The Iron Lattice

Night settled deep into the hallway. Near the corner skirting, an iron ventilation grate lay flush against the dark floorboards. Its face was cast in an intricate, repeating scrollwork. I lowered myself onto both knees, feeling the dense cold of the metal against the grain. Beneath the lattice, an empty duct plunged into the subterranean base of the house. A faint, dry draft drifted upward from the dark channel, carrying the faint mineral scent of old mortar. Deliberately... I placed one open palm flat against the pattern. The iron remained unyielding, holding steady over the quiet hollow below.