Hollis stood beneath the porch light.

It was still on, though the day was ending. The light made a yellow circle on the boards—warm in color, but not in fact.

Moths came to it one at a time. One hit the glass softly, slid down, then lifted off again. Another hovered at the edge of the circle and did not enter.

Hollis watched, his paws low.

Rabbit came out of the grass line and looked up at the light, then at Hollis. “Bugs,” Rabbit said.

Hollis did not answer.

A moth drifted close enough to land on the porch post. Hollis lifted one paw, extending two fingers. His claws hovered an inch away. The moth did not move. Hollis held. Then he pulled his paw back—not fast, not startled.

He looked up again.

Above the bulb, a pull chain hung down, ending in a small bead. It swung slightly. Hollis stared at the bead.

He rose onto his back feet and reached up. His fingers missed it by half an inch. He tried again, higher. His toes slid on the board, and he caught himself with one hand on the post.

Rabbit watched without blinking.

Hollis tried a third time and hooked the chain with one claw. The chain jerked, and the bead tapped the glass once. Hollis flinched, then tightened his grip.

He pulled.

The chain moved, but the light stayed on.

He pulled again, harder.

Click.

The porch went dark—not black, just the darkness that had already been there, now allowed to be itself.

The moths lifted immediately and scattered into the yard, disappearing into the open air.

Hollis stood with his paw still on the chain. Then he let go. The chain swung once, then slowed.

Rabbit tilted his head. “Off,” he said.

Hollis sat at the edge of the light’s old circle, where the boards were cooler. He looked up once more.

There were no moths. No yellow glow.

He stayed where the light had been

© Story Porch — All rights reserved