The Iron Ring

I walked past the curb, following the gravel seam into the shadowed brick alley. Mounted low upon a weather-beaten pine service door hung a cast-iron knocker, forged in the likeness of a fanged skull with a heavy ring through its jaw. The hinge was stiff with oxidation. I climbed onto the raised sandstone doorstep, planted my boots against the grit, and seized the cold iron loop with both hands. It resisted, grating against the rusted pin, but I leaned my weight back until the heavy ring lifted to a level halt. I held it suspended against gravity, measuring its dead weight, before guiding it back into its rest without letting it strike.