Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Is there a lonelier sound?

At the bottom, I find myself standing in what feels to be a completely empty room, a never-ending stretch of smooth concrete under my feet, and an almost silky darkness that drips down the steps and fills the space like liquid rising. I close my eyes. I do not like the feel of the place. Across the way, the dim light glares off a thin sheet of standing water, completely still.

I hear a distant whistling.

“Pearl?” I call out.

The whistling stops.

“Pearl? Honey? Please talk to me. It’s dark. I can’t see anything.”

“Grampy?” Your tiny voice scuttles along the edges of the walls and under the steps and flits along the ceiling.

“Pearl.” I’m not sure what else to say.

“I’m sorry, Grampy.”

“Honey, you’re not in trouble. Come out. Please?”

“Maybe you should come in here. I’m under these boards.”

My eyes adjust, and in the dim light, I can see a pile of wooden pallets that has partially fallen over, and a small crawl space in among them.

“Pearl.” I sigh and get as low as I can. I inch my way back into that narrow opening, feeling the grit under my hands and knees, and you are there, in the darkness.

A light appears like a single eye, first skimming the floor, then lifting of its own accord and bouncing lightly through the void.

“Do you keep that flashlight in your backpack?”

“Isn’t this place kind of like the old cave where the giants live?”

“I’m afraid it’s too small for giants,” I reply, trying to find a comfortable position.

“You only think that because you’re one of the giants,” you say.

“Oh, is that right?” I smirk, but you remain serious.

“This is the cave of the giants, the ones that eat little boys and little girls.”

“Are you a giant, or are you a little girl about to be eaten?”

“A little girl, of course!” you protest.

“If I eat you, can we leave?”

“Grampy!”

“Okay. I’m sorry. Go ahead.”

“There are many of us little children trapped here in the mean, ugly giant’s nasty cave, but only I have found the important map.”

“A map of where?” I ask.

You start to talk but clamp your mouth shut.

“You can tell me, Pearl. I’m not really a giant.”

“I know, Grampy,” you say, your voice quiet and unsure of itself. “It’s a map of Nysa, where you grew up.”

Again, a soft chill puts goose bumps on my arms.

You stand as well as you can inside the tiny space and move to the opening. “C’mon, Grampy. Let’s go.”

You don’t want to talk about the map. That’s fine, because I don’t either. I follow you out between the boards, out into the building’s basement, which now seems much less dark than it did before, especially after being under the pallets.

“I’m sorry, Grampy,” you say.

“C’mon. You’re right. Let’s get out of here.”