The Ticking

   He loved his chair. It was large enough to accommodate his frame, well-padded but not too puffy, and when fully reclined it placed him in an unbelievably comfortable position that allowed him to fully relax but without putting him out of range of the small table to the right where he kept the remote.

   The upper bustle of the chair, where his head fit at an angle that, while cradling his big melon like a baby still supported his neck enough to allow him to watch the television without strain.

   One fine afternoon as he was ensconced in the chair while watching a rerun of a show that was first broadcast nearly 65 years ago (Della Street was exchanging witty repartee with Paul Drake again) he suddenly heard what he described as a slight, insistent ticking.

   Except it wasn't the ticking sound one associates with a clock or a watch. It was more like the sound of a very small drummer playing a very small drum...very slowly. Like a military tattoo, but at a painstakingly slow tempo.

   He heard the ticking when his head was enveloped in the upper bustle. It stopped when he popped his head up. For a few minutes he experimented with the placement of his head on or near the bustle and he was quickly able to conclude that the ticking sound was only heard when his head was in full contact with the bustle.

   He got up and examined the entire upper half of the chair as if he was performing an autopsy. Carefully he ran his fingers over the supple leather covering, hoping to find something that could be responsible for the sound. All he felt though was the soft stuffing used to fill the bustle - noting like a watch or small clock or anything...mechanical.

   He searched under and around the chair and found nothing in the vicinity except a few old stale Cheetos and miscellaneous crumbs of indeterminate origin.

   After twenty minutes of searching, he sat back in the chair. He then sat up straight in the chair and twisted around to look at the bustle and ran his left had over it again for the umpteenth time.

   Nothing.

   Then he again sat back and fully reclined, nestling himself into the chair until he was again in his preferred comfy position.

   He sat perfectly still and listened. 

   Still nothing. The ticking sound was gone. He remained as still as he could for a few more minutes, straining to hear. 

   Not the slightest sound. He grabbed the remote off the small table and turned the television back on, thought to himself he must of just imagined the sound, and renewed his interest in watching Lt. Tragg once again being upstaged by Perry.

   Then he heard the voices. Small, tiny voices that sounded like two or three people having a whispered conversation...somewhere inside the upper bustle...