The whole Christmas Eve smelled of cinnamon, orange peel and fresh poppy seed cake. Outside the window, snow sparkled and frost painted the windows. Zosia brought a cardboard box of baubles and angels into the attic. Grandpa Leon followed her, carrying a torch and a warm scarf. Grandpa Leon asked her to handle the angels with care. The boards groaned with each step, and dust danced in the sheaf of light. In the corner stood an old great-grandmother's trunk, locked with a clothespin. The crib was gone, but something flashed briefly between the scarves. Zosia lifted the wool and touched the metal casket with the star. The lid finally gave way, squeaked, and opened reluctantly. Inside lay a letter on brown paper and a brass key. The envelope bore the sentence: For one who listens to silence. Grandfather opened the envelope and smoothed out the folded, hurried letters. He read in a half-hearted voice, and Zosia squeezed the sleeve of her jumper tighter. The letter spoke of the Silent Night Clock and the hidden path. It must be found before the first star, otherwise the carols fall silent. The attached map resembled our street and the roofs of the market. The X lay strangely close, almost under our attic window. Grandpa furrowed his brow and wiped the lenses of his glasses with his sleeve. My dad used to talk about this clock when I was a boy. Apparently it guards the light of Christmas, but it doesn't like procrastination. If we become guardians, the light will not go out this winter. Zosia knelt by the chimney and found a board with a star on it. The star had a slot, perfect for the brass key from the casket. Her heart thudded so loudly that it almost drowned out the carol. From downstairs came the smell of borscht and the sound of clattering plates. Zosia slid the key in until it popped, and gently turned it. The board vibrated, and a dry, icy draught blew from the crack. They heard a soft ticking, as if time was walking from behind the wall. The torch flicked on as something hummed quietly under the beam. The key refused to go any further, though the map began to tremble in his hand. The first star twinkled on the glass, and out of the darkness someone pulled the key from the other side.