Small Acts
The Light That Went Out

She's Not Sleeping

August 25, 2026 · Part 5 of 10 · 2 min

Give a bored old man a mystery and he'll find a reason to be outside every hour God sends. I was "weeding" the strip of grass between my yard and the sidewalk — badly, and for the fourth time that week — when the girl came out alone to drag the recycling bin to the curb.

She was smaller up close. Seven, maybe eight, swimming in a sweatshirt two sizes too big, sleeves rolled in thick cuffs. She didn't look at me at first, just wrestled the bin like it outweighed her, which it nearly did.

"Need a hand?" I asked, keeping my voice low the way you would for a spooked animal.

She froze. Looked at the house. Looked at me.

"I'm not supposed to talk to you," she said, very quiet, very fast.

"That's alright. I'm not much for talking either." I nodded at the bin. "Wheel's stuck. Just needs a kick."

She almost smiled. Almost.

"Is your grandma home?" I asked, easy as I could make it. "Haven't seen Miss Louise in a while."

Something shut behind her eyes, quick as a blind coming down. "Grandma's sleeping."

"This time of day?"

"She sleeps a lot now." A recitation. Words handed to her, not her own. "Daddy says not to bother her."

"That so."

"He says she's resting." Her chin trembled, just barely. "He says it's not lying if it's almost true."

I went still. "Pearl — that your name?"

She looked startled I knew it, though I didn't, not really, I'd only guessed from the mail Delphine mentioned once. She nodded anyway, small and quick.

"Pearl, if something's wrong in that house, you can tell me. I'll help. I promise you that."

For one second she looked like she might. Her mouth opened.

Then the front door banged open behind her and Corwin's voice cracked across the yard like a whip — "Pearl! Inside. Now." — and she was gone before I'd finished my sentence, bin abandoned crooked on the curb, and the last thing I saw was her looking back at me once, mouthing three words I couldn't quite catch.

But I think — I think — they were "she's not sleeping."

Continue the story Part 6: What I Saw at Midnight →

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