The Chimney Whisper

I followed a soft, whistling draft to the exposed brick chimney on the attic landing. Tucked between two rough mortar joints was a rolled scrap of faded yellow parchment, stiff with age. Using both hands, I carefully eased it free without tearing the brittle edge. When I held the hollow tube to my ear, the night draft through the chimney flues seemed to echo directly inside it, sounding like a muffled, gentle murmur. I sat quietly against the cool brick, listening closely until the whisper faded.