Sunrise

The Dr Grace August Observatory was eight hundred miles into the Arctic Circle, on a tiny Norwegian island. The five environmental scientists currently staying there had been in almost complete darkness for three months. In one week’s time, the polar night would end and the sun would finally rise.

Dr John Duke was ready to go home. He missed his family. His wife and two daughters had called him in the months he had been here, though if anything, the calls had made his homesickness worse. They reminded him of all the little moments he was missing.

When the opportunity to perform research at the observatory had come up, there had been no doubt.

“You’re going,” his wife said. “How many chances do you get to go to the Arctic?”

Of course, he’d worried about being away from his family, about leaving the burden of childcare to his wife, but she’d shaken those worries off. Her parents lived close by and volunteered to fill the gaps left by John’s absence.

“I can’t put that all on you,” he said to his wife.

“You can.” She grinned, rubbing her hands together. “Besides, when you get back, it’s my turn. I’ll go on holiday somewhere I can lie on a beach for three months.”

“Deal.”

He’d known he was going to miss them. But honestly, he’d figured the research would distract him. He hadn’t anticipated this ache constantly gnawing at him, day and night–not that you could really tell the difference. He hadn’t even noticed the darkness that much, only that it made counting down the days until he was reunited with his family that much harder.

How much would his girls have changed in their time apart? Mila had only just started walking when he left. Did Alexis still want to be an astronaut or had she moved on to another dream job? Never again would he take his wife’s hugs for granted, nor her easy laugh. All that the much anticipated sunrise meant to him was that the first half of his time here was over and he was closer to being with his family.

For most of her life, Dr Ursula Cunningham had been alone. She was an only child to parents who’d had her late in life, and thus both passed away shortly after Ursula had graduated from university (the first time, she would graduate twice more - for her Masters and PhD - with no one in the crowd to cheer for her). There were no relatives, her parents were only children too and Ursula’s grandparents were all gone before she was born. She was the only Cunningham left.

She had a few friends from her many years of education, but they were scattered all over the world now. In some ways, that was great. She didn’t need to pay for accommodation if she ever wanted to go to Belgium or Sweden, Australia or New Zealand. And there were weeks spent reminiscing over the good old days and being a local tour guide when those friends came to visit. But for the most part, she spent her time alone. It was just Ursula and her beloved cat, Doris, who was currently staying with a colleague while Ursula was at the observatory.

And so while the dark might be bothersome, and she did find herself daydreaming about the next time she’d feel the sun on her skin, for the first time in her adult life, Ursula had company.

In the mornings, she would rise first, setting up the kitchen for breakfast. She knew everyone’s habits by now: when they’d emerge from their room and what they’d eat. Every day, she and John sat at the little dining table with their morning coffee. He told her about his daughters and his wife, and she would refrain from showing him photos of Doris as if that equated to having human children.

In the evenings, the five scientists would come together for their dinner, usually made by Ursula and Alex, who had taken to cooking together. Alex seemed less twitchy when they cooked, like it gave their mind something to focus on other than the endless darkness.

The five would sit together at the table sharing what they missed most from home. Then, they’d play card games using a bashed up old deck Paul had brought.

Those evenings were the highlight of Ursula’s time at the observatory. She was looking forward to the return of the sun. But the dark had never bothered her as much as the loneliness. Mostly, she was just happy to be surrounded by people.

Dr Alex Wood never thought of themself as a particularly high maintenance person. They could put up with quite a lot and still remain unphased: upstairs neighbours arguing loudly, and making even more noise once they made up. Their PhD adviser calling them Alec for four years straight, no matter how many times Alex corrected him. If they were served the wrong thing in the restaurant, no they weren’t, everything was fine, they’d just eat this, no worries. But no sunlight was where they drew the line. Alex missed the sunlight like someone would miss a vital organ. They felt like a wilted plant, leaves curled and dying, desperately using what little life it had left to grow towards the light.

Maybe that was a tad dramatic, Alex wasn’t dying. But it sure did feel like it after one hundred and twenty-four, count them: one hundred and twenty-four, consecutive days without sun. They were constantly groggy, their mind fuzzy, thoughts taking an age to precipitate from the haze. Which isn’t exactly ideal for a scientist on a once-in-a-lifetime research placement.

When Alex had applied for the position, they had figured it would be fine. Sure, no sunlight wasn’t great, but Alex spent most of their time cooped up in a lab anyway, what difference could it make?

Turns out, a huge difference.

“No sunlight?” Their mum had been horrified. “You couldn’t pay me to last three days, nevermind three months.”

Well, they were paying Alex, but it definitely wasn’t enough to make up for this. They were climbing the walls, desperate for just a glimpse of that great ball of gas in the sky. The calendar on the wall told them they had five more days to go. Alex just hoped they could survive until then.

Dr Katherine Beck was like a pig in muck. Everything in her career had led to her being here and she was not going to waste it. Ever since she was eight, and had first learned about global warming in Mrs Hughes’s class, Katherine had wanted to save the world.

She loved superheroes, any caped figure in tights and a mask that fought to make the world a better place. She’d collected comics as a kid and even now, in her thirties, most of her wardrobe consisted of t-shirts with superhero related puns.

The research she was carrying out here was even better than she imagined possible. Each morning was like Christmas, though no present could compare to getting to study the ecosystem of such a remote place. She would keep going into the night if Ursula didn’t make her stop and play card games. Katherine liked the group at the observatory, liked having people to bounce ideas off, but she liked her research more.

She couldn’t believe three months had already gone, only three left. Alex had asked her what she was doing to cope with the lack of sunlight, Katherine hadn’t even noticed. She would happily give up sunlight altogether if it meant she could stay here longer.

Dr Paul Burgess was the oldest of the scientists at the Dr Grace August Observatory and therefore had become an almost father figure. The others looked to him first for decision making, and he was enjoying the responsibility. He’d been too focused on his career to settle down and have kids. It wouldn’t have been fair to them or his partner, he could never have loved them the way he loved his job as a professor of Environmental Sciences. Now he was enjoying a chance to see a glimpse of what might have been.

And so, with everyone holding him and his opinions in such high esteem, looking to him for guidance both professionally and with coping with the harsh elements of life in the Arctic Circle, there was absolutely no way he could admit that he was scared of the dark. Terrified. He had been ever since he was a kid and Kenneth Garber had told him a spooky story involving a witch and a creepy doll.

He was a grown man. He was an expert in his field. He was the supervisor of a research group of twenty people at his university, and could give lectures in front of hundreds without so much as an increased heart rate. But he couldn’t stand the dark.

His eyes played tricks on him in the dark. The shadows became monsters and he was seven years old again, calling for his mum, who still cursed Kenneth Garber and his stories to this day. Paul knew there was nothing really there, he did know that. But the dark had a way of switching off the logical part of his brain and letting his imagination run wild. The last three months, he’d slept with the lights on, and never ventured out of the observatory unless it was strictly necessary. Even then he had a torch in each hand and a back up in his pocket. He told the others it was because his eyesight was not what it used to be, and maybe he should be insulted at how quickly they all accepted that lie, but he was just relieved they didn’t find out the truth.

The sunrise could not come soon enough. For his sanity and his reputation, Paul needed it to be light again.

On the long awaited day, the five scientists gathered outside their cabin, wrapped up in all the gear they’d had to purchase for life in the Arctic Circle.

It was time.

Slowly, painfully slowly, the sun crept over the mountains for the first time in three months and six days. They cheered, eyes filling with tears over what was one of most beautiful things they’d ever seen. Sunlight.