Seeking Dirt in Hiding: Seeking Dirt in Hiding, #1

Dear reader,

This is the debut novel of a young at 2024, hobbyist writer. The idea for this plot dawned on me at a random moment, and stuck with me for a while. I felt it deserved a proper story, so I gave it exactly that. I had some of the best months of my life getting this story down on to a word document, although utterly overwhelming and baffling at times. Even after all that effort, this might not be half as good as the best book you’ve ever read. You might not even give this a spot on your top shelf. But I hope you find this to be something different from your usual cup of mystery!

For my grandfather, Rohan Ponnamperuma, who always had a paper to spare for me...

Chapter 1

‘Two scoops of creamer, half a mug of hot water and a teabag, every time. Yet no two days does it taste the same...’ Pete thought to himself, sipping through the morning tea with his eyes paused on an old boxy television that no longer worked. Getting the last few yawns out, he pulled himself up to slosh out the mug in the bathroom. He then stroked the untidy strands of hair to the side with his wet hands.

Being a janitor at a school, that was already too much caressing for looks, but he was young and single enough to care. He came out of the bathroom in a pair of bright Persian blue overalls, primed and ready for work.

He was among the earliest to start work at Wimberway High; the time being 5.45 am, most haven’t even snoozed their alarms yet. The sun barely made any shadows, but Pete flicked all the light switches off as he walked through the corridor.

Reaching the end of the first floor, he entered the storeroom and yanked out his preferred broom. He then stuffed the pockets around his hip with an assortment of hand towels and hop-skipped down the adjacent flight of stairs to the ground floor.

‘Top of the morning, boy!’ Meril looked back and hailed the moment he heard steps on scrunching stones.

Pete raised his hand and marched towards the gate, looking around to see how far the work extended.

‘Left your lips in the room, did you?’ Meril asked showing pride in his neat joke, his wobbly cheeks dancing to every word of it.

‘Haha, good one!’ Pete said and put the broom down like a pole. ‘How are you so feel-good always?’ he asked, his face a look of actual curiosity.

‘You know me well right boy? Why do you think...?’

‘...Because you are old and wise enough?’ Pete asked and forced his jaws together to brace.

‘Hahaha! Don’t ever stop coming here in the mornings Pete! I think it’s these talks with you that keep me feeling good!’

Pete rolled his eyes and began sweeping.

Meril melted into a smile. ‘It’s my day...! I like the time I spend here, how my hours go by, and my mood shows...’ he said.

Pete stopped and faced Meril. ‘I see...’ he said.

Meril leaned forward from his seat. He was quite close to matching Pete’s height even when seated. ‘Does that answer your question?’ he asked.

‘I guess... Work comes as more of a delight to those that like what they do, huh?’ Pete said.

Meril broke into a short laugh and rested back in his seat. ‘Work? A delight? Never have I felt that!’ he said.

‘What? You lost me now...’

‘I guard a gate for work. That’s no delight to me...!’

Pete kept staring at the old man, waiting to hear him out.

‘I don’t think much about the work boy. The people I see, the kids, listening to the radio during the day; those are the things I enjoy...’

‘Hmmm... I don’t have so much going on... It’s all just routine stuff for me.’

‘It is so for most, boy... We do what we got to, right?’ Meril said.

‘I guess...’ Pete said under his voice and began rowing the broom against thick dust, in a quick, familiarised manner.

Before long someone was headed towards the school. The distant blurred blob sharpened into the image of the softball coach, Mr. Liddle, taking long strides and wagging a bloated paper bag on his side.

Pete caught a glimpse at first and looked through narrowed eyes a second time. ‘Is that...? But this early?!’

Meril peered out to greet: ‘Top of the morn—’

‘Morning, morning.’ The coach said, budging through the narrow opening in the gate at pace. He was a fat figure, wide even, but none of it squishy or loose.

Pete paused to check the time. ‘Damn, not even six yet! I got close to an hour before getting to his area!’

If it was one thing he hated the most, it was to sweep an area after people has settled in. It wasn’t a great start to his Monday morning.

