Night in the Downspout

Cold mist settled over the brick. Click. Low rasp. Behind the heavy steel ball bearing I jammed earlier, the dark hollow of the downspout yawned black and dry. I slipped belly-flat beneath the metal curvature, rigid heels dragging through gritty dried silt. Total enclosure. No ambient draft. Inside the metal sleeve, a curved piece of dried gray slate chipped from the foundation lay tilted along the curved wall. Obstacle assessed. Clack! Knuckle rapped the stone—flat, muted clink. I braced rigid knees against the curved zinc pipe, hooked curved hands under the slate's sharp edge, and shoved backward with full torso weight. Grunt. Blunt scrape! The slab slid flat, sealing the gap behind the steel sphere. Double wall secured. Night watch locked in.