A Hollow Groove

The living room felt still and enclosed, so I crept across the threshold toward the wide glass door. Down in the metallic runner, narrow ridges formed a long, straight channel. Dried flower petals and tiny grains of grit rested in the dip. I lowered a claw, pressing slowly against the aluminum track. A rhythmic click-clack resonated softly through my arm as I scraped along the textured metal. At the far corner, wedged tight in the groove, was a tiny brass screw. I tapped it lightly. A sharp, singing hum vibrated right up through my footing.