Not a dollhouse story

Sometimes I write little stories. As a matter of fact, there are 3 dollhouse stories on this blog.
I wrote this very short story years ago and just found it again. I still like it, maybe some of you will too.

I knew he was up to no good from the very beginning. Those eyes, shifting this way and that, the way he ran his tongue over his lower lip, yeah, I knew there would be trouble and trouble was his middle name.
I watched him as he slunk along the wall, peering around the corner towards the lighted room beyond. He’d make quick darting looks backward, as if he suspected that someone was watching. I thought that letting him make his move would be the wisest choice. I wasn’t about to let myself get into some disastrous situation without just cause. I had gotten into trouble about the Rowntree incident and wasn’t going to let myself get dragged down again.
I let him get further ahead of me. I could hear the scrape of a chair as he brushed past it. I knew just where he was now. I knew that room like the back of my hand, every inch of it.
He was getting closer to the cabinet now. Did he think I was that dumb? Stuff like this you don’t hide in some two bit wall cabinet. I heard the door shut softly as he heaved a disgruntled breath. I could see his shadow pass the wall in front of me, he was heading for the closet now. The hinges squeaked and I heard a soft gasp. I almost chuckled at that. I knew that leaving those hinges unoiled was a good idea. He started rummaging through the closet, I could hear boxes being moved and the rustle of papers. It was time to make my move.
Holding my breath I crept forward, not making a sound, though I felt for sure my pounding heart should surely give me away. I got to the doorway and peered around it. He was still leaning into the closet, totally absorbed in his search. I could see the tail end of his shirt out past the closet door. Suddenly I heard a whispered, “Yes!”. He had it, and I had him. That whisper and the crisp rattle of that distinctive paper was all I needed.
“I’ve got you, you little weasel! What did I tell you about candy before dinner?”
“Aw gee, Mom!!! I never get away with anything around here!”
“As it should be, son.”