The Firefly Hours (A Silas Sharp Metaphysical Mystery): Chapter 3

 

Fireflies
by Carolee Clark

Chapter 3 – Children's Rules

By Wednesday afternoon, I'd interviewed exactly three adults. Each of them had a different theory.

“It’s that damned social media,” said one disgruntled dad who probably spends all day doomscrolling.

One mom blamed stress.

“These kids don’t get downtime like they used to. Everything is so structured and micro-managed right down to the minute.” Then, she shook head sadly. I wanted to ask her whose fault that was but figured she wouldn’t catch my drift.

Another mom blamed "whatever they're putting in energy drinks these days."

None of them had actually seen anything. Children, on the other hand, had seen plenty. They just couldn't understand why I kept asking about it.

Summer vacation has a way of making weekdays feel irrelevant. Time moves differently for kids on summer vacation. It is not longer linear but perpetual, an endless loop of possibilities and adventures.

Kids drifted between bicycles, basketballs, and playground equipment with no particular urgency. Somewhere an ice cream truck played a tune that had probably been cheerful once but now sounded vaguely threatening after thirty years of repetition.

I found Lily sitting cross-legged beneath the shade of a young oak tree with half a dozen other neighborhood kids. When I walked over, she looked up.

"Did you figure it out, detective?”

"I'm hoping you can help," I said. 

"I already did."

"Is there a version with more details?"

She sighed dramatically.

"Grown-ups always want details."

Yeah, Lily was sharp.

Within a few minutes I'd accumulated yet another audience. Children are naturally suspicious of adults (with good reason). Unless another child has already decided you're interesting. Then they'll happily conduct the interview themselves.

"So..." said a boy wearing a St. Louis Cardinals cap two sizes too large. "Have you ever seen the fireflies?"

"I know about them. Seen pictures," I said.

“He didn’t grow up around fireflies,” Lily said. “But that’s another story for another time or something.”

The children exchanged amused looks.

I took out my notebook. "What happens after they come out?"

"Stuff." A girl with purple shoelaces shrugged.

"What kind of stuff?"

"You know..." She looked around for help. "...the usual."

The other kids nodded as though that clarified everything. I tried a different approach.

"Suppose someone had never been here before."

"Like you?" the girl asked me

"Yes. Like me. What would they need to know?"

This time they actually thought about it. Or, maybe they were shutting down on me as if I had asked them about fight club and they were not about to break the first rule of fight club. Finally, Lily spoke.

"Don't follow the laughing."

I waited for the next part that would illuminate that enigmatic and creepy statement. Nothing.

"Why?" I asked, halfway dreading the answer.

She shrugged.

"Because then you don't know where you are anymore.” Lily offered the explanation with the casual certainty of a roller coaster attendant rattling off safety precautions for the hundredth time in a day.

"And don't answer people twice,” chimed in the boy in the Cardinals cap.

"People?"

He nodded. "If somebody calls your name. Answer once."

"Then what?" I asked, my stomach knotting as the conversation deepened.

"If they call again..." He looked at me as though I should already know. "...don't."

"Why?"

"'Cause if they ask twice,” Lily said. “It probably isn't for you."

I didn’t understand that but I wrote it down because I suspected understanding would come later.

"What else?" I asked the group, who was now all too eager to lay out the ground rules.

A little girl—perhaps seven—held out both hands and began opening and closing her fingers.

"Watch the blinking,” she said.

"The blinking?"

"The fireflies. Watch their blinking.”

“Okay,” I said. “Um, because the blinking is pretty and nice to look at?”

“No," she said, leaning in with a whisper and pointing toward the tree line. “Because when they stop it's time to go home."

"What happens if you don't?"

The children all became unexpectedly quiet. They didn’t act frightened so much as they seemed respectful. Their quiet reverence did nothing to soothe my apprehension. Something truly unsettling was happening in this park with these fireflies because that’s how it is in these neighborhoods. All façade and appearance working too hard to mask the metaphysical anomalies. Finally Lily answered.

"When the fireflies stop blinking, the dark comes after."

I frowned, flipping to a clean page in my notebook.

"Who told you all this?"

The children looked genuinely puzzled.

"No one," Lily said.

"You just...know?"

"Everybody knows."

"Did your parents tell you?"

Collective laughter. They weren’t mocking me. Simply amused.

"Grown-ups don't know anything," someone said, which, frankly, pissed me off. I wanted to explain to these kids that I know things they couldn’t possibly comprehend. But no one likes it when a person says something like that. Especially kids.

A bicycle bell rang somewhere behind us. Several children looked toward the street. One by one they began standing.

"What is it?" I asked. “What’s going on?”

Lily glanced upward.

"The sun's getting lower,” she said, pointing to where the sun was barely peeking out from the tree line, spraying the sky with brilliant purples and reds.

"It isn't even dinner time," I said.

"I know." Lily dusted grass from her shorts. "We just like to be ready."

"For what?"

"The fireflies."

As the other children scattered, Lily lingered. She looked at the notebook in my hand.

"You wrote everything down?"

"I tried. Need to remember all this cool stuff you told me.”

"It won't help,” she said.

"No?"

She offered a sympathetic smile.

"It's different when you're little."

"What is?"

"The Firefly Hours." She started toward her bicycle before turning back one last time. "Oh, and you should know..."

I waited for the next part with curiosity and wariness. Lily smiled with genuine kindness.

"You're too old to see most of it."

*****

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