A hollow rattle

A tiny round object was hiding at the bottom of the woven reed basket. I descended quietly into the wicker hollow, letting the tall magazines shield me. Resting beneath an old catalog was a clear plastic cassette case, slightly cracked. I paused, listening to the morning hush before extending my long finger. A slow tap against the plastic made a sharp, dry clatter echo inside the weave. I froze instantly. When the silence returned, I nudged it once more into the deepest corner.