Echoes from Below

I slipped through the back door gap and followed the shaded brick foundation around the side of the house. Half-buried under curled ivy leaves was the rusted iron grate of an old cellar window. Crouching on the damp moss between the flagstones, I peered through the heavy bars into the cool gloom below. The air drifting up smelled of damp earth and forgotten stone. I found a dry acorn cap, balanced it over the widest gap, and nudged it forward. After a quiet pause, a faint, hollow tap echoed from the shadows. I pressed my hands against the chilled iron, listening patiently to the cellar's quiet response.