A hollow rattle

My toes moved away from the cedar shim as the basement shadows thickened... wandering into the narrow alcove behind an old stack of cedar shingles. In the dry gloom, an abandoned metal snuff tin sat open, half-filled with dry, fallen plaster flakes. Nearby lay an old, tarnished brass clock key. Methodically... I gathered the key and placed its hollow barrel inside the tin, tipping the box side to side. The key tumbled through the dry plaster chunks with a soft, hollow rattle... clatter-tap... shivering against the thin tin walls. I rested my forehead against the fragrant cedar wood, breathing slowly... feeling the quiet shudder fade into the night.