This night advances past the evening. The dead moonlight shines in, gleaming. The tick of the clock is the present sound. The tea kettle boils on stove, steaming.
A burst of wind punches through the windows. The candle light's flame no longer shows. Gently, a sound trees sway through the night. The tea kettle screeches like a train's whistle.
As shadows crawl across the wall. midnight moonlight minimally falls. Light travels down the hallway. But it dims down and settles as dull.