The Firefly Hours (A Silas Sharp Metaphysical Mystery): Chapter 17

 

Firefly Night 
by Stephanie Analah

Chapter 17 – The Rule Nobody Explains

The oldest rules are usually the ones nobody can explain. Don't whistle in a theater. Throw spilled salt over your shoulder. Never open an umbrella indoors. And don’t get me started on the “unwritten rules” of baseball. Ask people why they follow those rules and they’ll tell they that’s just how it is. Ask them how many still follow them anyway and you'll understand something important about being human.

By Friday afternoon I'd interviewed children, parents, retirees, and one psychologist who kept jars of summer smells on her bookshelf.Every one of them knew the same rule.

Never stay until full dark.

Not one of them could tell me why.

I found Arthur McCreary sitting beneath the same old maple tree outside his house. He was repairing a fishing reel with the kind of patience usually reserved for watches and marriages.

"I've got another question,” I told him before even sitting down.

"I assumed you would."

"You told me the Hour isn't dangerous."

"It isn't."

"But staying is."

He nodded.

"So what happens if someone stays?" I asked.

Arthur stopped winding the reel. "I don't know. I’ve never stayed.”

"You've lived here longer than anyone."

"I have."

"You watched Danny disappear," I said, trying to show my frustration. This case had become confounding and a burden that weighed too heavy to carry. It was like trying to carry every single grocery bag in from the car. Probably going to break some eggs but I’m going to do it anyway.

"I did," he said, still focused on the fishing reel.

"You've spent forty years thinking about it."

"I have."

"So what happens after dark?"

Arthur slowly shook his head. "Nobody's ever come back and explained it."

That answer bothered me all afternoon because, while informative, it lacked certainty.

That evening Dr. Calico Verde joined me near the park.She noticed my mood almost immediately.

"This case is tough on you, isn’t it?” she said.

“Something tells me if I keep pushing, I’m going to face something I don’t want to.”

“Sounds like you need a therapist.” Her smile calmed me.

"I thought you were my therapist,”

“Is that what this is?” she asked.

I looked at her for a long while trying to decide if should kiss or crawl back into myself where it’s safer. The silence got to her finally.

"So what's bothering you?" she asked.

"Everyone knows the rule,” I said. “Never stay until full dark. But no one can tell me the reason. They say they don’t know. Why shouldn’t someone stay?”

"There.” Calico looked toward the children gathering beneath the trees. "That may be the reason.”

"I'm afraid you'll have to explain."

"Most folklore doesn't begin as stories." She folded her arms. "It begins as survival."

She continued watching the children, observing them like the scientist she is.

"The rule survives because it works,” she said.

"Like not eating unfamiliar mushrooms.” I started making sense of what she was saying. “Or sticking your finger in a light socket.”

"Exactly."

"But do people really do those things. Who the hell tried it the first time?”

"Someone did at some point,” she said. “That’s how it starts. You know those warning labels on irons that tell us not to iron our clothes while wearing them?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, those exist because someone tried it. At least one person tried it.”

“Yeah, but there is some tangible result. Someone got burned. Someone got electrocuted.” I looked toward Arthur's porch. “Laurel Lane has been following a rule for decades without understanding it."

She nodded. "I find that oddly reassuring."

"You do?"

"It suggests they aren't inventing this."

The first fireflies emerged. Tommy, Lily, Emma, and the others drifted toward the tree line. I noticed something I'd somehow overlooked until now. Every child carried a cheap digital watch. For whatever reason, that night, the children cared what time it was. They all did.

Lily looked down at hers. Then toward the western sky.

"We've got a little while,” she said to Tommy, who nodded. "We're okay."

Emma counted the rhythm of the fireflies beneath her breath, their blinking. Like she was keeping tempo with their music. I crouched beside them.

"How do you know when it's time?" I asked.

Tommy shrugged. "You can tell."

"How?"

"The light changes."

"That's not very scientific,” I said, glancing at Calico.

Lily smiled. "It isn't supposed to be."

"When did you learn that rule?" Calico asked, kneeling next to Emma.

"I don't remember." Emma frowned thoughtfully.

"Who told you?"

"I don't know."

“I always knew,” Tommy answered without looking up.

"So did I," Lily said.

The others agreed. They shared no stories or experiences or even a schoolyard legend. It was simply the sort of common knowledge children sometimes possess before adults convince them to explain themselves.

Arthur slowly walked across the grass until he joined us. He looked from one child to another before asking the question that had gnawed at me.

"Has anyone ever stayed?"

Silence. Tommy looked at Lily. Lily looked at Emma. Finally the smallest child in the group—a boy I'd only met once before—raised his hand.

"My grandpa says somebody did."

"He was right," Arthur said, patting the boy’s head.

The children grew unusually quiet, respectful. As though the conversation had entered sacred territory. The fireflies blinked, their rhythm slowing.

Lily stood. "We should go."

"So soon?" I asked.

"It's almost time." She looked at me like I had proven that there are indeed dumb questions.

"Almost dark?"

"No." She pointed toward the horizon.

"Almost..." She searched for words. "...the other dark."

Arthur closed his eyes. Calico looked at me. Neither of us asked what she meant. Some answers announce themselves before language catches up.

The children began walking home as if they were simply following a rule older than any of them. I watched them disappear one by one into ordinary suburban evenings. Then I noticed someone was missing. One little boy still stood beneath the trees. He couldn't have been older than seven. He watched the last of the fireflies drift deeper into the woods. Without turning around, he spoke in a small, curious voice.

"So, what happens if you do?"

None of us had an answer. We simply stared at the boy in lost silence. Because for the first time since arriving on Laurel Lane, I realized something. The rule had survived but the explanation hadn't. And somewhere inside the Firefly Hours, there had once been someone who learned the answer.

They simply never came back to tell anyone else.

*****

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