The Door in the Pantry

Florence was stirring a pot of soup on the stove when she heard a knock. It came from the pantry, and it was a soft knock, like a knuckle on a wooden spoon.

Florence wanted her supper. It was very late, and the candles were lit on the kitchen table, and the bowls were out. She only needed the salt.

She opened the pantry door. Behind the shelves stood a small green door she had never seen before.

Knock, knock. It came again.

"Hello?" said Florence.

She turned the little brass handle. It would not move. She pushed. She pulled. She said "please." The door stayed shut.

"Stuck," said Florence. She sat down on a flour sack and thought. Then she saw something. The door had a keyhole shaped like a tiny bird.

Florence looked around. On the shelf sat a button tin. She tipped it out. Among the buttons lay a key, and the key had a bird's head on top.

She slid it into the keyhole. Click! The door swung open, and a warm wind blew in. It smelled of rain and oranges.

On the other side was a hill, and on the hill was a nest. In the nest sat a bird the size of a teapot, holding a spoon in her beak.

"Oh, there you are," said the bird, dropping the spoon. "I knock every night. Somebody always takes my spoons to a different nest, and I need one to eat my pudding."

"I have spoons," said Florence. "I have a drawer full."

She fetched the biggest one. The bird took it, said "Cheep-a-cheep," and flapped off with it.

Florence stood in the doorway a moment, looking at the hill. Then she stepped back into the kitchen and closed the little green door.

The salt was on the shelf, right where it had always been. She sprinkled it in the soup, and the candles flickered, and far away, something tapped a spoon against a bowl.

Knock, knock.