Sometimes, it's a needle. Often times, it's a trickle. Tonight it sounds like a ticking clock. He's not sure where it's coming from and what it's dragging with it, but its coming. It's like a pin prick, climbing up his spine, and staying at the nape of his neck.
He either figures it out beforehand or it attacks him.
And when he arrives back up the house, it strikes him.
A change in the air. Murmurs from the parlor. Something that's shifted that he can't quite pinpoint yet but his feet take him to where he needs to go before he even realizes it. His hand gripping the door frame as it swung open before he could even touch the handle. Alfred's worried gaze meeting his before he offers a reassuring smile and his own vision traces @rcliicta and @xunreinx familiar silhouettes. But they're not on the mantle.
He thinks he hears the wood crack but he's not sure.
" ...mom? "
