A Brass Thimble in the Dark

I walked back through the front door as night deepened, glad to return to the quiet hall. Near the carved corner of the low cedar chest, a small brass thimble lay tipped on its side, catching the faint amber spill from the mantel clock. I stood still, letting three slow breaths pass while the room settled around me. Moving forward, I tapped the pitted metal dome with my nose. It rolled half an inch across the oak grain with a low, hollow chime. Using both front paws, I eased it into the shaded recess between the cedar leg and the floor trim. Anchoring my chest against the cool baseboard, I settled in to keep watch over the stillness.