That evening in Felt Presence, the moth’s notebook would not stay closed.

Every time he turned away, it opened to the lamp report.

“Perhaps it isn’t finished,” said the ghost.

“I wrote ‘very good’ twice.”

The ghost considered this, then fetched a little square of quilt left over from a repair.

They draped it across the notebook.

The pages settled.

The moth slid a folded receipt beneath the spine for a pillow and lowered the lamp.

A corner of paper emerged from under the quilt.

It read: One more observation.

“Tomorrow,” whispered the moth.