Mr. Smith’s Shed
Light and sound in the dead of night
The golden light shimmering in Mr. Smith’s back yard was all Robbie could see at night after he turned off his bedside lamp. Later, with his parents asleep, the house rested in silence save the whoosh of air pouring from the vents; cool in the summer, warm in the winter. But sometimes, in the dead hours after midnight, Robbie would wake to a quiet ringing, as though someone far away was forging a sword, folding and hammering, folding and hammering, and he would go to the window and look out at that golden light and wonder what Mr. Smith was up to. And then it would stop, and Robbie would return to bed and maybe dream of robots and warriors battling on a distant planet.
Robbie couldn’t remember a time when that light wasn’t there, shining like a conference of fireflies. He had just turned ten years old, a whole decade. As he got dressed the Saturday morning after his birthday, he decided a decade of mysterious lights and sounds begged for investigation. What could an old man possibly be up to, forging a sword in the night over the course of a decade?
At the breakfast table, Robbie poured his chocolate cereal and set the box before him, its back facing him to read as he ate. Dad hid behind his laptop, scanning the morning news and sipping black coffee. Mom passed by and tousled his sandy hair on her way…
