breathing deeply in sleep and the rest of the room is dark and quiet, just like it always is—but something is different. StingRay looks around.
The one-eared sheep is asleep under the rocking horse.
Plastic is quiet on the windowsill.
But Lumphy is not on his shelf.
StingRay scans the room. Lumphy is not on the carpet. Not in the corner. Not anywhere.
Bonk! StingRay hits the floor. She has a bad feeling about this.
Boing! Plastic follows her. She never sleeps very heavily.
Together, they scoot down the hall and peek into the grown-up bedroom.
Nothing.
Silently, they inch to the top of the stairs.
The television is on, down in the living room.
Fwap! Gobble-a gobble-a.
Fwap! Gobble-a gobble-a.
Boing, boing, boing!
Fwap! Gobble-a gobble-a.
Bonk!
StingRay and Plastic go downstairs.
All the lights in the living room are on! Lumphy is sitting very close to the television with a dazed look on his face.
“No TV at night!” StingRay chides him. “You could wake the people. No TV and no lights. You know that.”
“I need it,” Lumphy moans. “I need the light. I need the TV.”
“How come?” Plastic wants to know.
“Dread,” says Lumphy. “I have dread.”
“What’s that?” Plastic is feeling rather bouncy, now that she’s fully awake. She zooms around the living room.
“It has to do with too much dark. And not knowing why we’re here. And not sleeping,” says Lumphy. “I just need the light really bad.”
“You have to turn it off,” says StingRay with authority. “I’ll get you a flashlight.”
Plastic bounces herself at the light switches and then at the television. The TV goes off and the room falls into darkness.
StingRay rummages in a kitchen drawer she knows about, bringing back a large red flashlight and flipping it on.
They all three sit there, looking at the beam of the flashlight playing against the wall.
“Still dread,” says Lumphy. “Dread and more dread.”
“How about another flashlight?” StingRay rushes back to the drawer and brings another.
Lumphy turns it on. He stares at the pool of light it makes, darker and yellower than that made by the other flashlight.
“Still dread,” he says, after a while.
“Look at my shadow!” says Plastic. She bounces across the beams of light. “Look at me go! Hey, do you know why shadows get bigger and smaller? Why do shadows get bigger and smaller?”
“Why are we here?” moans Lumphy.
“You should go upstairs to bed,” says StingRay. “I think you’re really tired.”
“I can’t sleep,” says Lumphy. “I can’t sleep for all the wondering.”
StingRay is quite tired herself. She is used to sleeping all night with the Girl. But she will not leave her friend when he needs her. “Come with me,” she tells him. “There’s a light in the linen closet. The people will never notice it’s on. You can lie in there with the towels and sheets and things.”
She leads the way, even though she is a little nervous about the mean towel club that Bobby Dot mentioned so long ago. She has never spoken with any towel but TukTuk, but StingRay knows that the purple grown-up towels inhabit both the adult bathroom and the linen closet at the far end of the hall. She squashes down her fear and lurches up the stairs, pushing with her tail. Plastic and Lumphy follow.
When they get to the closet, StingRay slides one flipper underneath the door and pulls sharply. It pops open, and Plastic bounces herself at the light switch inside.
“Sleeping!”
“Sleeping!”
“Sleeping!”
A chorus of purple towels, stacked neatly one on top of the other, sits on a low shelf. Higher up are sheets, pillowcases, boxes of tissues, and rolls of toilet paper.
“Hello!” cries Plastic. “How’s it going in here?”
“Sleeping!”
“Sleeping!”
“Sleeping!”
“Sorry to wake you,” says StingRay, without introducing herself. “But my friend here has
The one-eared sheep is asleep under the rocking horse.
Plastic is quiet on the windowsill.
But Lumphy is not on his shelf.
StingRay scans the room. Lumphy is not on the carpet. Not in the corner. Not anywhere.
Bonk! StingRay hits the floor. She has a bad feeling about this.
Boing! Plastic follows her. She never sleeps very heavily.
Together, they scoot down the hall and peek into the grown-up bedroom.
Nothing.
Silently, they inch to the top of the stairs.
The television is on, down in the living room.
Fwap! Gobble-a gobble-a.
Fwap! Gobble-a gobble-a.
Boing, boing, boing!
Fwap! Gobble-a gobble-a.
Bonk!
StingRay and Plastic go downstairs.
All the lights in the living room are on! Lumphy is sitting very close to the television with a dazed look on his face.
“No TV at night!” StingRay chides him. “You could wake the people. No TV and no lights. You know that.”
“I need it,” Lumphy moans. “I need the light. I need the TV.”
“How come?” Plastic wants to know.
“Dread,” says Lumphy. “I have dread.”
“What’s that?” Plastic is feeling rather bouncy, now that she’s fully awake. She zooms around the living room.
“It has to do with too much dark. And not knowing why we’re here. And not sleeping,” says Lumphy. “I just need the light really bad.”
“You have to turn it off,” says StingRay with authority. “I’ll get you a flashlight.”
Plastic bounces herself at the light switches and then at the television. The TV goes off and the room falls into darkness.
StingRay rummages in a kitchen drawer she knows about, bringing back a large red flashlight and flipping it on.
They all three sit there, looking at the beam of the flashlight playing against the wall.
“Still dread,” says Lumphy. “Dread and more dread.”
“How about another flashlight?” StingRay rushes back to the drawer and brings another.
Lumphy turns it on. He stares at the pool of light it makes, darker and yellower than that made by the other flashlight.
“Still dread,” he says, after a while.
“Look at my shadow!” says Plastic. She bounces across the beams of light. “Look at me go! Hey, do you know why shadows get bigger and smaller? Why do shadows get bigger and smaller?”
“Why are we here?” moans Lumphy.
“You should go upstairs to bed,” says StingRay. “I think you’re really tired.”
“I can’t sleep,” says Lumphy. “I can’t sleep for all the wondering.”
StingRay is quite tired herself. She is used to sleeping all night with the Girl. But she will not leave her friend when he needs her. “Come with me,” she tells him. “There’s a light in the linen closet. The people will never notice it’s on. You can lie in there with the towels and sheets and things.”
She leads the way, even though she is a little nervous about the mean towel club that Bobby Dot mentioned so long ago. She has never spoken with any towel but TukTuk, but StingRay knows that the purple grown-up towels inhabit both the adult bathroom and the linen closet at the far end of the hall. She squashes down her fear and lurches up the stairs, pushing with her tail. Plastic and Lumphy follow.
When they get to the closet, StingRay slides one flipper underneath the door and pulls sharply. It pops open, and Plastic bounces herself at the light switch inside.
“Sleeping!”
“Sleeping!”
“Sleeping!”
A chorus of purple towels, stacked neatly one on top of the other, sits on a low shelf. Higher up are sheets, pillowcases, boxes of tissues, and rolls of toilet paper.
“Hello!” cries Plastic. “How’s it going in here?”
“Sleeping!”
“Sleeping!”
“Sleeping!”
“Sorry to wake you,” says StingRay, without introducing herself. “But my friend here has
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