Don’t Go Near the Basement
By Chuck Semenuk
School had finished for the summer. It had been two weeks and Ken Donovan still hadn’t landed a job. The summer was going to suck big time without having a few bucks to spend. Ken would be seventeen years old in a few months. There didn’t seem to be many job opportunities for teenagers this year. As Ken walked back to the garage to get the lawnmower, his buddy Rick Parker pulled into the driveway with his ‘51 Ford. It was a beauty; bull nosed, fender skirts, whitewall tires and ’54 Oldsmobile Starfire wheel covers. The candy apple red paint job sparkled in the sun and the dual exhausts with glass-pack mufflers produced a beautiful rumble as it came to a stop next to him.
“Hey Ken! Did you find a job yet?”
Ken walked over to the car. “No. It looks like a lost cause. Nobody’s hiring this year. Have you had any luck?”
“My aunt works in the office at the old Harris-Jones Paint Company over on the east side. She said that they need a couple of guys for the labor gang. The jobs are ours if we want them,” said Rick.
“Really? I don’t know. That place has a bit of a reputation” exclaimed Ken. “It might be a coincidence but if you remember the newspaper article last year, there have been three kids that turned up missing over the last five years. They all had summer jobs at the paint factory.”
“The cops were never able to make a connection between the paint factory and those guys turning up missing” argued Rick. “They punched out at the end of the day but never got home. You can wimp out if you want to but I need a job.”
“I didn’t say that I wouldn’t take the job. It’s just a little spooky, that’s all. What do we have to do to get the jobs?”
Rick got out of the car. “Let me use your phone to call my aunt and tell her we’re taking the jobs. Then we can run down town and get our work permits.”
