Abigail and the Blue Door

Abigail was carrying a bucket of acorns across the yard when she saw the door.

It was small and blue. It stood all alone beside the old apple tree, with nothing around it. No wall. No house. Just a door.

"I want to see what's behind you," said Abigail. She put down her bucket.

She turned the knob. It did not move. She pushed. She pulled. The door only sat there.

"Open, please," she said.

Nothing happened.

Her cat, Biscuit, came to sit in the grass. He was not there to help. He was there because the sun was warm on that spot, and he liked it.

Abigail knocked. Knock, knock, knock. She walked all the way around the door, and it looked the same from the back. Blue. Small. Closed.

"Hmm," said Abigail.

Then she looked at her bucket. She picked up an acorn and tapped it on the door. Tink, tink.

Something went tick-a-tick on the other side, like a little clock.

Abigail grinned. She tapped again, slowly. Tink. Tink. The ticking tapped back, slowly too.

"You want to play!" she said.

She tapped three quick ones. The door tapped three quick ones back. She tapped a long one and a short one. The door copied her. Biscuit's ears went up.

Then Abigail tapped the very last tap of all, soft as a feather, and she whispered, "Open, please."

Click.

The door swung out, and a warm wind came through. It smelled like cinnamon and rain. Behind the door was a long green hill, and on the hill stood a hundred little windmills, all turning.

Abigail stepped through. Biscuit trotted after her, tail high.

Somewhere above them, the windmills went whirr, whirr, whirr, and the grass under her shoes was soft as a blanket.