So I left the living room doorway to walk down the hall towards the
front door. I could still hear the soft murmur of the Angel's voice
talking to Fiona, and her muted frustrated replies, though I couldn't
tell what was being said. All my senses seemed to be alive, on fire
even, scouring every inch of that space as I approached and passed
it, looking for any available place out quarries could possibly be
hiding.
Nearing the foot of the stairs I heard some kind of kerfuffle behind
me, coming from the cellar door to be exact. I almost turned to go
back and check when the rustling noise came again, louder now and
seemingly very nearby. In front of me stood the hall table,
telephone and unopened mail sitting on top. I opened its' only
drawer warily, quickly pushing aside the random objects dumped there
for want of a better home: letter opener, a couple half used candles,
old dog lead, disused plug, tape measure.
“Don't be so daft,” I laughed at myself, “They'd never fit in
there,” when I heard the rustle again, freezing me to the spot.
Next to the table was a coat rack with a variety of outdoor garments
hanging from its' hooks. I was about to investigate further when a
“klump” at the top of the stairs grabbed my attention.
Half turning, I saw mum's feet beginning to descend the stairs, when
I heard that rustle behind me once more.
