Seven Rungs to the Top Bunk

In the daytime, Lou was very brave. She jumped off the third stair. She patted the big dog next door, the one with the booming bark. She once held a crab in her two hands and did not drop it, even when it waved at her.

Lou slept on the bottom bunk. Her big brother Sam slept on the top one.

The ceiling of their room was covered in paper stars. Sam had stuck them up himself. From the top bunk, Sam could see every one. From the bottom bunk, Lou could see one star and a half.

“It’s like sleeping on a ship up here,” Sam said every night.

Lou wanted to sleep up there more than anything.

Tonight Sam was away at a sleepover, and the top bunk was empty.

“Please can I sleep up there?” said Lou. “All night, like a real sailor?”

“You can,” said Dad.

So at bedtime Lou stood at the bottom of the ladder in her pyjamas. She took hold of the rungs and climbed. One, two, three, four.

Eek!

Lou held on tight. Then she climbed five, six, seven, and she was at the top.

On the pillow was a letter from Sam. He had written it in his biggest, neatest writing, so Lou could read it all by herself.

“Dear Captain Lou,” it said. “Tonight the top bunk is your ship. Here are your orders. Order one. There are seven rungs, and the fourth one squeaks. That is the ship’s parrot. Say hello.”

Lou leaned over the rail. “Hello, Parrot,” said Lou.

“Order two. Put the blanket over the rail. That is the sail.”

Lou hung her blanket over the rail. It puffed out round and wide, just like a sail.

Then Lou was thirsty. Sailing is thirsty work.

Down she climbed. Dad was in the next room, on the other side of the wall, matching up socks.

“Dad,” said Lou. “I need a drink of water.”

Dad put down a sock. He stood up very straight and saluted. He did not smile, not even a little bit.

“Aye aye, Captain,” said Dad.

He filled her blue cup, and Lou drank it all up. Glug, glug, glug. Then back she went.

“Seven rungs, and the fourth one squeaks,” said Lou. One, two, three, four.

Eek!

“Hello again, Parrot,” said Lou. Five, six, seven.

“Order three,” said the letter. “Mr. Flop is first mate. He gets seasick, so he must sit by the window.”

Lou looked up and down the whole ship. There was no Mr. Flop. Mr. Flop, Lou’s sock monkey, was downstairs on the sofa, with his long arms hanging over the edge.

Down she climbed.

“Dad,” said Lou. “My first mate is on the sofa.”

Dad put down a sock. He stood up very straight and saluted. He did not smile, not even a little bit.

“Aye aye, Captain,” said Dad.

He fetched Mr. Flop, and back she went.

“Seven rungs, and the fourth one squeaks,” said Lou. One, two, three, four.

Eek!

“It’s only me, Parrot,” said Lou. Five, six, seven.

She sat Mr. Flop by the window, where the air was cool. He did look a little bit green. But that was only because he was made of green socks.

“Order four,” said the letter. “This is the last order. Switch off the torch and look up.”

Lou did not have a torch. And nobody can switch off a torch they have not got.

Down she climbed.

“Dad,” said Lou. “I need a torch, so I can switch it off.”

Dad put down the very last sock. He stood up very straight and saluted. He did not smile, but it was very hard.

“Aye aye, Captain,” said Dad.

He found the torch in the kitchen drawer, and back she went.

“Seven rungs, and the fourth one squeaks,” said Lou. One, two, three, four.

Eek!

“Goodnight, Parrot,” said Lou. Five, six, seven.

She switched on the torch to read the last order one more time. The light shone right through the paper. There was writing on the back! Lou turned the letter over.

She held the torch close and read it slowly, word by word.

“If the sea gets lonely, knock twice on the wall. Dad knows the answer.”

Lou looked at the wall. Up here it was close enough to touch. The floor was a long way down. The ship felt big, and Lou felt small, and the sea did feel a tiny bit lonely.

So she made a little fist, and she knocked. Knock, knock.

Straight back, from the other side of the wall, came the answer. Knock, knock.

Lou laughed. That was Dad. Dad knew the answer.

She lay down on her pillow, with Mr. Flop by the window and the sail over the rail. Then she did the last order. She switched off the torch and looked up.

All the paper stars were right above her, closer than they had ever been. Every single one. And while Lou watched, they began to move.

Slowly and quietly, they slid across the ceiling. Some lined up to make the bottom of a boat. Some stood one on top of another to make a tall mast. A whole crowd of them gathered at the top and made a sail, round and wide, just like Lou’s blanket.

There, over the top bunk, was a little boat made of stars.

“Look, Mr. Flop,” said Lou. “There’s a ship on the ceiling too.”

Mr. Flop looked, as much as a sock monkey can. He did not feel seasick at all.

Then, through the wall, came one more knock. Knock, knock. Soft and slow, the way a dad knocks when someone is nearly asleep.

“Aye aye, Captain,” said Lou, very quietly, to the wall.

Down below, the parrot did not make a sound. The sail hung still. The little star boat floated over her head, going nowhere at all.

And Lou slept all night long on the top bunk, like a real sailor, with Dad just the other side of the wall.