything the university wanted to store. “But… The professor--”
“You’re right. We’d better wait until tonight. And that way, we can be sure whoever just peeked in at us is gone too.”
“Right…” Izzy agreed reluctantly, torn between the possibilities of artifacts and certain danger.
“So…” Owen looked at the floor. “Damn. I hope that wasn’t valuable.”
Izzy followed his gaze to the shards of glass and the dried hand. “Oh…”
“Mr. Nichols, Izzy.” Clattering footsteps followed the professor’s voice, and Izzy instinctively scooped up the hand and shoved it into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie.
Owen hastily scraped the broken bits of glass into a pile and stood awkwardly in front of them. Shoulder to shoulder, they stood, stiff. Beads of sweat broke out on Izzy’s brow and his palms grew damp. This was an all-new fear, different from the potential serial killer lurking on the other side of the wall. This was a fear of ramen and knock off cereal and suffering through a winter without heat just as they’d struggled to get through a summer without air conditioning. The professor may not have fired them instantly for taking the box of letters home, but destroying property was an entirely different matter.
In the dim corridor he fancied that the professor’s dark eyes were narrowed, and all knowing. Was he looking over Owen’s shoulder at the wall? Did he see some fragment of glass that escaped Owen’s foot? Was the outline of the hand visible through Izzy’s jacket?
“Izzy?” The professor approached, and for the first time since meeting the man, Izzy was chilled instead of warmed by the glint of white teeth in his wide lipped smile.
“Yes, sir?” He sidled closer to Owen, seeking warmth instinctively, like a baby penguin huddling in at his father’s feet, which given how he felt about Owen, and the things they’d done, was kind of a creepy thought to have.
“Professor?”
Izzy didn’t have to look at Owen; he could tell by the pugnacious tone of voice that his roommate’s jaw was lifted at a challenging angle.
“What are you two doing? What was that noise?” The professor stepped from the shadows by the stairwell into a pool of light provided by a single overhanging bulb a few feet ahead of them.
“Nothing. I thought it came from upstairs?”
“Did it? I didn’t see anything, and I just came from there.”
“Uh… professor, do you have any duct tape?” Izzy blurted, trying to stave off what sounded like a confrontation in the offing. Though he couldn’t imagine what the professor and Owen would be fighting about, the atmosphere in the hall had taken on the feel of a family Thanksgiving dinner, where his Aunt Rachel and Uncle Connor sniped at one another until the third bottle of wine passed before turning their venom on their family and sending first cousin Lucy then Rose running from the room in tears.
Not that he thought Owen or Micahn were going to run from the room sobbing, but the scent of blood was in the air, and that scent always made Izzy tense and nauseous.
“Duck tape?”
“Duct… uh. Never mind. It’s gray and about two inches wide?”
“There maybe be such a thing in the office supply cabinet in the office. Why?”
“We need to reseal some of these boxes.” Izzy hunched a shoulder toward the clothes on the floor.
“This is the extent of your morning’s work? A wedding gown and a morning suit?” The smile vanished and his thick brows drew together in a scowl. “You are not making as much progress as I had hoped.”
“We’re working as fast as we can.” Owen interjected. “It’s not our fault that these people saved every damn piece of paper the mailman brought.”
“Nevertheless, we must come up with something fresh. The university archaeology department relies on funding from donors, and the donors want something more.”
“We can’t invent things that aren’t here.”
“I am not asking you to. I would just like you to get through these rooms faster.”
The professor crossed his arms and Izzy had the impression he was trying to coach them, encourage them, as though there were anything he could say that would fill those endless boxes with anything other than useless paper. “Once we find at least three concepts, we can build exhibits around them.”


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