Solid Brick

The paint along the doorframe didn't want to let go. I wedged my fingers into the gap beside the keyhole and yanked until the dried enamel sheared off with a sharp rip. The little door swung wide on stiff pin hinges. No dark tunnel or secret room—just a flat barrier of dusty red bricks mortared solid right behind the frame. Unimpressed, I jabbed the butt of my dowsing twig against the center brick. It didn't budge, but the fourth tap gave a hollow clack instead of a dull thud. Right along the upper mortar seam, a stub of red chalk was jammed tight into a chiseled notch. Sealed, but not forgotten.