Near midnight in Felt Presence, the moth found a lamp that wouldn’t go out.

“It’s very dark when I do,” it explained.

He checked the switch twice, then closed his notebook.

From beneath his weighted blanket, the ghost offered to stay beside it.

“I’m quite experienced at being difficult to see.”

The lamp dimmed a little.

The moth moved his thimble desk closer.

Eventually the shop went dark.

“Still there?” whispered the lamp.

“Yes,” said the ghost.

“Yes,” said the moth.

“Yes,” said the desk.

The moth reopened his notebook.