Whispers in the Glass

Tick... tick... a soft rhythm called from the dim corner. I stepped once... then paused. My hand reached out... steadying against the cool, dark wood of the bookcase upright. On the lowest shelf, a round brass clock was humming softly to itself. I leaned in close. The slender black needle jumped... tick... then held still. Slow... so slow... I pressed my fingers to the smooth curved glass. A tiny, steady vibration hummed against my palm. I slid down onto the carpet beside it, letting the ticking fill the quiet room.