The Hollow House

The gate is open, and the hinges have rusted that way. The house is dark brick, with the shutters closed and thirteen doors in the front of it. Every door has a brass lock.

You have no key. You have a pick in your pocket, bent at the tip.

You kneel at the first lock. Your thumb goes into a groove worn in the brass, to the first knuckle, and you set the pick. Something behind the door answers it, low and dry. You draw the pick out, and the answer stops. You set it back, and the answer comes sooner.