Tuned to the Draft

A low, metallic hollow chime sounded overhead in the dark. I climbed the rusted cross-braces beside the shed's outer door, claws gripping the flaking timber until I reached the upper beam. Suspended beneath the roof overhang hung three tarnished aluminum chime tubes, swaying faintly in the nocturnal breeze. I drew in a sharp breath through my teeth and froze, watching their shadows swing across the weathered cedar wall. Instead of crushing them, I reached out a single clawed digit and tapped the longest tube. A clear, ringing hum reverberated into the damp night air. I held my perched stance, letting out a satisfied, guttural rumble as the vibration died.