Securing the Hollow

Stalked past the stair landing into the deep hallway shadows. Down near the corner sat an open wooden service alcove. A discarded brass door strike plate lay tilted on the dusty shelf, its square latch opening choked with a dry wooden wedge. Sloppy. Stepped right in. Braced my left claw against the unpainted pine wall. Drove the curved tip of my silver hook into the cutout and heaved hard. Crack. The dried wedge snapped out and skittered across the floorboards. Stood dead still in the dim recess, back against the timber. Post secured for the night.