Cold Storage

The houses on Old Tanner Drive were some of the oldest homes in the city. It seemed they really knew how to build back then. They survived the earthquake of 1922, the blizzard of 1935, and the hurricane of 1947. While these three disasters nearly decimated the town, the five houses on Old Tanner Drive remained completely unharmed—not even a shingle was lost.

Rumor had it that Robert Sanders, better known as Bob the Snob, lived at 3 Old Tanner Drive. He was said to be one of Al Capone’s secret ties to the West Coast. Many of the bodies that were never found were rumored to have been disposed of by Bob. Nobody ever actually saw Al and Bob together, but the locals were certain the connection existed.

Although never convicted, it was commonly believed that Bob killed Timmy Toothpick, Thin-Leg Larry, and Johnny the Squirt. Locals claimed he buried the bodies in the backyard, but none were ever found. People believed the bodies of those three—maybe dozens more—were hidden somewhere inside the house. During the ’30s and ’40s, nearly sixty people disappeared without a trace, all enemies of Bob. Then Bob himself vanished.

Nobody knew what happened to him. Late in December 1953 was the last time anyone saw him. Neighbors reported seeing his black Lincoln Continental pull into the garage. Loud noises were heard in the middle of the night—metal scraping, objects being dragged. A few screams echoed through the neighborhood, believed to be Bob’s. A few loud bangs followed. Some said gunshots; others weren’t sure. Then silence. No one ever entered or left the house after that. No police investigation. No nosy neighbors. The house simply sat there.

Until now.

James Kindy moved into the house with his two sons on June 5, 2025. He bought the house sight unseen and ignored the neighbors’ warnings that it was haunted. Many people had wanted to buy it over the years, but rumors of voices in the basement always scared them away. James paid $125,000—half the asking price. He knew the house would need work. He wished Megan, his wife and the boys’ mother, was still alive to help restore it, but she had died a year and a half earlier. A new job and a new home were sure to take his mind off his loss.

It took a year to fix the house up. They turned the dark, drab structure into something bright, colorful, and welcoming. They invited the neighbors to see the renovated home, but most declined. Only a few of the children came, and only one was brave enough to go into the basement.

“What’s with that wall?” asked Allison, the girl next door. “It looks like the basement should be bigger than this.”

She was right. The basement was twelve feet smaller than the upstairs. James assumed the upper floor had been extended at some point in the home’s history. But children explore what adults ignore—so explore they did.

The wall was covered with old wallpaper. John Kindy walked over and knocked on it, listening for a hollow sound. Instead, it felt solid—like concrete. The wallpaper hid a hard, rough, porous surface. He would have left it alone, but the wall was warm. Exterior basement walls were supposed to be cold. Something was behind it. But what?

“Y’all feel this wall,” John said. “Have you ever felt a warm exterior basement wall?”

They all knocked on it.

“It’s solid,” said Thomas.

The three kept tapping and knocking. They didn’t know what they were looking for—maybe a hollow spot, a button, an indentation—but they found nothing.

That night, after Allison went home and Thomas went to bed, John got up and returned to the basement. He couldn’t stop thinking about the warm wall. If the wall wasn’t exterior, something else had to be heating it.

He began stomping on the tile floor near the wall but found nothing. He then kicked the bottom of the wall. In two spots, his foot went straight through with little effort. He pushed his foot into the first hole and felt a metal pedal. Pressing down, he heard a click. He did the same with the second hole. It clicked too, but nothing else happened.

He returned to his bedroom, unable to sleep, imagining what secret he had discovered.

That night he dreamed about old war movies where two keys had to be turned at the same time. He woke up at 3 a.m., tempted to wake his brother, but chose to wait—Allison would want to be there.

John and Thomas woke around 7 a.m. James had already made breakfast. Allison often came over to eat because her parents couldn’t cook much beyond cereal. James prepared bacon, eggs, hash browns, Belgian waffles, fresh-squeezed orange juice, and slices of watermelon—an extra plate for Allison—before heading to work.

After he left, the three kids ran downstairs. John showed them the holes he had made.

“Okay,” he said. “Stick your foot in and press down on three. One, two, three!”

The brothers pressed at the same time. Both felt the metal pedals click. A second later, a louder click came from the wall. A section of wallpaper bulged slightly, as if air were pushing it outward.

“Rip the wallpaper off,” Thomas said.

They tore it away and revealed a hidden door. They stepped through into a large room with a staircase leading down. They ran down the stairs and found another door—this one secured by a four-digit combination lock.

“Maybe it’s the house number,” Thomas said.

“Our address is 3,” John replied. “It’s a four-digit lock.”

“Maybe it’s 3333.”

John ignored him and tried random codes.

“How much did Dad pay for the house?” Thomas asked. “One hundred twenty-five thousand. Try that.”

“It’s four digits, not six.”

“Well… try 1234. Or 0000.”

“Right. They installed a secret combination door and never set it.”

“At least I’m giving ideas. You haven’t said anything.”

Allison stayed quiet, studying three paintings on the opposite wall—paintings the boys hadn’t even noticed. One showed an earthquake. One showed a snowstorm. One showed a hurricane. The first and last were painted in dull colors, but the snowstorm painting was larger, vibrant, almost glowing.

“It’s 1935,” Allison said. “Try 1935.”

“Why?”

“That’s the blizzard of 1935. It’s famous. Try it.”

John entered 1935. Three latches clicked open. The door shifted slightly. Light and the hum of machinery spilled from the edges.

“See?” Allison said. “Y’all should learn your city’s history.”

