The Eyes of the Dragon by Stephen King

it,” Flagg said. “Press it. Quick!”
    Ah, there was a secret here, all right, and Thomas loved secrets. Brightening, he counted up four stones from the one with the chip and pressed. He expected some neat little bit of jiggerypokery—a sliding panel, perhaps—but he was quite unprepared for what did happen.
    The stone slid in with perfect ease to a depth of about three inches. There was a click. An entire section of wall suddenly swung inward, revealing a dark vertical crack. This wasn’t a wall at all! It was a huge door! Thomas’s jaw dropped.
    Flagg slapped Thomas’s bottom.
    â€œQuick, I said, you little fool!” he cried in a low voice. There was urgency in his voice, and this wasn’t simply put on for Thomas’s benefit, as many of Flagg’s emotions were. He looked right and left to verify that the passage was still empty. “Go! Now!”
    Thomas looked at the dark crack that had been revealed and thought uneasily about bats again. But one look at Flagg’s face showed him that this would be a bad time to attempt a discussion on the subject.
    He pushed the door open wider and stepped into the darkness. Flagg followed at once. Thomas heard the low flap of the magician’s cloak as he turned and shoved the wall closed again. The darkness was utter and complete, the air still and dry. Before he could open his mouth to say anything, the blue flame at the tip of Flagg’s index finger flared alight, throwing a harsh blue-white fan of illumination.
    Thomas cringed without even thinking about it, and his hands flew up.
    Flagg laughed harshly. “No bats, Tommy. Didn’t I promise?”
    Nor were there. The ceiling was quite low, and Thomas could see for himself. No bats, and warm as toast . . . just as the magician had promised. By the light of Flagg’s magic finger-flare, he could also see they were in a secret passage which was about twenty-five feet long. Walls, floor, and ceiling were covered with ironwood boards. He couldn’t see the far end very well, but it looked perfectly blank.
    He could still hear the muffled barking of the dogs.
    â€œWhen I said be quick, I meant it,” Flagg said. He bent over Thomas, a vague, looming shadow that was, in this darkness, rather batlike itself. Thomas drew back a step, uneasily. As always, there was an unpleasant smell about the magician—a smell of secret powders and bitter herbs. “You know where the passage is now, and I’ll not be the one to tell you not to use it. But if you’re ever caught using it, you must say you discovered it by accident.”
    The shape loomed even closer, forcing Thomas back another step.
    â€œIf you say I showed it to you, Tommy, I’ll make you sorry.”
    â€œI’ll never tell,” Thomas said. His words sounded thin and shaky.
    â€œGood. Better yet if no one ever sees you using it. Spying on a King is serious business, prince or not. Now follow me. And be quiet.”
    Flagg led him to the end of the passageway. The far wall was also dressed with ironwood, but when Flagg raised the flame that burned from the tip of his finger, Thomas saw two little panels. Flagg pursed his lips and blew out the light.
    In utter blackness, he whispered: “Never open these two panels with a light burning. He might see. He’s old, but he still sees well. He might see something, even though the eyeballs are of tinted glass.”
    â€œWhat—”
    â€œ Shhhh! There isn’t much wrong with his ears, either.”
    Thomas fell quiet, his heart pounding in his chest. He felt a great excitement that he didn’t understand. Later he thought that he had been excited because he knew in some way what was going to happen.
    In the darkness he heard a faint sliding sound, and suddenly a dim ray of light—torchlight—lit the darkness. There was a second sliding sound and a second ray of light appeared. Now he could see Flagg again, very