Tappity tap.
Tappity tap.
Tappity tap.
It was driving him mad. The sound came and went, randomly ensnaring his attention, distracting him when it contradicted the beat of the song playing on his phonograph, interrupting his thoughts when he sat at his desk, working a difficult calculation, awaking him in the middle of the night, confusing him into thinking there was someone at the door to his room. He'd lost count of the times he'd checked the pipes for leaks and the walls for signs of rodents or bugs, without finding the source of the infuriating sound.
Tappity tap.
Tappity tap.
Even when it wasn't there, it was still there. In the back of his mind, drowned out by the busy prattle of daily activity, to resurface in sudden, quiet moments and stir his fingers or his foot into senselessly keeping time with it. He often found himself measuring his strides to the invisible beat, which never changed, and by virtue of not changing, was slowly changing him.