The frustration filled up inside him, until he rashly got it out in words: ‘Why this early today sir?’ He blurted.

‘—Pete!’ Meril rose.

Mr. Liddle stopped and turned back. ‘What’s that?’ he asked with the most terrifying expressions. His face was in a constant frown, all day, as if to avoid letting stubborn kids take him too easy.

The bag in Mr. Liddle’s hand appeared much clearer then. It was from the breakfast place, HushBuns; the logo stood out at a glance.

Before the silence drew on for long, Pete responded: ‘I’ll get to your office as soon as possible, sir...!’

The coach tsked. ‘There’s no hurry!’ he said and paced away.

Pete watched the man go, rushing impatiently with a big bag of food. He couldn’t help, but find it weird.

‘Hey, maybe his work’s become a delight! Never have I seen him come in this early!’ Meril said.

‘That’s what I thought too...’ Pete said, resuming work.

‘He doesn’t even make it before the bell usually...!’

Pete’s curiosity was poked. ‘Sure is in a hurry too...’ he said. He was nearing the end of the sweeping round. All the dried leaves and loose trash was accumulating in a corner. He then pulled out the water hose and showered all the plants, quite generously. The flower-full greenery, standing as a testament to the maintenance it receives, coloured the best impression possible of the school right at the entrance.

Next, being forced out of his routine, Pete made the walk of an agitated soldier, broom in one hand, and got to the far end of the ground floor. That was the sports area of the school.

When he got to the coach’s office, the door was open, but no one was inside. Faded puffs of body spray were all that lingered. ‘Ohh hoo, maybe I am a little lucky! Better finish sweeping up before he returns, and save him the trouble of moving around to dodge the broom...!’ Pleased by the vacant room, he moved the furniture around and got right to it.

The whole space spoke volumes of achievement and sportsmanship. Medals of rich tinted metals hung from the wall. A few plaques and trophies boasted from inside a glass box.

The sparkles from those flashy ornaments appeared more dazzling to him that morning and teased his thoughts. ‘Things that prove the value of a man... What pride he must have... And he keeps winning more, even at his age!’

About halfway through the room, he came across Mr. Liddle’s shoes. The socks were also thrown on top of them.

‘Baby-blue?! Maybe he’s soft on the inside! Have never found his socks out to be seen before...’ Impish thoughts tickled his mind as he tidied up the desk and deemed the office done in less than ten minutes.

By the door, before leaving the office, he stared at the coach’s shoes one more time. ‘He must be on a jog, trying something new. Why else would he change out of his shoes...? This is a titbit I got to tell Hilda myself, before she finds out herself...!’

He didn’t get to her for another hour however. The ground floor work he skipped to attend the coach’s office, the nursery and corridor, had to be addressed first.

The moment he was done, he ran upstairs. The first floor opens up to the canteen, with the beautifully masoned wall of the counters calling for attention the moment you step off the stairs.

But it didn’t for Pete. Not that day.

The moment he saw the canteen, his eyes were pulled down to the floor.

A small part of the floor, a few metres ahead, seemed glossier than the rest. It looked shiny, from the faint light reflecting off of it.  

He cocked his head to the side with an inquisitive frown. ‘Wait, how did I miss that? I went through here last evening...’ he wondered, taking slow steps towards it.

‘Is it vomit...?’ A shudder of disgust ran through his body. ‘Please don’t be wet and vomit!’

The next second he was standing next to it, taking a better look.

It was a stain with a glossy tint to it. It wasn’t thick at all; he could see the creamy-beige coloured tile of the floor through it. It was made up of a few wide strokes; no bigger than the size of a wide spread palm.

‘...This has been attended to. Looks like something was wiped off, not completely though. This definitely wasn’t me...’ He dragged his foot across to see if it had hardened; his shoe slipped right through.

It wasn’t dried even a bit. 

He stared at it, holding his hip in one hand, demanding an answer to its existence. Nothing plausible immediately sprung to mind. ‘...Well, I’ll be back. Need a mop to properly clean this anyway...’ With that he turned to walk away, and caught another glimpse. Something different that time.

