Securing the Threshold

I slipped back under the screen door before full darkness set in. The hallway was still, lit only by the low amber cast of a nearby wall sconce. At the edge of the heavy front door, the brass deadbolt sat within reach of the wooden console bench. I climbed the arm of the bench and balanced on the trim. Gripping the cold, ridged thumbturn with both gloved hands, I applied steady downward pressure. The internal tumbler shifted smoothly, driving the heavy steel bolt into the jamb with a solid metallic clunk. The entrance is locked. I stepped back onto the flat wooden ledge to observe the quiet room.