The young man pressed his ear against the old, dilapidated wooden door with the utmost caution. Careful not to make the slightest sound, he held his breath and listened to what was happening on the other side.

Two, perhaps three people were talking, exchanging remarks about something he could not quite make out. But he did not care. What mattered was that they left. As soon as possible.

He certainly had no desire to be caught there, in broad daylight, doing a "job" that should have been done the night before. A task as secret as it was dangerous. And, to say the least, gruesome.

Not for him, though.

He was willing to do anything to earn a few coins and escape that forsaken place. But if he were discovered, his dream would never come true. Above all because of what his masters would do to him as punishment.

She, in particular.

He shook his head, unwilling even to think about it.

A moment later, as he focused once more on the sounds coming from inside the building, he realized that those within were leaving.

A final word.

A half-hearted laugh.

The dull thud of another door on the opposite side slamming shut against its frame.

Then the sound of several pairs of footsteps receding across the packed earth.

That was what he had been waiting for.

He lingered for another few moments, then drew a deep breath, grasped the large, bulging canvas sack lying at his feet, and with his free hand threw open the door before him.

It swung inward with a long creak, revealing a dim chamber where the meager rays of sunlight barely filtered through a handful of narrow, grime-stained windows.

A chamber filled with the ceaseless sounds of gears and wooden and iron wheels clawing, meshing, and turning against one another in a rhythm as steady as it was unpleasant and discordant.

Without the slightest hesitation, the young man seized the heavy sack with both hands and, keeping the door open with his back, began dragging it inside.

Step by step, laboring as he walked backward, he hauled it into the room until it had cleared the doorway.

Only then did he let it drop onto the floor.

He hurried back, closed the door at once, and first made sure no one had seen him.

Satisfied, he turned once more toward the sack sprawled on the ground.

"That was a close call for both of us!" he grinned, puffing out a weary breath as he rested both hands on his hips. "But thanks to some excellent teamwork, we pulled it off!"

Brushing his thick brown hair away from his forehead, he wiped the sweat away with the back of his hand.

His gaze drifted to the moving silhouettes surrounding him.

Great dark shapes, forever in slow, ceaseless motion, yet condemned to the same limited and repetitive path, their endless cycle marked by the rhythmic groaning of wood, the sharp clacking of metal, and the deep rumble of stone grinding against stone.

He smiled again at the mere thought of what the people who had just left believed this place to be... compared to what it truly was.

The contrast was nothing short of amusing.

"I'd love to see the look on their faces if they ever learned the truth..." he muttered, turning back toward the sack as he approached it once more. "...but I rather doubt that'll ever happen."

"Come on, old friend. One last effort!"

He gave the bundle inside the canvas two light pats, as though greeting a dear companion after a long absence.

Then he grasped the end of the sack, secured with a hemp rope, and resumed dragging it across the floor, slipping into a narrow passage between the towering dark shapes around him.

A few determined tugs later, he reached a spot where many other sacks had been piled one atop another.

He released his own and turned his attention to the others, shifting them aside one by one.

Just enough to reveal a sturdy trapdoor of dark wood set into the floor, fitted with a rusted iron ring.

With another exasperated sigh, he seized the ring and pulled.

Though it groaned loudly, the trapdoor did not budge.

He tried again.

Twice.

Three times.

Still nothing.

"Damn it! Curse this decrepit—"

He broke off as new sounds reached his ears.

Not the machinery.

Someone was approaching.

Someone was about to enter through the very same door the others had used.

And under no circumstances could he be found there with that sack.

None whatsoever.

Panic seized him.

Cursing beneath his breath, he threw himself at the iron ring once more, pulling with every ounce of strength he possessed.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Harder each time.

More frantic.

More desperate.

"Come on... come on! Damn you, trapdoor! Open! Open!" he hissed through clenched teeth as the voices and footsteps drew steadily closer.

Meanwhile, the wood groaned and trembled beneath his violent tugs.

Each pull made it shudder more than the last.

Yet it refused to yield.

Then, without warning, on one final wrench, the trapdoor flew open with a sharp bang.

The young man instinctively spun toward the door behind him.

The sounds were very close now.

Fortunately, no one had appeared yet.

He still had time.

Grabbing hold of the sack's rope, he frantically dragged it behind him as he descended the steep, creaking wooden staircase plunging into the darkness beneath the trapdoor.

One step.

Another.

Another.

Struggling all the while, heedlessly allowing the sack to slam against each stair, he descended far enough to lean upward, seize the trapdoor, and pull it shut above his head.

Just in time.

The door opened scarcely a heartbeat later, and two figures stepped inside.

Frozen on the dark staircase, the young man held his breath and strained to listen.

Amid the endless clamor of gears and machinery grinding together, he thought he caught fragments of conversation, several labored sighs, and then a heavy thud.

They were probably unloading something.

More importantly...

They did not seem to have noticed him.

The footsteps that followed suggested the newcomers were already leaving.

Lowering his head and closing his eyes, he released a long sigh of relief.

But in doing so, he absentmindedly rested one hand upon the sack.

Balanced precariously on a step, it tipped backward.

Everything happened too fast.

Though he realized what was happening, he could not react in time.

Instinctively, he reached out.

His fingers found neither the rope nor any secure hold.

The sack slipped away, tumbling down the remaining steps, bouncing from one to the next with a succession of dull, echoing thuds.

An endless succession.

At least, it seemed so to him.

He could do nothing but watch in helpless horror, eyes wide, breath caught in his throat.

When the noise finally ceased, he found the courage to move again, pressing his ear toward the trapdoor to hear what was happening above.

"Didn't you hear that?" he thought he heard one man ask. "It sounded like... something hitting..."

"Hitting?" replied another voice, deeper and thick with disbelief and mockery. "Have you even looked around? Do you see where we are? Sounds like that happen here all the time."

"Y-Yes... you're right..." the first answered, though not entirely convinced, after a brief pause filled only by the relentless grinding of the machinery.

"Come on. We've got other work to do," the second voice said again, moments before footsteps faded away and the door slammed shut one last time.

Silence.

The young man finally breathed again.

He wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm and leaned against the staircase.

Somehow...

He had gotten away with it.

Turning around, he looked down toward the cause of all his anxiety.

That damned canvas sack.

Or rather...

What lay inside it.

Slowly, careful not to make a sound, he descended the remaining steps one by one until his boots touched a damp stone floor.

A faint, distant light barely illuminated the chamber.

The place was cramped and cloaked in even deeper shadow than the one he had left behind.

Yet there was enough light to notice something protruding from the sack at his feet.

The hemp rope had loosened and come undone during the fall.

Studying what emerged from beneath the canvas, the young man smiled broadly.

Not merely because he had succeeded without being caught...

But because of the macabre sight now before him.

"Welcome, old friend," he said with mocking amusement, staring at the motionless hand lying abandoned upon the stone floor, pale as wax.

"Welcome... to your final resting place."