Creeping his way out of the room, Kolkamitza steeled himself for the figure in the chair to rise, perhaps even attack him. But the shape did not so much as flinch. Its attention was lost in the view of the land upon which Kolkamitza’s house, and the civilized world, stood. Kolkamitza’s eyes were drawn back to the large windows, where a plump grub was squirming flat against the pane, its white form flexing into a crescent-shape; a new moon rising in this buried nightscape.

Scared and speechless, Kolkamitza shuffled to the spiral staircase and made his way to what might be the main floor. The staircase bannister was smooth, as though well-worn by many hands. The foyer was colossal, gorgeous. This was a mansion. More than a mansion; a palace. He staggered about the cavernous room. How large was this place? He must be beneath one of his neighbour’s houses at this point, perhaps beneath another street altogether. He wondered just how many regal structures like this one had been reposing beneath his feet without his knowledge.

There came the glassy sound of laughter from somewhere nearby.

Kolkamitza turned and, apropos for this journey, found himself facing a door. Its face was engraved with a bewildering pattern. The smell of wood-stain was heady. He eavesdropped as best he could to the conversations that rumbled beyond the door. Then he knocked three times.

The muted chatter dissipated. For several moments there were no sounds at all.

Kolkamitza strained to listen but his ears found only silence. Until a voice rang out, one bidding him to enter.

Jutting a finger toward the door’s brass push-plate, Kolkamitza found that the most sheepish of touches was enough to push the swinging door back from the frame.

He found himself facing a dinner party, one so opulent and cliché in demeanour that Kolkamitza wondered if it was a parody.

“One of our guests lately declined their invitation,” said someone with a reedy, almost musical voice. “You may occupy their setting.”

Kolkamitza raised his hand. The finger he’d used to inadvertently open the dining hall door was still extended. One of the diners must have assumed he was pointing toward the ceiling.

“Yes, that’s the one,” said another guest. “Tucked away upstairs, the deluded creature.”

“Sit,” invited a third. “We’ll be dining soon.”

The feast hall was decorated in blue-and-black wallpaper and ivory mouldings. The floor was oiled wood that shone like a millpond beneath the various candles that guttered in their silver holders. The table was long, of a size one might see in a cafeteria, only much finer, much more lavishly set. There were china plates and silverware polished to a sparkling degree. The guests were all dressed regally. Kolkamitza wished to study them more closely but did not want to appear gauche. He opened his mouth to say something but found himself temporarily mute.