The Night-Light Moth

Maya tucked her chin under her polka-dot quilt and waited for sleep to come. Her bedroom was quiet, except for one little thing.

Click-blink. Click-blink.

Across the rug, her bedside lamp was fluttering. It shone bright, dimmed down, and then blinked bright again. Every time it flickered, shadows danced across the wallpaper like kicking socks.

Maya sat up. "Are you broken, little lamp?" she whispered.

She tiptoed over the floorboards. Leaning in close to the glowing plastic shell, Maya peered at the switch. It was not broken at all. Sitting right on top of the little knob was a creature no bigger than a pumpkin seed. It had powdery white wings, two feathery antennae, and six very busy little legs.

Flutter, flutter, flutter went its wings, and each time they brushed the toggle, the lamp clicked.

"Oh," Maya said softly. "Hello there."

The tiny bug looked up. Her antennae twitched with worry. "Hello," squeaked the moth. "I'm Flicker. I'm trying very hard to hold the bright up. If my wings stop humming, what if the dark takes it all away?"

Flicker gave another shiver, and her wings went tap-tap against the switch again. Click-blink went the light.

"The dark won't take it," Maya said gently. "You're just bumping the button because your wings are shaking. Here, come sit on my sleeve. I'll show you."

Maya held out her cotton pajama cuff. Flicker fluttered once, hovered, and then settled onto the yellow fabric. Without the moth touching the toggle, the night-light stopped blinking, though Flicker still trembled.

"Look over there," Maya whispered, pointing toward the shelf by the door. "Look at the numbers."

Flicker peered across the room. On the bookshelf sat the digital alarm clock, humming quietly. It glowed in a round, warm green: seven, colon, four, two.

"The green numbers stay awake all night long," Maya explained. "They never need wings to keep them bright. They just sit and glow."

Flicker tilted her head. "Do they stay on even if I close my eyes?"

"All night," Maya promised.

Flicker let out a tiny breath, and her feathery antennae drooped just a bit, feeling better. But then she looked down at the carpet. "What about the floor? The rug is so wide."

Maya smiled and took two quiet steps toward the hallway. "Look at the bottom of the door."

Right along the floorboards ran a straight, creamy stripe of golden light from the hallway outside. It shone like a neat ribbon across the dark wood.

"Mom and Dad leave the hall light on," Maya said. "It slides right under the door to keep our toes company. You see? The room is full of friendly lights."

Flicker crawled up to Maya's thumb, her wings spreading wider. "A green light on the shelf. A golden ribbon on the rug."

"And the biggest one of all," Maya whispered, turning toward the curtains.

She parted the blue fabric just an inch. Outside in the clear, calm night, the round moon hung like a giant pearl button. Its silver glow spilled over the windowsill, painting Maya's fingers and Flicker's pale wings in cool, peaceful silver.

"Ooh," whispered Flicker. "Nobody is holding that one up at all, are they?"

"Nope," Maya answered with a sleepy smile. "It floats all by itself. It doesn't need any clicks or buttons."

Flicker fluttered up into the air, making a soft whirring sound. She did not hurry. She circled the silver windowsill, drifted past the green clock numbers, and then flew straight back to the little bedside lamp.

This time, she did not land on the switch. Flicker settled right on the smooth, warm top of the plastic dome, folding her wings flat and still against her back.

The lamp shone steady and bright, with not a single blink or click.

"Goodnight, Flicker," Maya whispered, climbing back under her quilt.

"Goodnight, Maya," came the tiny, sleepy squeak from the lamp.

Maya pulled her blanket up to her ears. The room was bathed in soft green numbers, a strip of gold by the door, and steady light beside the bed. Maya closed her eyes, Flicker tucked her antennae down, and together, they drifted off to sleep.