Polar Night

It wasn't obvious, not at first. The winter is always harsh, the night endless during the polar night. So, the fact that time had stopped wasn't known, not until the sun didn't rise. 

They came out of their homes and searched for it. It was a date long marked on their mental calendar. After months of darkness, the raising again of the sun was a day of celebration. Usually. But it didn't come.

“We must be off a day.” The mayor of the little village says. His people grumble.

“Yah know that ain't true. It has been March 1st since forever. In all my eighty years, the sun returns today.” 

He is right. The mayor knows it. They all do. Still, the panic doesn't start, not then. One day late is nothing these rugged people would get upset about. They return to the warmth of their wood stoves and wait.

The next day, that is an expected twenty-four hours later, it is still dark. Now a niggle of worry enters. The mayor isn't so laissez-faire. In fact, he is in a bit of a panic. They know to prepare for the darkness, stocking up on all the wood and food they will need. In the remotest part of the world, supply planes do not fly in during the polar night. 

By March 1st, now second, those supplies are running scarce.

All fifty of the townsfolk look to him as he stands under the harsh artificial light, instead of the sunlight. 

“I don't know.”

A rumble rises. He holds his hands up, to  no avail. 

“We have no supplies!”

“This makes no sense!”

“How am I to feed my children?”

He has to shout to be heard over them. “I will try to call and see what is going on. Please, try to stay calm. We will get through this, somehow.”

He hurries back into his home. Now to see if the satellite phone works. He has never tried to use it during the polar night. Never had a need. There is one for sure now. Lifting it, with shaky hands, he enters the number for help, an office in Washington DC.

To his great relief, it rings. 

“Hello this is _. We have a most unusual situation here. The sun has yet to rise.”

“Are you alright? You are just beginning the time of polar night. We have worried that the isolation would affect you. Our concerns seem valid.”

“No, no. It is March 2nd. Not December.”

A silence were he thought he had lost them. He started to say something else when, “We will send a psychiatrist on the next transport but that won't be until March. Try to hold out until then.”

He loses it. “It is March!” 

“Sir, the office I am in is decorated for Christmas. My children are waiting for Santa. It is December.”

He hangs up in pure frustration. Taking his head in his hands, he screams. His voice echoes in the dark house. 

He can’t say how long he sat there. Later, when they come to understand that time has no meaning, he would realize it didn't matter. Right then, head in hand, he ponders why he is there, in the most remote place. More though, what he can do to help his people. 

“Why would they lie to me? Why play such a joke? It makes no sense. None of this does.” He slowly comes to realize that he is speaking aloud. A firm knock pulls him out of himself. He calls out, “Come in.”

“Mayor, what have you found out?” 

He gestures to the man to have a seat. He sits across from him in his living room. 

“They told me,” he shakes his head in wonder, “and insisted that it was still December.” 

“The hell it is!”

“Agree. I tried to explain that. They thought me crazy, that the isolation has caused me to crack up. Said they would send a psychiatrist on the next transport.”

The other man puts his head down, holding his aching forehead. “There can't be no transport when there ain't no sun.”

“A fair point. One they didn't seem to get.”

“Why would they joke like that? It is cruel and just wrong?”

“I was wondering about myself. This whole thing is a mystery.”

“What do we do?”

“We need to see what everyone has. Gather it up to see what we can do to ration it. This has to end soon.”

“There are some that won't take kindly to sharing.”

The mayor nods. “I know but this is an emergency. Whether they like it or not, this is what we are doing. What we have to do. Is everyone still gathering out there?” The other man nods. “Alright.” He stands and they walk out to a flood of questions. 

“If you want to hear what he has to say, you must be quiet.” 

The crown slowly stills. He lets his breath out. Backlit by the hazy light coming from his porch, he begins. “We are on our own.”

“What?” Came out of the stunned silence.

“Washington believes it to be December. I can't convince them otherwise.” 

A murmur starts, growing louder. He lets them talk to each other without interrupting. He has no solution. Maybe they can figure out what to do. They are hearty people, after all, to choose to live here, on the apex of the globe.

“Why would they joke about that, knowing how serious it is?” Their oldest resident says. He isn't asking a question but simply thinking aloud, “They wouldn't. So they really think it is still December.” 

They all gradually quiet to hear him, “It must be.”

“We know time has passed. It can be measured in the supplies used.” Someone else says.

“True. In that way. But in this endless night, how else can we tell? Were time to stop, how would we know?” 

This gets everyone looking to the major again.

“Is it possible, what the old-timer said?” He is asked.

“I can't see any other explanation, can any of you?”

Another quick discussion among themselves. 

“No, there doesn't seem to be. But how?”

“Don't make no matter. What does is what now?”

“We will have to come together, share resources.” He answers. 

“I barely have enough to feed my children now!”

“You aren't the only one.”

“Why should I share”

“Because if you don't, you will die,” The old man says. He speaks as though he was discussing the weather, with the calm maturity of his age, “You know this, the lot of you. By yourselves, you will maybe survive a week or so more. By coming together, just maybe, we can keep everyone alive until whatever is causing this lets us lose from its grip.”

“He is right,” the mayor says, “By everyone gathering, sharing resources and body heat, we have a better chance of making it.”

The old man has the biggest house. The children that once filled it are long gone, moving to more hospitable places long ago. He offers to be the gathering place. 

The people hurry back to their homes, gathering up any food, clothing, and fuel they have. 

When it is all gathered, amazingly, they have enough to last another month. 

No, it isn't easy to have fifty people tripping over each other but, he was right. They do keep each other warm. A lot of beans and jerky are consumed but real hunger isn't felt. 

When the sun raises, they have all learned a valuable lesson about community.  Every year thereafter, even though the strange phenomenon never happens again, a week before the sunrises, they gather together to share what they have with each other.

The end.