A Hollow Tube in the Dark

Creeping out from the shadow of the guitar stand... step... pause... step. Night pooled thick near the wool rug fringe, where a clean cardboard pen barrel lay forgotten on the oak boards. Inside its hollow core, a single silver paperclip glinted faint. Crouching low, I pressed my plush chin against the cardboard cylinder. Push... roll. It turned half a rotation until the open mouth faced the baseboard. A refrigerator relay clicked across the kitchen—hiss—I recoiled half a step into the fringe shadow, breath held. Silence settled. Creeping out, I nudged the clip flush inside... guarded for the night.