They stepped into a large, dimly lit room spanning the full length of the house. Four futuristic beds stood in a row, each covered by a glass dome. Though the room was warm, the beds were ice-cold and frosted over. Lights flashed. Machines beeped. They walked over to each bed and saw that they all had names on them. The one closest to the door read Robert S. To the left was Larry T. To the right was Johnathan B. In the back was Timothy P.

John started to wipe one of the glass domes with the sleeve of his shirt—and screamed.

“There’s a body in there!”

At this point the questions started to fly. They were coming too quickly to determine who was asking.

“Who is it?”

“Is he alive?”

“Why are there bodies in the basement?”

“What’s going on?”

“Should we call the police?”

“Will they arrest us?”

The questions continued. Until now, no one had noticed that the display on the first bed was counting down.

59, 58, 57, 56…

“I think we should get out of here,” John said.

53, 52, 51, 50…

“Hold on,” said Thomas. “I want to see.” He wiped off the dome on the other three beds.

47, 46, 45, 44…

“Something’s about to happen!”

42, 41, 40, 39…

“I know! Isn’t it cool? All of them have bodies in them.”

36, 35, 34, 33…

“I don’t want to be here when it does!”

30, 29, 28, 27…

“You’re just a wimp.”

25, 24, 23, 22…

“Guys…” Allison said softly.

She had been quiet the whole time, and she was the only one who noticed—the door had closed automatically. They were trapped inside. Whatever was going to happen, they had no choice but to watch.

21, 20, 19, 18…

The dome on one of the beds began to glow.

17, 16, 15, 14…

They ran to the door, pushing and pulling, but it wouldn’t budge.

13, 12, 11, 10…

The lights grew brighter.

9, 8, 7, 6…

Steam hissed from the edges of the dome.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1—

The dome slowly lifted. Seconds later, an arm rose, then a man stepped out. The children screamed.

“What are you doing in my house?” the man demanded.

Terrified, they struggled to speak. Thomas answered first. He was always the bold one.

“Your house? This is our house. My dad just paid $125,000 for it.”

“I bought this house in 1950. I never sold it. How did you get into this room? It’s sealed.”

“1950?” Thomas repeated.

“Yes, 1950! Why? What year is it?”

“2025.”

“No… no! What happened? I’ve been down here for seventy-five years?”

“Who are you?” John asked.

“My name is Robert Sanders,” the man said, sitting on a bench.

“Robert Sanders…” Allison whispered. “Bob the Snob!”

“I hate that name,” Robert said. “I got it in high school, and it followed me everywhere. People thought I was some kind of gangster just because I knew Al Capone. I never said we were friends. I just knew him.”

“I heard you were one of his top men,” Thomas said.

“Even after seventy-five years, that rumor still follows me.”

“You still haven’t said what you’re doing in our house,” Thomas added.

“My house! This is my lab. I’m a doctor and chemist. I was trying to find a cure for Acute Pharyngorrhagic Disorder—APD.”

“A… cute far-in-gore-hag-it disorder? Is there an ugly one?” Thomas joked.

“Acute Pharyngorrhagic Disorder,” Robert corrected. “It causes bleeding from the pharynx.”

Seeing their confusion, he simplified: “Bleeding inside the throat. Victims can drown in their own blood. It’s what killed Al Capone—not a heart attack like everyone was told. I was trying to cure him. If he’d come back to me sooner, I could have put him in one of these chambers.”

“Who do you have in those chambers?” John asked.

“I’m sorry. I can’t tell you that. Doctor-patient confidentiality prevents me.”

“Oh my God,” Allison shouted. “I know who they are.”

“Who?” John asked.

“Look at the names. Larry, Jonathan, and Timothy. It’s widely believed that Bob the Snob killed and hid the bodies of Timmy Toothpick, Thin-Leg Larry, and Johnny the Squirt in this house. Here they are.”

“They’re dead,” John said, shocked.

“No,” Robert said. “I didn’t kill anybody. I was trying to save their lives. I still am.”

Robert was still talking when James found his way into the hidden room.

“What’s going on down here? Who—”

He froze when he saw Robert’s face. He ran and hugged him. His voice cracked as he tried to hold back the emotion. Robert hugged him back, also with tears in his eyes.

“It’s you. It’s really you. I never thought I’d see you again. I can’t believe it. The stories are true. Bob the Snob… alive… in my basement.”

“Even you?” Robert groaned.

“I—sorry. Robert Sanders… alive… in my basement.”

Then, turning to his sons, James said, “Thomas, John… let me introduce you to my grandfather.”

Allison gasped. “Bob the Snob is your grandfather?”

Robert and James both shot her annoyed looks.

“Sorry,” she said quickly. “Mr. Sanders… is your grandfather.”

“Yes,” James said. “That’s why I bought this house. I never expected cryogenic chambers to be hidden inside it.”

“Did you find a cure?” Robert asked.

“Not yet. But they do have a treatment to slow the progression down. The disease is not well-known, so it’s not talked about a lot.”

“Let them have their time alone,” John said. “They’ve got a lot to talk about.”

James and Robert talked for hours. They had decades to catch up on. James helped Robert get his samples ready to give to his three patients. As they got out of the chambers, they all asked the same question:

“What year is it?”

As the children left the hidden room, they promised never to speak of what they saw—or who they saw. James made the same promise. Robert set the timers for another twenty years. He left a tablet with internet access, showed him how to use it, and said, “This will be obsolete when you wake up, but it should still give you a clue about what progress we’ve made.”

With that, he resealed the entrance and hid all evidence of its existence. The Kindy family continued their lives as if nothing had happened.

Years later, John raised his own children in the house. He told them the rumors—and the truth—about their great-great-grandfather. But he never mentioned the hidden room.

However, when John Jr. turned twelve, he noticed something unusual…

The basement wall was shorter than the wall upstairs.