Photograph. October 19, 08:35 A.M. The warren:
A cave dug into the side of a grassy hill. A slice of darkness, partially hidden beneath a pricker bush.
At the top of the frame, autumn-red trees reach up from the far side of the hill, touching a clear blue sky. The top of a clock tower is visible above the highest branches; the clock is out of focus, the time illegible. There are two human-shaped shadows cast against the side of the hill, one on each side of the dark opening. The photographer’s shadow is on the left—arms steepled up into a pyramid—and a thin, armless apparition lurks to the right.
The grass at the mouth of the opening is trampled into mud. Countless paw prints have warped the turf into textured stucco.
There is nothing visible inside the cave. It is an entrance into pure, depthless black.