The Staircase in the Hill

On the hillside, among the wet wildflowers, Isla found a staircase that went straight down into the ground.

Isla was an explorer. She had a torch, her red trainers and a notebook with nothing in it yet. What she wanted most was to write something in that notebook that nobody else knew.

"Down I go," she said.

Down, down, down she went. It was a very long stair going down. Everybody on the hill knew that. The way up was short, so a person could always get home for tea.

At the bottom, there was a round green door. Beside it, on a heap of leaves, lay a mole in a woolly hat, fast asleep. "Hrrr-pip," went his nose. "Hrrr-pip."

Isla pushed the door. It did not move. She pushed harder. It still did not move.

"Excuse me," she whispered to the mole. "Do you know how to open this?"

"Hrrr-pip," said the mole.

She knocked on the door. She tapped on the mole's hat, ever so gently. He only snuggled deeper into the leaves. He had dug all morning in the warm rain, and this was his nap spot, and he meant to nap.

Isla sat down and thought. A brave explorer does not give up. A brave explorer looks.

She shone her torch around. There was a little brass keyhole in the door. And there, poking out from under the mole's paw, was the end of a little brass key.

Isla did not shout. She picked a soft petal from her pocket and tickled the mole's elbow. He gave a snuffly sigh and rolled over. The key slid out onto the leaves.

Click, went the lock.

The door swung open. Inside, the whole ceiling twinkled with tiny green lights, like a sky that had come indoors.

Isla opened her notebook. She sat down very quietly, and the glow-worms glowed, and the mole went on snoring, "Hrrr-pip, hrrr-pip," all the while.