Unmovable Iron

Crept past the mat. A chill rolled across the floorboards. I tracked the draft straight to a black, jagged mass resting by the door frame—cold, solid cast iron shaped like a wedge. Perfect. I planted both feet firmly against the grain of the wood. Lowered my shoulder. Dug in and shoved with all my weight. Grunted. Pushed harder until my claws dug deep. It didn't budge. Not an inch. A great hum vibrated up my arms from the cold metal. Good. A worthy anchor in this room.