Romans & histoires Clicking Sound Crossword Clue

Click. My barriers fell apart, just as a hundred of the hunters arrows whizzed through the air, heading at me. Shit, wide eyes and in complete shock I managed to put up the barrier just in time as the arrows bounded off my invisible shield, seconds away from hitting me. My eyes darted back to the witch and I notice she had stepped closer towards me. She smiles a crooked grin at me and raises her eyebrows and once again her fingers click, the sound which should have been impossible to hear over the roaring and growling of the fight, sounded like it was made right beside my ear.

CLANK! His feet encased in black shoes made a loud clicking sound against the tile surface as he stomped one step below and came to the living room of the Clan House. There didn't come any other reverberating CLANK as the clicking of his shoes soon got suppressed by the long carpet that spread from the start of the living room all the way to the stairs.

I could hear him cussing behind me. But that’s when I heard another sound and stopped moving. The distinct sound of the click of a gun.

Clap, clap, clap! A sudden round of applause.

I started walking towards the elevator and as I arrived there, I stretched my finger to press the open button when a sound pierced through the silence in the room. I froze. It sounded like the clinking of glasses. Bottles. My breath hitched and my chest heaved as I turned to face it. The scene in front of me was the same one I turned my back to moments ago but now, something was different. That sound. “Did you make that sound?” I asked Rochelle who immediately responded me with a “No.” The soft sound of her voice filled my ears as I felt my emotions collide in me. If it wasn't from her, it had to be from someone.

There’s a scuffle, a sound, and then “Bang!”

The sound of designer heels clicking echoed through the dimly lit, marble-clad hallway, the sharp, rhythmic strike against the polished floor being the only thing breaking the heavy, oppressive silence of the hallway. To anyone else, the sound might have been jarring, even threatening, but to Eleanor Kingston, it was a symphony of her own making. It was the sound of a joy that couldn't be experienced with mere words or simple actions—it was the pure, intoxicating vibration of total victory.

Then, a sound that cut through the silence. It was tiny—a soft, sharp clink against the windowpane. I froze completely. I didn't move an inch. I thought it might have just been a beetle or a stray bit of gravel caught in a sudden gust of wind. Clink. There it was again. It was deliberate. Rhythmic. Someone was throwing small pebbles at the glass to get my attention.

So was I. A strange sound rose from somewhere beyond the rocks. It was low at first, like wind dragging chains through a narrow place. Then it sharpened into something that made the skin along my arms rise. Not a scream. Not a howl. A grinding, hungry sound, wet at the edges, followed by a clicking that came too fast and too many times to belong to one mouth. The hollow woke around us.