Walter fetched a spade and a flat pry bar. They cleared roots with their hands, careful and slow. The metal square grew into a full lid, rimmed with bolts and swallowed by clay. Someone had set this here on purpose. The dog whined and licked the mud, like nudging them to hurry. He would not leave the spot.

They traced the edges and found a handle packed with silt. Walter slid the bar under and leaned. The ground sucked in air and sighed. A rush of cool earth smell rose up from the dark. It did not smell like sewer or gas. It smelled like rain on old stone.

They called non-emergency first. The dispatcher asked if it was dangerous. Walter said he did not know, but a lid in the yard should not be a surprise. She sent an officer to keep watch until morning. The dog lay down with his chin on the rim, guarding the find like treasure. The truth was stranger than anyone expected.