He cringed, but put his left hand between the coats. The scratching sound returned, not from the closet, somewhere to the left in the other row. Good, now I can leave—
Something cold brushed the inside of his hand. It felt wet somehow. Derrek's eyes grew wide and he tried pulling back his hand. The right coat, a dark brown made of animal fur, came forward. As the coat moved, a different smell came loose. Leaves? And an earthy ground smell. An image shot through his mind: a dark forest, wet leaves filling the ground. The coat filled the image further, a boar rustling the leaves aside, snuffling. His heart thumped quicker.
He pulled again, but the coat followed, not letting go of him. A squeak from the closet made the image live even further. The boar turned toward him. The wet against his arm felt like a snout. It released a wet breath against his arm.
It charged with a similar squeak toward him. He let out a not-so-manly-scream and threw his full body-weight backward. Another squeak, but the resistance disappeared with an audible plink. Derrek took a few steps back, his breathing quickened.
The coat still hung halfway out of the closet, it didn't follow through with its attack. Derrek looked at it with wide eyes. What in the world was that? My imagination is running wild, now coats are charging me. He took a few more breaths and saw something on the ground between them, it glistened. It hadn't been there before.
A metal button. Derrek let out a nervous laughter and pulled in an even deeper breath. Just the button? But it felt so.. Wet. He ducked and tapped it slowly first, like touching a live wire. Just metal. He picked it up, moved it through his hand. A bit cold indeed, but not wet. Weird.
The scratching, right. Still have a teen to catch. He put down the button at the bottom of the chest, beneath the boar coat. With slight hesitation, he pushed back the coat between the other coats, making sure to only touch the sides. Nothing felt wet, though. He looked at his arm, where the button had caught behind one of the buttons of his clothes. No wet spot. His hand had grown wet from sweating through the episode, but he couldn't feel the cold wet spot any more. He shook his head and closed the closet.
As he retrieved his flashlight from one of the boxes, he checked the hatch. Still open with light from the hallway peeking through. Good. He turned toward the origin of the scratching sound. Further down the back, beyond the closet and some other boxes containing clothes, he saw a passage through the mid part to get to the other row.
The back of the attic contained some bigger items, like the mirror, which were covered with cloth and tarp, unlike the mirror. He shone his flashlight over them, but didn't get any wiser what could be beneath them. The scratching came from further, I'll leave these be. The passage seems wide enough to fit through. He moved toward it, the mirror at the other side lit up from his flashlight. To the right of the mirror were two lower items, also covered, but with white see-through-plastic. Those look like chairs, or couches. Could it have been the plastic scratching? Just some mouses.. Or rats. This is a farm. He stopped for a second passing through the passage, swallowing. Yeah, that thought only now made it through genius. Scratching sound, attic. Ding dong.
He smelled again. He remembered a time when he was little, when he had to help his grandparents clear out a shed in their garden. They'd turned over a box and found it filled with small dark excrements and wet patches. The smell that came with it was unforgettable. He didn't smell it here however, not even the tiniest whiff. It smells just like ordinary attic. How did I even get that smell of a forest? That felt so alive, so wild. Better catch this kid and get to bed fast.
He moved through the passage and stood in front of the mirror. The woodwork around the mirror was again the same style as the closet, table and chairs earlier. A dark wooden frame with subtle swirly ornaments. A more classical style like his grandparents would have. Another hell to dust off.
A cloth still hung fastened with one side from the right edge of the woodwork. Seems like it dropped off accidentally. Would have been weird if they'd keep this one open like this. Could Warren have knocked it off maybe? Not enough space beyond it, and I'd see him from here. He shone his light at the bottom, where it stood lifted from the ground. No feet, and indeed, not enough space to fit someone. He moved the tarp from the big object to the left of the mirror. Another closet, more like a dressoir, impossible to fit in. No space beyond it either.
Another scratch, really close this time, but from behind. Derrek whirled around, flashlight and rubber gun at the ready. His flashlight lit up a folded up tent which leaned against the big closet with the boar coat. Further was a fake christmas tree, with boxes of ornamentations surrounding it. No way he can fit in there. Can he? Maybe behind that tent, it does seem a bit big.
Derrek moved slowly toward the tent, fixated on it. It was angled weirdly, something seemed to be poking out from behind it. A shoe? He edged closer. Yes, I got you now.
"Warren, I see you." He said calm, calmer then he felt. He was proud of how calm he was able to say it. Proud to round up the last one.
"Crazy cop." Came a voice. Warren's. But not from behind the tent. From the front of the attic, somewhere beneath the hatch. His proudness evaporated. The shoe behind the tent didn't move. It was rather small on second inspection. Like a piece of an ornamentation.
A chuckle brushed past his right ear. He felt a cold shiver run through his entire body. Something is behind me, I can feel it. But.. But Warren is not.. Who? What? His heart thumped in his chest again. He smelled the leaves again, earthy ground and something wet. The image of the boar shot through him. No, no, no. That's impossible, keep a grip. You just looked there. Just a turn around, and you'll see, there's nothing there. Just your imagination that needs some rest. He gritted his teeth and pushed himself with all he had. He pivoted and threw his attention behind him, back toward the mirror.
He saw himself. Muddy boots; standard police outfit, a bit sweaty at the armpits; a pouch and a belt; flashlight in his left hand; gun in his right hand; dark blond hair peeking from beneath a police cap; a white face with wide green eyes. All of it was there. Derrek Kane.
Yet, there was more, which shouldn't be there. His neck, where he'd felt the cold originate from just now, showed part of something new.