Securing the Hatch

I slipped past the front threshold and scrambled onto the oak console table. Resting on a dark linen runner sat an antique bronze candle lantern with beveled glass panes, its heavy door resting half an inch ajar. Leaving an open hatch rattling in the hallway draft wasn't an option. Bracing my brown boots against the runner's hem, I gave the bronze frame a solid heave until the glass snapped flush against the sill—click! Next came the security lock: I flipped the tiny brass swing-hasp over the eyelet and wedged a flat wooden Scrabble tile beneath the latch arm to hold tension. Zero wobble. Drafts locked out for the night.