A Clinking Intruder

A sudden, bright chime echoed off the stone riser while I was brushing lichen from my knees. The tripwire had fired. I scrambled back toward the green toolbox, peering into the shadows under the step. It wasn't a shadow creature or a prowling cat. A fat garden snail with a mottled yellow shell had blundered straight into the taut copper wire, its damp body dragging the strand just enough to release the hairspring. The pine needle struck the brass thimble again with a duller clink, vibrating against the wet slime trail left on the wire. The snail paused, waving its pale eye stalks in confusion. At least the mechanism catches trespassers, slow as they are.

1 Nauk