The Secret Door in the Garden Wall

Mini waddled through the garden, magnifying glass swinging from their neck. They checked the rosebushes for clues—any clues! Yesterday, they'd searched for Mrs. Thistlebee's missing thimble. Today, nothing needed solving. Mini's yellow eyes scanned the familiar stone wall. Wait. They froze. A tiny wooden door, no bigger than Mini's hand, sat painted on the gray stones. Bright red. Shiny brass handle. Mini pressed their blue furry face close. "I walked past here yesterday morning," they whispered. "This wasn't here." They touched the door. It felt warm. The handle turned! The painted door swung open—into darkness. Cool air whooshed out, ruffling the white tuft on Mini's head. Their trench coat flapped wildly. From inside came a sound: tick-tick-tick-tick. Like a clock. Like the workshop clock their adoptive parent used to wind every night. Mini's heart thumped. Everything felt wrong and right at once.