The space at the bottom of the stairs was wide and clean. The walls were grey stone with faint cracks. Most of the grotto was taken up by the staircase and the well, which from this vantage looked like an eight-meter-high cliff. The rest of the cavern seemed empty—except for a single dark stalagmite rising from the floor. Beyond it, in the opposite wall of the grotto, a shadowed opening yawned. Its shape seemed too precise, too symmetrical. Could it be an exit?
Excited, Noah quickened his pace—then froze in astonishment.
The single “stalagmite” in the middle of the cavern was no natural formation at all. It was an old-fashioned water pump. A thick copper pipe rose from the stone floor, one side ending in a broad spout, the other crowned with a slightly bent handle. Beneath the spout sat a stone slab, clearly intended for a bucket. Despite the gloom, Noah could clearly see how worn both the handle and the slab were, rubbed down by long use. This meant his “private” cavern had once had another owner. Perhaps several.
Since there was no abyss beside the pump, Noah decided to leave his buckets and the pole nearby. During all his time here, he hadn’t heard a single noise apart from his own echoes. He was nearly convinced there were no other living (or dead?) beings at all.
Unless, of course… they were all hiding, waiting for the moment he left his personal things unattended.
Just in case, he scanned the darkness once more, hoping to catch the glint of eyes watching from the shadows, or a camera lens.
Nothing.
Relieved, he slowly moved toward the dark opening in the wall.
Soon, he had to turn the tablet’s flashlight on again—the tunnel ahead was too dark within just a few steps. Unnaturally white light tore ragged shapes out of the stone walls and floor. Only a few paces away, something gleamed back—the surface of a heavy iron door.
No keyhole. No lock. Growing impatient, Noah grabbed the iron handle and prepared to yank. Then halted.
What if…?
Pressing his ear against the door, he strained to listen. For what, he didn’t know. If danger lay beyond, he had no real way to avoid it. The grotto offered no place to hide, no path to escape. Except into the abyss. Still, caution had never hurt anyone.
If the Administration determines you cannot continue, your existence will be terminated…
The phrase nagged at him. Clearly, there were obstacles or dangers here if the Admin had mentioned it. Which meant caution was absolutely necessary. He was dead now—there was no need to rush. Better to check things twice before taking any step.
No matter how long he listened, only dead silence reigned on the other side.
At last, impatience won. Noah tugged the handle. The iron door shrieked horribly, scraping as it shifted. The sound was so loud he clenched his teeth. And a moment later, he nearly leapt out of his skin when the echo screamed back from behind him, howling like wounded beasts.
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Well, that was it. If the spirits of the underworld had been asleep until now, they were definitely awake.
Still, Noah stood rooted in place, clutching the handle. The door had opened only a hand’s width. Beyond the gap, he saw only darkness. His imagination eagerly filled it with glowing eyes and bony hands ready to snatch him before he could react. Everything he had once seen in horror films crowded the shadows.
He didn’t want to close the door again—the screech would repeat, drawing more attention. So he froze, waiting for some kind of response. Dreading the response would come from behind. That would leave him no choice but to fling the door wide open and dive headlong into the unknown.
At last, even the weakest echoes faded into nothing. The cavern was silent once more. Noah couldn’t hear even the beat of his own heart. Perhaps because it wasn’t beating at all. Only the whisper of air in his lungs remained, uncomfortably loud.
“Wait… why do I need air at all?” he wondered.
Holding his breath, he continued to listen. Counting seconds. Waiting for any sign of danger.
By the time he reached five hundred, he still had heard nothing. Nor did he miss oxygen. Which he found both fascinating and faintly amusing. When he finally decided to stop counting, his breathing resumed automatically.
Gathering courage, he yanked the door further. This time, Noah pulled it fully open. The noise soon faded. No monsters appeared. The tablet’s light revealed a passage a meter and a half wide.
Right there, hooked onto the wall, hung an old kerosene lamp with a soot-blackened glass. Another belonging of his? Perhaps. But Noah had neither matches nor a lighter. After inspecting it carefully, he left it behind.
The tunnel stretched on into the dark. Only a few steps further, he spotted another door, this time on the right-hand wall. Another lamp hung beside it, equally blackened. Still no matches or even flint.
Weighing his options, Noah decided first to see what lay at the end of the passage. Unexplored darkness made him uneasy.
Twenty steps later, he came to a third set of doors. These were completely black, glimmering faintly under the flashlight’s glare. Touching them, Noah suddenly felt his palm go numb with terrible cold. With a gasp, he snatched it back, staring in alarm. Yet his hand looked normal. Soon, even the chill faded, like a bad dream.
Strange. Oxygen wasn’t necessary. He probably didn’t need food or water either. He wandered in thin clothes through the tunnels without the slightest discomfort. And suddenly—cold?
Then it must be a very special kind of cold.
Half a meter away from the black door, he felt nothing at all. Studying the construction suspiciously, he considered ways to open it. From its design, this door clearly had to be pulled, not pushed.
Propping the tablet against the wall, Noah stripped off his shirt and wrapped it around his hand. He inhaled deeply several times, rehearsing the action in his mind. Then, bracing himself, he grabbed the handle and yanked with all his might.
Cold stabbed into his arm like a long, sharp needle, shooting up from his hand to his elbow, reaching for his shoulder. The door did not move. Not even a creak. No hint of what material they were made of.
With a curse, Noah released the handle and jumped back, hissing through clenched teeth. If he were alive, his arm would have frozen solid and shattered by now. For the first time, he was glad to be dead. His limb remained intact. The shirt had done nothing to prevent the cold.
So this black door was a dead end. Maybe he was never meant to open it. Maybe the entire Administration lurked behind it and wanted no disturbances. If so, they could have simply hung a sign: Staff Only.
Noah stared at the door with faint hatred, imagining various scenarios. The door, of course, refused to flinch under his gaze. It remained stubborn, cold, and unyielding.
Sighing, he unwrapped the shirt from his hand and flexed his joints. His arm was perfectly fine.