⏱ ~3 min reading
Artem loved his room very much. During the day.
During the day there was sun on the floor - a big yellow spot, in which the cat Munya lay and squinted. During the day there were toys on the shelf - a little boat, a teddy bear in a red sweater, a little wooden train. During the day there was a smell of apple juice and simple joys.
And in the evening everything changed.
If mom turned on the light, the room remained the same. But if the light was off and Artem had to go get his pajamas, his heart started beating faster. In the darkness, the room became alien. The corners stretched far away. The closet breathed. The toys on the shelf turned into motionless shadows.
"Mom," Artem said on Friday evening. "Bring me some pajamas, please.".
Mom was in the kitchen. She was washing the dishes. She wiped her hands with a towel and went out into the hallway.
"Artemchyk, your room is two steps away. Why don't you go down yourself?"
- It's... it's dark there.
Mom sat down next to him. She had warm hands and a gentle voice. She never laughed at Artem's fear—Artem knew that for sure.
"Do you know what darkness is?"
— This is when… when nothing is visible.
"Yes. But that's all. Darkness is not a being. Darkness is a place where the light hasn't been turned on yet. Nothing new grows in it overnight.".
Artem thought.
"What if there's someone there?"
"Let's go and see together," said Mom. "I won't even turn on the big light. Just a small lamp. Agreed?"
Artem nodded. He took his mother's hand. Her hand was so big that his palm was completely hidden in it.
They went to the door. Mom didn't push the door hard—she pushed it carefully. They went in.
In the corner by the table stood a small nightlight in the shape of a mushroom. Artem had once picked it out in a store himself—a red cap with white spots. Mom leaned over and flicked the switch.
A tiny warm light—like the flame of a candle—spread across the room.
Artem looked around.
The ship was standing where it had been during the day. The teddy bear in the red sweater was sitting on the shelf, looking serious as always. The wooden train was waiting on the floor. The wardrobe was a wardrobe—with its funny handle, which Artyom had screwed on himself with his dad.
“And the corners?” Artyom asked in a whisper.
— What about the corners?
— It seemed to me that they were… distant.
Mom smiled.
"It's your head that has distanced them. Because when you can't see it, it starts to invent it. Now you can see it. The corners are normal.".
Artem walked around the room. He touched the shelf. The bear's paw. The cold side of the closet. Everything was his own.
— Mom.
— What, son?
— I want the mushroom to glow all night long.
"He will shine. That's what he's there for.".
Artem took out his pajamas from the drawer — blue ones with stars. He changed. By himself.
When his mother left, he stood in the middle of the room for a while longer. The small, warm light from the mushroom fell on the carpet in a yellow circle. The shadows were calm. Munya came from the hallway, rubbed her leg, and settled down next to the nightlight.
Artem got into bed and pulled the blanket up to his chin.
“Good night, room,” he whispered.
The room didn't respond. Because it was just a room — with a teddy bear, a ship, and a red mushroom that quietly glowed until morning.
From then on, Artem would go into his room alone in the evening. Sometimes he would turn on the big light. Sometimes — just a dim one. And sometimes — on very brave evenings — he would go into complete darkness, count to five, and then turn it on. Because he knew: in those five seconds, nothing new would appear in the room. It was his own.
💡 Darkness is just a place where the light hasn't been turned on yet.