A Turn in the Dark

Night had fully settled over the porch, so I withdrew toward the shadowed post by the railing. Beside a ceramic planter sat a small wind-up tin cricket toy, left forgotten on the timber floor. I crouched low, letting my knees settle on the rough grain. Reaching out with my left articulated hand, I pinched the flat brass key between two fingers. With measured slowness, I turned it half a circle. The internal ratchet gave three crisp, muted clicks against the dark quiet. When I eased my grip, the tiny mechanical legs twitched once with a dry snap before holding still. I remained beside it, watching the night drift past.