That Night

• Nina Parmar, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2014

I give up. I can't get to sleep. I look over at the clock at the far side of my bedroom. It's three in the morning. I've been trying to get to sleep in my arm-chair for the past six hours. But so far, all that's done is make my eyes water and make the night grow even longer. I decide to get some fresh air. I have to go outside if I need air, because my little window doesn't open very far. I stand up from my arm-chair and I pull on my worn-out sneakers. I look over at my younger sister Clarissa, who's sleeping soundly in her bed. I quickly and quietly leave my room, cushioning the closing door with my little finger. Across the hallway is my grandparents' room. I peek in through the crack of their door, only to see my poor grandfather Jacob sleeping on the floor with my grandmother Flora sprawled out everywhere on the bed. I'm guessing they had another fight while Clarissa and I were at school. Whispering a small, 'Poor you' to Grandpa, I step into the dimly-lit kitchen and I go outside through the back door. Outside is ... dark. That's really all I can say about it. The weak-shining stars are doing nothing to defeat the pitch-black night, shadows are fleeting across my world and the moon is nowhere to be seen. The countryside really does seem different under the clothes of the night. Our family cottage stands near a bare cliff that's pointed out of the ocean before it. At the cliff, there stands a pair of gravestones. Most people can't see them at night, but to me they're entirely recognizable. They mark the burial spots of the very first members of our family. Arthur and Clarissa Winchester, after whom my sister is named. Then the silence of the dark is broken by a high-pitched sound. A high-pitched sound that's coming from in front of the gravestones. It almost sounds like ... a baby? I quickly run towards the cliff and I whirl my head to the headstones. I'm right. There is a baby, bundled up in white cloth. I carefully pick up the wailing baby. It stops crying after a few seconds of being in my arms. For no reason, I cradle it in one arm as I lift my free hand to its face. Then it lets out a joyful laugh and grabs onto my finger. I can't help but laugh back. But my laughter dies. What if it's orphaned? It'll need nourishment and care. Then the choice of adoption occurs to me. 'It's okay,' I whisper to it. 'I'll take care of you.' I'm nuts. But I realized that a long time ago. I turn back to the cottage and I walk back, the baby in my arms. 'I trust you will take good care of him,' hisses a voice. I turn around, but there's no one there. Was I hearing things? Probably. But I can't help but bear a feeling that this night will change my life forever.