In the pocket-sized town of Tiddlepond, every child received a shadow on their fifth birthday. The shadows arrived in jam jars, delivered by moon-moths with silver satchels. Most shadows were soft and black and shy. They copied waving, hopping, twirling, and nose-scratching.
Miri Pepperdot waited on her doorstep in stripy socks, hugging her breakfast spoon for luck. Tiddlepond bobbed inside a giant blue teacup in the clouds, and far below, stars swam like fish. Above, the Tick-Tock Rain had not fallen for three whole days, so everyone’s clock-flowers drooped sadly.
At last, a moon-moth fluttered down and dropped a jar into Miri’s hands. Inside was not a black shadow.
It was yellow.
It glowed like buttercups and sneezed tiny sparks.
"Oh," said Miri.
"Oh dear," said Mum.
The shadow pressed its little shadow-nose to the glass and wrote on the mist: OLO.
"Hello, Olo," whispered Miri. Please be mine.
Mum looked along the crooked street. Neighbours were peeking from mushroom chimneys and teapot windows. "Bright shadows are not in the handbook," she said softly.
Then Granny Saff arrived in her rolling slipper-chair, wheels squeaking. Her eyes widened. From her pocket she pulled a folded napkin covered in old blue ink.
When the smallest shadow turns bright, open the door that is not a door.
"What does that mean?" asked Miri.
Granny Saff tucked the napkin away too quickly. "It means we eat cake first."
⁂
That afternoon, Miri took Olo to the Practice Wall behind the bakery. Other children stretched their shadows tall, short, wiggly, and round. Olo tried to copy Miri’s jump, but instead he sprang right off the wall and landed on the grass with a plop.
Everyone gasped.
Olo bowed.
"Shadows do not plop," said Mayor Grindle, whose moustache had its own tiny umbrella. "Shadows stay flat. Shadows stay quiet. Shadows absolutely do not bow."
Olo hid behind Miri’s ankle, shining through her sock.
Before Miri could answer, the town bell rang backwards: bong-bong-bong, then gnog-gnog-gnog. The sky teacup shivered. All the ordinary shadows began sliding away from their owners, stretching thin as ribbons towards the old bakery wall.
"My shadow!" cried a boy named Tupp.
"Come back!" shouted a girl with cherry buttons.
Across the bricks, a painted picture of a cupboard door appeared. It had no handle, no keyhole, and no reason to be there.
Olo tugged Miri’s hand. He had no mouth, but Miri heard him inside her head, a fizzing whisper. The dark is being stolen.
⁂
Mayor Grindle marched forward with a net made for catching runaway balloons. "Stand aside, Miri Pepperdot. That yellow thing is trouble."
Miri hugged Olo close. He felt warm, like toast. "He is my shadow," she said, though her voice shook.
The painted cupboard door blinked.
Then it opened.
Cold blue wind rushed out, smelling of rain, jam, and forgotten socks. Inside was not a cupboard. Inside was a forest of upside-down trees, with shadows hanging from the branches like sleepy bats. Far away, something enormous was ticking.
Granny Saff’s face went pale. "No one move," she breathed.
But the stolen shadows were already slipping through the doorway.
Olo shone brighter and brighter until Miri had to squint. From the forest came a small voice wearing Granny Saff’s lost mitten on its head.
"Miri! Hurry! The teacup is cracking!"
Then a pair of silver scissors snipped out of the blue wind and cut Olo’s glow in half.
Miri screamed, reached for her bright shadow, and the door slammed shut on her fingers of light.