It was a tiny drop, muddy red in colour, a few feet from the stain. It was much denser and stood off the floor.

Pete bent down to look and spotted a few more drops, each about a centimetre in diameter, fairly uniformly apart.

Chapter 2

It was a trail of drops.

He stared at it, maintaining the awkward squat he was in. ‘Now that looks like blood... Surely it is a trail left by whatever made the stain.’

He stood back up and looked around. ‘...I could see where it leads I guess? And stop it from spreading the mess...?’

He took a few steps along the trail and soon realised where it led. He saw the trash chute a few metres ahead, and the trail ending right by it.

He went over there and rested a hand on the chute’s lid. He was anxious about the next part. ‘I bet it’s a rat that received a fatal whack. The thing must have squished like a grape, making a bloody mess. Whoever killed it must have dumped it in the chute; the constant blood dripping from it must have left the trail...’ He was piecing together quite a story in his head. He wanted it to be a dead rat so badly that he thought hard of a scenario to support it.

‘...So if I’m right, nothing should jump out at me when I open this...’ And like ripping a band aid off, he threw the lid up and grasped a look inside.

The chute had just one thing to show; another stain. It was a dragged out stain, which ran a few inches down the inner wall.  

‘That’s blood too, so it has passed down... Was hoping it’d be stuck up here to see...’ He wasn’t happy with the ending. The hunt wasn’t worth the prey.

Well, could you blame a man for being curious? If so, Pete wouldn’t hear the end of it. Curiosity was a seductress that always bettered him.

He let go of the lid in frustration and it shut with a cheap metallic clank. ‘I’ll definitely find it in the dumpster downstairs... Should I continue...?’

He then remembered why he came up in the first place. ‘Maybe later, I’ve already been at this for too long!’ He had his usual routine to catch up with, starting with meeting Hilda, the school’s tea lady.

He continued through the corridor, past his quarters and to the kitchen. He was instantly greeted by the smell of brewing milk-tea; the fragrance Hilda took everywhere she went. No wonder people get a thirst for tea when she enters a room!

Hilda was hunched by the counter, the sound of cups tapping together echoing from the sink.

Pete drummed a little beat on the main table. ‘Enough cups for a tea party, aren’t there?’ he said.

Hilda turned back, making her thin circular earrings clink. ‘AH HAA! Yes, yes, you’d come too right?’ She gushed in her heightened voice.

Pete moved to the counter. ‘To a tea party? You know it!’ he said.

‘Soooo, any interesting gossips to get off your chest?’ Hilda asked.

Pete pulled a chair from the many that hugged the counter all around the kitchen. They were tall chairs with minimal back-support; good enough for brief sit-downs. ‘Well, I do have a story. Sure seemed interesting to me!’ he said.

‘Let’s hear it! Spill, spill!’

‘Mr. Liddle has started to jog in the morning!’ Pete said with raised brows. ‘He came in super early and everything today, so I’m pretty sure of it!’

‘OH HOOO, that’s a juicy one! But Pete, jogging alone might not be enough to make his pants fit better right?’ Hilda said with a winky smile.

‘HAHAHA, don’t jinx it now!’ Pete said.

She wiped the over splash around the sink and joined Pete with a tin of biscuits. Danish Butter Cookies was embossed on top, but it had all sorts of biscuits inside, none of which were Danish.

Hilda popped the tin open, took a couple biscuits to her hand and pushed the tin along the counter to Pete. ‘Finished with work downstairs?’ she asked.

‘...Let me ask you, do you ever feel like you could do better?’ Pete asked, taking a biscuit from the tin.

‘Why of course! I don’t want to be serving tea my whole life...!’

‘Ah, so it’s the same for everyone...’ Pete said. He wasn’t eating his biscuit, but rolling it from one finger to another.

‘You feel the same way too, don’t you?’ Hilda asked, biscuit crumbs falling off her lips and onto her apron.

‘I do... I’m not sure what I’d do instead though...’ Pete said, dragging out each word, focusing more on balancing the biscuit.

‘You aren’t sure...?’

‘...Feels like I’m just doing this job to afford living. Not because I enjoy doing it...’  

