Timmy panicked. He breathed heavily, but otherwise lay quite still on the floor. He looked around at the darkness, broken only by a sliver of light trickling down from the moon. He wished his eyes would accustom themselves to the lack of light quicker. He wished he could already see that there were no monsters hiding, ready to pounce; that Mr. Bumbry wasn't really still there in the dark, wielding a blunt object, waiting for him to make a move. But all the wishing in the world couldn't allow him to see what was better. So he got up.
He started to shuffle around the cottage, arms outstretched ready to catch any obstacle before walking into it. He turned to the right. Nothing there. He turned to the left. Still nothing... He wheeled around, trying behind him. A glint of light hit his eyes, sending him reeling backwards. His foot caught the leg of a table sending him crashing to the floor. He sighed and added one broken coffee table to his list of offences. He rolled over to his front, and crawled across the ancient, torn carpet, reaching out in front of him. His hand met a cold, metallic surface, and recoiled at once. He wandered what it could be. The cottage was made of brick; he knew that... But brick is usually coarse and warm. Whatever lined the inside wall of the house was smooth and chilled to the touch. He reached out once more to the wall, and pulled himself up to his feet. He felt the wall in big, wide strokes, hoping to find a light switch. After a few tries, he found it, and flipped it down.
The whole room lit up, but not in the usual way... This light seemed to bounce off around the room, multipling and multiplying until it was so strong Timmy could no longer see anything. He was lost; engulfed in a sea of light all around. He closed his eyes, but the light pushed through his eyelids, leaving a red glow visible only to him on the other side. He could hear the door squeal open suddenly, and the click of the light switch being turned off. The boy opened his eyes and spun round, seeing the silhouette of Mr. bumbry staing in the doorway.
"Not that light..." he said calmly.
He closed the door and strode across the room. Having lived in the dark cottage for so many years, his sight was used to navigating in the black. Timmy heard the old man sink into an arm chair, and he braced himself for whatever would come. A good telling off? Or an old fashioned spanking, six of the best? Whatever it was, Timmy knew it would not be pleasant. Mr. Bumbry pulled the chain of the tall lamp that stood behind him, which then gave off the tiniest amount of light.
"This one."
The boy opened his eyes, still squinting, but then relaxed. He looked around the room, amazed at the sight before him. The dull light of the lamp lit the walls of the cottage, the bricks of which were the perfect colour of gold. He walked around the room, staring at the walls, not believing his eyes. The bricks shimmered and glinted, and the boy shone as well, a smile widening from ear to ear. He finally stopped and turned back to Mr. Bumbry, still sitting quite patiently in the old, worn chair in the corner of the room.
The old man smiled.
"Yes, it's gold," he said. He reached out an arm to the wall nearest him and stroked it, lovingly. "Only one brick thick now, though. It used to be thicker, but the price of living has only gone up over the years... I have to use it sparingly - not like in the old days when I helped everyone out. Funded the town's newspaper... Got the mayor out of trouble with the debt collectors... Even paid for a new school to be built... Ah - those were the days."
The boy skirted round the the broken and splintered coffee table, and sat on a couch on the other side of the room.
"So you don't have dirt on everyone?" he asked, innocently.
The old man laughed. "No, no... No juicy gossip, I'm afraid. No blackmail, no intruige."
The young boy thought for a moment, and asked finally: "But how did you get so much gold?" a hint of awe in his voice.
Mr. Bumbry sighed. "The gold rush of America brough a lot of people fortune at the time; but my family were hoarders... They kept everything - from old newspapers to clothes too small to wear. When they went to America in search of gold, they struck a great deposit up in the mountains that no one else knew about. They mined it dry, just like everyone else, but when it came to selling it, they couldn't bear to part with such a beautiful thing. And so, they passed it on from generation to generation, until it came to me."
"...And you built a house with it?" the boy asked, unbeleiving.
"They were bricks. I needed a house. I built one," the old man explained. "It used to be a beautiful, huge mantion; but over the years, people stole pieces of it, one by one... Until it became a cottage."
"And that's why you paint it every day - to keep it a secret?"
"Exactly. Some wonderful things are meant to be shared with everyone; and some things are meant to be enjoyed on your own, in secret, in the dark..."