Attic, part 69

“The problem,” Jenny said, “is that the room is empty. Well, almost empty anyway. It’s just got the stuff every room has.”

“Yes, there’s a bed,” Josh said, “and of course the door, and a window and a clock over there on the wall.” He went over to the window. “Strange though, you can’t see anything when you look outside. It’s all just black.”

Jenny came over and stood next to him. “Yes, like it’s always night.”

“What did you say?” Josh said.

“It’s a story my mom used to read me out of an old story book, when I was little. About a town where it was always night. I’d forgotten all about it until I saw this weird window. The book was written all in rhyme. I only remember one part clearly:

In the town of endless night, the darkness ran so deep
That even all the dogs and cats and clocks fell fast asleep
Everywhere was darkness, and every house the same
Sleeping people dreaming of a dawn that never came

“That’s so sad,” Josh said. “I’ll bet your grandmother read that same book to your mother when she was little — I think we can use that.”

“Yes,” Jenny nodded, “I think I was supposed to remember that.”

“But that still doesn’t tell us what we’re supposed to do.”

“Oh I think it does,” Jenny said, “I think we need to make the dawn happen.”

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