Gene and I found the stairs soon enough. It was long, more than twenty steps and without a railing on either side. A smashed light bulb sat in the socket above us while the broken pieces lay covered in dust below. Gene took more pictures of the broken light as I slowly made my way down the walled stairs. I was immediately regretting wearing the shirt I had as the stale air seemed to get warmer the further down I went. I knew I had to have long sleeves to protect my bare arms should I need it, but I also had a much thinner black shirt that I had ignored for the ridiculous fact that it was faded and "not as black" as the shirt was I currently wearing. To add insult to injury, all kinds of junk pooled at the bottom of the steps. Dust, dead bugs, pigeon droppings -- how pigeons made their way in, I'll never know -- all of it resided at the bottom of the stairs in front of the bookstore door.

My bandanna was sticking to my face now as my slow, audible breaths passed through the light cloth. Another camera flash blazed a white outline around me as I turned around to look up the stairs. Gene waved again before taking another picture, blinding me for a few seconds. I gave him the finger in return as we both snickered quietly to ourselves.

Tammy caught up to us, finally content with her self-led tour around the community centre.
"You found it?" she asked.
"Yeah," I said, "now will someone come down here and give me some light so I can do this?" The door into the bookstore itself was nothing special, just a wooden door with a "Used Books" placard screwed into the front. A padlock set on a hinged latch proved to be the only true obstacle in our way.

Tammy slung her camera and met me in the stuffy stairwell, flashlight out where I needed it. I pulled my Leatherman off my belt and, with a screwdriver head out, began to take the padlock latch off from the wall side. As the first screw came loose I heard Gene shudder dramatically -- over-dramatically, perhaps -- before he glided his way down the stairs to meet with us.
"What the hell was that about?" Tammy asked him.
"I don't know," Gene said, "I just got a weird chill, didn't wanna stand alone at the top of the stairs anymore, I don't know..."
"Aww," I said as I worked on the third screw, "he got scared and jumped into the dusty craphole with us. That was sweet of you." Tammy snickered.
"Nate, don't be a dick," Gene replied. I ignored his request, instead focusing on the final screw in the latch which came out without a hitch.

Letting the four screws sit in the recesses of the now free-swinging latch, I re-holstered my Leatherman and took out a small piece of shaped card, sliding that between the doorknob and the door frame. About a minute later, the door was open. With a slow breath, I started pulling the door open. For such an old door, I was amazed at how quietly it opened, neither creak nor squeak to be heard.

Gene chose that moment to sneeze, blasting a sudden explosion of sound behind us. Though Tammy and I didn't cry out, we both took in sharp breaths and felt our heart rates rise to unnatural heights for all of two seconds.

We both punched Gene in the shoulders.
"Didn't need that, did not need that!" Tammy growled as all three of us tried to hold in the oncoming snickers.
"Don't blame me!" Gene said, "I can't exactly help the fact that it's dusty as all hell down here!" I just continued to hold in my laughter. As Tammy vainly tried to shush us, I bit down on the insides of my mouth and entered the old store.