Dralon and The Adventure in the Contrary World (English version)

The Magic Lamp

In the meantime, at 13 Crocks Pot Road, undulating banks of fog rose as diligently as they did every evening. A long, dark hand stretched silently over the anonymous Bromley residence, erasing every trace of the day. Dim shadows penetrated the rooms like dripping streams of hot liquid wax. They moved lethargically over walls, furniture, and floors, generously filling every cranny and preparing the way for a new, rough night.

Only the living room, lit by the flashy French abat-jours Eleanor had bought for a few pennies at Convent Garden's open market, managed to escape the unstoppable voracity of the enveloping darkness, which had to wait patiently for an opportunity to enter. There, in the warm, soft light of those second-hand lamps, Peter, Michael and Kate waited for the return of their parents. They sat next to the mysterious oil lamp which had appeared on the semi-Persian rug, and tried to avoid falling into Sleep's clutches.

"Where do you think they went?" wondered Peter, moving close to the window to look into the street. "Don't you think it's strange they left without telling us anything?"

"I wouldn't worry so much if I were you..." reassured Michael, who was lying on the carpet, enjoying a chocolate-raisin snack bar. "Maybe the police drove them back to the station to give them a medal of honor," he said, stretching back and crossing his arms under his head.

"But the car is still here," said Peter.

"Then they walked!" exclaimed Michael, moving his tongue between his molars to dislodge a piece of raisin. "Listen. There's no point in waiting. I say we go to bed. Who's with me?"

"I can't sleep unless dad tucks me in and reads me a story," protested Kate, covering her rag doll with a kitchen-towel-turned-blanket. "Well! Tonight, you can do without," snapped Michael.

"But I'm afraid to sleep without mom and dad!" whined the little girl. "Afraid of what?" asked her brother, frustrated.

The girl shrugged her shoulders and hugged Clementine tightly.

"I get it..." said Michael, suddenly serious. "You're afraid of the terrible Ghost of Winchmoore, right? The one who wakes around midnight and goes around London to slit ragdolls' throats." He started to howl and wave his hands, jumping from chair to chair.

"AAAHHH!" cried the girl, frightened, hiding under the table. "The ghost wants to behead my Clementine!"

"Michael!" exclaimed Peter, packing all his disappointment in that name. "Can you stop tormenting Kate and acting like a mad orangutan?"

"Pfff!" puffed the boy, offended. "I just gave her what she wanted. Didn't she say she can't sleep without a story?"

"Let's turn on the lamp!" proposed Kate, suddenly in a good mood.

"I've tried. It doesn't work!" replied Peter, disappointed, keeping his eyes on the street.

"I think it's broken!" said Michael.

"Or maybe, to make it work we need to ask politely," the girl suggested.

"Are you sure you are from this planet?" asked Michael, dismayed by his sister's antics. "Have you ever heard of lamps that turn on by the sound of good manners?"

"There should be a way to turn it on!" continued Peter. "If only someone could solve this puzzle!"

"Hold your horses!" cried Kate, a new light on her face. "I know who can help us solve this mystery!"

"You do?" asked Peter, surprised.

"Yes! Yes!" repeated the girl, lifting the lamp without the least effort.