It was a cold morning. I wanted to sleep longer, but annoying sounds forced me to open my eyes. There was some creaking outside my door. “What’s happening?” I mumbled as I lazily approached.
“He’s home. I’ll be careful,” a low male voice muttered.
“Who’s there!” I yelled. Heavy footsteps ran away, picking up speed. I opened the door and smelled something strange, like grass or moss. No one was there, just a crumpled piece of paper.
I ran to my window to catch a glimpse of that man, but he was gone. When I turned back, my familiar walls had vanished. Towering trees surrounded me, pressing close.
My fingers brushed the crumpled paper I had just found:
“Do not read.”
I couldn’t resist, and the next line whispered:
“He read it. Hide.”