night

The Two Minutes After the Light Goes Off

There is a moment every night that I have never once managed to skip ahead of, no matter how I position myself beforehand. It happens after she puts the book down. The book goes on the little table on her side, spine cracked open to whatever page she stopped on, always face-down, which I’ve come … Read more

The Intruder on the Ceiling

It came in sometime after the lamp went off, which is exactly the kind of cowardice I would expect from something with no bones. I heard it before I saw it — that specific dry, papery tick against the lampshade, once, twice, then nothing, which is worse than the sound itself because it means the … Read more