The Snail Who Delivered the Dark

In the garden at the end of the lane, the dark did not just arrive. Somebody had to bring it.

Usually it was the blackbird, who was quick, or the wind, who was quicker. But tonight the blackbird had a sore wing and the wind had gone to the seaside, so the job went to Sol.

Sol was a snail. Sol was, in fact, the slowest snail in the whole flowerbed, which is saying something, because flowerbeds are not known for their speed.

"Me?" said Sol.

"You," said the old toad, who was in charge of such things. He gave Sol a small folded blanket, dark as plum jam, and tucked a tiny star into the fold. "Unroll it as you go. Start at the gate and finish at the shed. And Sol? Take your time."

So Sol set off from the gate, and behind him the blanket unrolled, and behind the blanket came the dark.

It was not a frightening dark. It was a soft one. Wherever the blanket touched, the garden let out a breath. The daisies folded their petals. The bees went home. A beetle who had been busy all day stopped being busy and just sat.

Sol passed the vegetable patch. The lettuces, who had been standing up straight for hours, leaned on one another and closed their eyes.

"Goodnight, lettuces," said Sol.

"Mm," said the lettuces.

Sol passed the pond. The frogs stopped their arguing, because you cannot argue properly in the dark, and began a low, slow song instead.

"Goodnight, frogs."

"Goodnight, Sol. Nice dark. Very even."

Sol was pleased. He had been worried that his dark would be lumpy.

Halfway across the lawn, a small person in pyjamas came out to see where the day had gone. She lay down on her tummy and put her chin on her hands and watched the snail and his blanket creep past her nose.

"You're very slow," she said.

"I'm supposed to be," said Sol. "The dark has to come gently or it wakes everyone up."

The girl thought about this. She had never considered that the dark might be careful. She watched the blanket unroll over the grass, over the path, over the toes of her slippers. Above her, as the dark reached the sky, the tiny star Sol had been carrying floated up out of the fold and took its place.

"Is that one yours?" she asked.

"It's everyone's now," said Sol.

Her mother called from the door. The girl got up, slowly, because it seemed like the right speed, and went inside, and from her window she watched the last of the dark reach the shed.

Sol arrived at the shed exactly as the blanket ran out. Not a lump anywhere. The garden was quiet from one end to the other, and every creature in it was asleep, which is the only way to know that the dark has been delivered properly.

Sol curled into his shell under the shed step.

"Nice work," said the old toad, from somewhere in the shadows.

But Sol did not hear, because the slowest snail in the flowerbed, having done the most important job in the garden, was already dreaming.