Tara sat slumped upon the floor, staring at her shoes. Just beyond her toe-tips she saw the tiles rattle. She caught the edge of a dull scratching sound beneath those tiles. Tara smiled and looked at the stone-slab door with its granite sill. She continued to wait, the thrill renewed.
The sound grew louder. At last the door sill rocked just a little. The scraping changes from the soft shuffle of shifted soil to the metallic ring of tools against stone. Minutes later, the sill wiggled out of its place, disappearing beneath the floor.
It seems to take the door a few moments to notice that nothing supported it. Then it realised and began to fall. With gathering speed it plunged through the floor, like a slice of bread dropped into a toaster.
When the dust cleared and the sounds beneath stopped, Tara peered down the neat slot.
“Took you long enough,” she called.
“I had a long way to dig!” James replied from his tunnel.
“You know, you could have just dug under the door.”
The tunnel swore profusely.