At the Twilight's Last Gleaming by David Bischoff

raised the lamp shield, twisted the wick up and then lit it.
    A wonderful glowing flame wavered up from the wick, a brilliant blue at its base. I felt like Man discovering Fire.
    “Now that’s what my Dad oughtta have,” said Harold. “Heck, if we were campers, we would have one of those.” He regarded it a while, then turned the wheel, turning it off. “No sense in wasting oil — or paraffin — or whatever is. Not if we’re going to sit here and wait for Emory.”
    “Maybe we’d better go looking for him,” I said, feeling antsy.
    “No!” said Cheryl emphatically. “I mean — Emory will be back soon.”
    “He might need help,” I said.
    “He shouldn’t have to traipse around school when we’ve got what we came for,” I insisted. “We can call him, tell him we’ve got a lamp, and get out of here.”
    “No!” insisted Cheryl. “We stay right here.”
    We waited for what seemed like ages. I sat down on a large canister of floor wax, and put my head in my hands. Outside the custodian room was silence for a while — and then the silence erupted into what sounded for all the world to me like snarls and growls — and then a scuffle.
    “What the heck was that?” said Harold.
    “Nothing,” said Cheryl. “I didn’t hear anything.”
    “Well, I did,” I said. “And I didn’t like it.” There was a plumber’s wrench near me. I grabbed it up with both hands and headed for the door. “Emory might need help.”
    “No!” said Cheryl.
    “You can stay here and lock the door if you want. Cheryl is right. We need to help Emory.”
    He grabbed a hammer.
    Together we ventured out into the hall.
    There was a scrabbling that seemed to be coming nearer. But then it stopped, and all was silence again.
    “Got a peg on it,” said Harold. “This way.”
    We hurried a bit.
    “Wait,” said Cheryl. I turned around and saw her coming up alongside of us.
    “You’re not afraid?”
    “Fear is prudent at times,” she stated flatly. “But perhaps you are right. We should find Emory.”
    Carefully we turned a corner into a darker portion of the school. The sounds had died out totally and an all pervasive silence hung over everything like a moiling cloud. Display cases, lockers, doors, went on and on and on, then jigged and jagged at odd angles. I felt as though I was like Theseus in his labyrinth. I didn’t feel terrifically keen about finding a minotaur.
    “Emory?” called Cheryl. “Emory — we found a lamp!”
    We turned a corner.
    And there he was.
    Emory was walking toward us with a weary look on his face that brightened when he saw us.
    “I did ask you to stay where you were,” he said.
    “We found a Coleman lantern,” said Harold. “I’m sure it won’t do any harm to borrow it, especially considering the circumstances.”
    “Absolutely. Yes, you must borrow it,” said Emory.
    “What happened? What was that sound?” I asked. “Guard dogs?”
    “No. Nothing at all. There was a window open and wind and snow were coming in. Knocked down some stuff and made quite a noise,” he said.
    “Emory! What happened to your jacket?” I asked.
    Emory’s left jacket sleeve was in tatters and rags. And so, I noticed, was the shirt below it. There was no sign of blood, however.
    “Oh, fell down some stairs and caught it on something. Ripped it all up, didn’t I? My mother will have a fit.”
    “Well, as long as you’re all right,” I said. “As long as everyone’s all right…”
    But I noticed, as we walked back to the door, that Emory and Cheryl had exchanged an odd glance. Cheryl nodded, turned away and bit her lip.
    And so we went, the successful explorers, our task complete. Like Prometheus we were bringing fire back to parent-kind.
    The wind howled at us the whole way back.



CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    T HAT NIGHT OF the Lights Out, as we called it, seemed to bond us as a social group. Emory, Cheryl, Harold and I made a date to watch
Star Trek
and listen to music again the following week, and we