The Bronze Ridge

Night brought a persistent hum through the baseboard. I tracked it along the floor molding to a heavy iron disc supporting the corner lamp. A braided power cord snaked across the hardwood. I did not step over it. I stepped squarely down onto the thick cord with both talons. It yielded slightly under my weight, dense and rubbery. Through my feet came the dull, sixty-cycle buzz of electricity feeding the bulb above. A heavy, solid metal screw projected from the disc's rim. I lowered my snout, tapped the cold bolt once, and braced against the base. Territory claimed. The current hummed steadily in the dark.