Stunned, pained, overcome with directionless fury, Kolkamitza stomped and swore before regaining his composure. Peering into the grave, he immediately spotted the culprit: a band of iron was poking up from the soil. Flipping the shovel, Kolkamitza proceeded to scrape and jab around the band in the hope of jimmying it loose, but the obstruction wouldn’t budge. As he cleared away more of the earth he discovered that the band was of considerable length; some twelve to fourteen inches of it were now exposed.

It was Mystery enough to keep him engrossed. After investing far more energy than he should have on this fool’s errand, Kolkamitza had managed to unearth a square frame, roughly two-feet by two-feet. The outline stood out from the base of the pit in bas relief. He sat on the edge of the hole, his chin resting on the end of the shovel handle. He studied it. Was it a lockbox? Thoughts of funds or incriminating evidence excited him momentarily but very quickly made him realize just how empty his life had become of late. To waste an entire day in pursuit of such a childish fantasy?

Kolkamitza reassured himself by reasoning that no time spent in a state of electric confusion was ever wasted. Just the opposite in fact.

He began to scour the metal frame in search of a latch or lock. Like some mad resurrection man, he scuttled about the grave, muddy fingers crawling over his nearly-exhumed prize.

There was nothing to be found. Clay still covered the surface of the square. Kolkamitza tried to clear it away but it clung tenaciously. The face of the square felt markedly less firm than the metal frame itself. In fact, it felt almost hollow. He wanted so very much to see the object in its entirety, wanted so very much to know.

Something inside of him parted, made him two selves instead of one. This shift occurred with such subtlety that it did not fully register with Kolkamitza. He only came to know that this second, deeper self had been roused when he reached out to grab his shovel. On the conscious level Kolkamitza was going to attempt to jimmy the frame open with the shovel’s edge, but unconsciously his hand was resisting this instruction. It was instead curling into a fist and moving calmly above the muddy square.

Like an impartial witness to the workings of his own body, Kolkamitza watched as his hand knocked once, and again, and yet again.

The square gave way like a trapdoor. It fell inwards, further into the earth. Kolkamitza could hear the soft clatter as the bagged corpse of Rheims and several clumps of soil rained down into the passage. There then came the measured creaks as the forsaken door gently swayed back and forth on its long-dormant hinges.