The Lost Christmas Light

Sniff. It came from under the tree's lowest branches. Daphne crouched down and peeped. Curled up on a box of spare bulbs sat a little golden light, as small as an apple and as pale as milk. "I'm Twinkle," it whispered. "I light up this town every Christmas. But this year, I've gone all cold." It shivered so hard that its little red scarf shook.

At the first door, Daphne held up a little paper lantern and sang the old Christmas carols, loud and clear. Nobody came. Twinkle stayed pale. So at the next door, under a green wreath with a red bow, out went a hand. "Will you sing with me?" Mrs Rena put on her glasses, took the hand, and sang so loudly that the next house joined in, and the house after that. Twinkle glowed a little warmer. "One," it counted.

Mrs Rena's gingerbread stars were still warm from the oven, and freshly iced. "Something sweet, shared!" said Daphne, and carried the tray out into the square. One for the mayor. One for the baker. One for grumpy old Mr Stathis, the fisherman, standing all on his own. He took one. Then another. Then, without a word, he shuffled off towards the harbour. Twinkle glowed rosy. "Two," it counted.

WHOOSH! Light ran down every branch of the Christmas tree. It jumped onto the stalls, hopped from window to window and raced all the way down to the water. The whole town gasped. Then cheered. And low on the tree, one crooked silver star shone brightest of all. Even the first snowflakes came down to see.

Later, the whole town sang carols under the shining tree. On a bench, Daphne gave Mr Stathis the very last gingerbread star. He broke it in two, and handed half back. Then he peeked at the empty plate. "Any more?" At the top of the tree, Twinkle winked.