Ivy and the Wardrobe Rustle

Ivy wanted to know what was rustling in the wardrobe, and she wanted to know before bedtime.

It had started after tea. Rustle, rustle, rustle. It came from behind her winter coats.

"Mum, something is in there," said Ivy.

"Let's have a look together," said Mum. But when she opened the door, the rustling stopped. There were only coats, and a scarf, and one old trainer.

"See? Nothing," said Mum, and she went to run the bath.

Ivy did not think it was nothing. She sat down on the floor and waited. Rustle, rustle, rustle.

First, she knocked on the door. "Hello?" The rustling stopped. Then it started again, a little quieter.

Next, she tried peeking through the keyhole. All she saw was dark, and one coat button looking back at her.

Ivy thought hard. Whatever it was, it only rustled when nobody was looking. So she must not look. She must listen.

She fetched her torch and switched it off. She climbed into the wardrobe, very slowly, and pulled the door nearly shut. She sat in the dark among the coats, as still as a stone.

Rustle, rustle, rustle.

It was right beside her ear. Something tickled her hand. Ivy clicked on the torch.

A small brown hedgehog blinked up at her. A crisp packet was stuck to one of its prickles, and every time it moved, the packet went rustle, rustle, rustle.

"Oh!" whispered Ivy. "You were making it all by yourself."

The hedgehog sneezed, a tiny achoo, and wriggled deeper into her scarf. It had come in through the open back door to find a warm place for a nap.

Ivy picked the crisp packet off, one prickle at a time. Then she took a biscuit from her pocket and put a few crumbs by the scarf.

"Stay as long as you like," she said.

Mum came back. "Well?"

"It's only a hedgehog," said Ivy. "And now it's quiet."

They listened together. Inside the wardrobe, something small was breathing, soft and slow.