As the rhyme goes on beyond the door, you reach for the iron handle. Movement on the floor catches your eye, and with a puff of dust the doormat strikes, sinking bristles deep.
You fall back, off balance, and seize a wiry root running out through the brick wall. For a moment it takes your full weight, then pulls away, and with a pounding of brickwork and rush of loam the tunnel collapses, carrying away the world in cold dust and damp earth.
Silence. Pressure and pain. The darkness grips tight and you realise you are buried - held down deep. You splutter in panic, spitting out clumps of soil and worms. They tumble back. Choking.
Cry out for help Blog One
Struggle against the weight Blog One
Attempt to compose yourself and take stock Blog One
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