Hilda snatched the biscuit from Pete’s hands. ‘And that’s what’ll make your next job even better...! It can finally be the one you like!’ she said, looking straight into his eyes.

Pete crossed his hands in embarrassment. ‘You think so?’ he asked in a low tone.

‘Totally...! Besides, you’ve still got people you like here right? It isn’t so bad...’

‘Yeah, yeah, true...’

She then held the biscuit out for him. ‘Now you’ll eat this, won’t you? Its Ginger shortbread, you gobble these down in twos!’ she said.

‘Yes please... I’m sorry, just a slow day for me I guess.’

‘Cheer up Pete, every day’s different!’

‘I will... Your talk helped, thank you for that...’ Pete said and got off his seat.

‘No worries, see you around!’ Hilda said.

Brighter rays began to hit and light up the school spaces, the time was a couple minutes past seven-thirty. The creamy beige coloured walls were being lit up in hues of purple, from the purple on the pillars and borders. Those were the Wimberway colours, purple and beige, and it was apparent everywhere you looked.

To initiate work on the first floor, Pete headed back towards the canteen. He gazed at the faint reflection of himself on the glass partitions of the office as he walked past it. In the principal’s office, he saw a food bag on the desk. The assistant’s desk didn’t have one though. Maybe she has put it aside.

‘Or maybe she didn’t get her food today...! The coach, with the food bag! Maybe it was the staff’s breakfast!’ A possibility was unreeling in his thoughts.

‘He must have picked the food since he was so early today... He probably distributed the food too, and missed the assistant’s one...! Bet Layn is happy being spared the walk to HushBuns; a big part of his morning duties taken care of!’ He shared a smile with his reflection and continued on to the canteen.

And then it came back to him. ‘Oh shoot, the mop! I need a mop first!’ He wasn’t ready for the canteen.  

As a practice of practicality and hygiene, wet items like mops, squeegees and sponges were kept by the dumpster in the ground floor. The foul, mouldy smell of slow drying mops has always been a big cause for complaints, so they rest by the trash when not in use.

To get equipped for the task, Pete went downstairs, past the coach’s room and the locker room to get to the back. He kept tagging the floor, picking up bits of trash along the back path, which didn’t get cleaned too often. Only the janitors and the guard used that path, only they needed to, so why bother?

By the time he reached the dumpster his hands were carrying an assortment of trash; milk packets, soggy paper planes and stuff. His head was barely over the edge of the dumpster; the huge metal container was easily the size of a compact car. He boosted for some height and tossed in all he was carrying, and that’s when it caught his eye.

The muddy red colour. Again.

His pupils dilated. He took a breath in and didn’t let go. ‘Wait a second, the source of the blood...?’

He boosted on his toes for a better look. ‘It’s some sort of towel... Soaked in blood...’

As his eyes got settled on the towel, he realised it wasn’t just any towel. It was a janitor’s hand towel.

‘That’s strange, could Darel have done this? Unless there’s a third janitor I’ve never met, it has to be him...’

He fished for a stick in the dumpster to prong the bloody towel with. ‘The dead thing must be rolled in there...! I kinda want to know for sure now...’

He finally found a piece of conduit pipe, and used it to stir the towel in all sorts of ways. But there was nothing more to it. It was just the towel, wet with blood.

‘Come on!’ He stabbed the pipe into the trash in defeat. It sunk in like a vengeful sword. ‘Enough already! Where’s the bloody rat...?’

He started hastily digging around the shallow trash, trying to catch a win. And then it hit him. ‘Wait! Maybe it’s stuck in the trash chute?’ And he looked up at once.

Chapter 3

On the end of the chute, he spotted a smudge of blood.

‘Hmmm... Brushed off from the towel as it dropped...?’ He got a little hope back.

Before he could fully make up his mind to leave, he stretched over and looked up inside the chute.

He gasped at what he saw, almost losing balance and falling into the dumpster.

‘What is that?!’

He peered again and managed a longer look. He saw a balled-up figure hidden in the darkness. It resembled a large animal, at least the size of what had once