The Crow Sisters and the Door That Wasn’t There Yesterday
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Friday’s Forest Fable
The Crow Sisters and the Door That Wasn’t There Yesterday
Nobody Down Whimsy Way could agree on whether the little green door had always been there.
The Crow Sisters were quite certain it hadn’t.
And as they were the ones who found it, they considered themselves the leading authorities on the matter.
It was the second morning of October.
Mist hung low between the trees.
The woodland floor was scattered with copper leaves, acorns and the occasional mushroom that seemed to have appeared overnight.
The three sisters had gone into the woods to collect blackberries.
At least, that was what they’d told everyone.
In reality, they’d eaten most of the blackberries and were now attempting to determine whether an unusually shaped stick looked more like a dragon or Mr Bramble when he was cross.
“Dragon.”
“Mr Bramble.”
“Dragon.”
“It has his nose.”
“Mr Bramble doesn’t have a nose like that.”
“He does when he’s cross.”
That was when the third sister stopped.
“What’s that?”
The others followed her gaze.
At the bottom of an enormous oak tree…
was a door.
It was no taller than a teapot.
Painted dark green.
With a tiny brass handle.
Three stone steps led up to it.
There was even a little round window beside it.
The Crow Sisters stared.
“Was that there yesterday?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’d remember a door.”
“You forgot your own birthday.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“I knew I had one. I just didn’t know when.”
The third sister hopped closer.
There was a tiny sign nailed above the door.
It read:
PLEASE KNOCK.
Naturally…
they did.
Knock knock knock.
Nothing.
They waited.
One sister pressed her ear against the door.
“Well?”
“I can’t hear anything.”
“Try knocking louder.”
BANG BANG BANG.
Still nothing.
“Perhaps nobody’s home.”
“Perhaps they’re asleep.”
“Perhaps they’re invisible.”
The sisters looked at one another.
This was clearly the most sensible explanation.
They abandoned the blackberries immediately.
Down Whimsy Way needed to know.
Within fifteen minutes, the story had reached Mr Tea Toad’s teahouse.
“There is a mysterious door in the woods,” announced the first Crow Sister.
“It appeared overnight,” added the second.
“And something invisible lives behind it,” finished the third.
Mr Tea Toad stopped pouring tea.
“How do you know it’s invisible?”
“We couldn’t see it.”
Mr Tea Toad considered pointing out the flaw in this reasoning.
Then decided life was too short.
By ten o’clock, Mr Bramble had heard.
By quarter past, the Clockmaker Rabbit knew.
At half past ten, the Moss Witch arrived carrying a basket of herbs and was immediately informed that a secret invisible woodland civilisation had appeared overnight.
The Moss Witch raised an eyebrow.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Entire civilisation?”
“Possibly.”
“How many?”
“They’re invisible. It’s difficult to count.”
“Of course.”
Bartholomew Snailsworth heard about the door shortly before lunch.
Unlike everyone else, he asked a sensible question.
“Has anyone tried opening it?”
Silence.
The Crow Sisters looked at one another.
“No.”
Bartholomew adjusted his spectacles.
“Remarkable.”
And so, after lunch, an expedition was organised.
The Crow Sisters led.
Behind them came Bartholomew.
Then Mr Bramble.
Then the Clockmaker Rabbit.
Then the Moss Witch.
Lantern Fox brought a lantern despite it being broad daylight.
Mr Tea Toad brought a flask and six slices of cake because he believed expeditions should be properly catered.
And eventually the Key Keeper joined them too.
They reached the oak tree.
Everyone stopped.
There it was.
The little green door.
“Oh,” said Mr Bramble.
“That really is a door.”
“We told you.”
“I thought you might be exaggerating.”
The Crow Sisters looked deeply offended.
This was particularly unreasonable given their history.
Bartholomew approached first.
He examined the hinges.
The handle.
The little window.
“Interesting.”
“What?” whispered Mr Bramble.
“I have absolutely no idea.”
Everyone leaned closer.
The Moss Witch crouched beside the steps.
“There are footprints.”
A collective gasp.
Tiny marks crossed the damp earth.
The Clockmaker Rabbit took out a magnifying glass.
“Definitely footprints.”
“Fairies,” whispered one Crow Sister.
“Pixies,” said another.
“Very small witches.”
The Moss Witch looked at her.
“Unlikely.”
“Why?”
“We prefer full-sized doors.”
The Key Keeper smiled.
“Why don’t we knock?”
“We already did.”
“Perhaps you weren’t expected then.”
So she tapped gently.
Knock knock.
Everyone waited.
A leaf fell.
Somewhere above them, a squirrel sneezed.
Nothing happened.
Then…
click.
The tiny brass handle moved.
Mr Bramble dropped a parcel.
The Clockmaker Rabbit grabbed Lantern Fox.
Lantern Fox spilled the flask.
Mr Tea Toad shouted, “My tea!”
And the three Crow Sisters screamed so loudly that two pigeons left a tree three fields away.
The door slowly opened.
Everyone held their breath.
From the darkness inside…
something appeared.
A tiny brown face.
Two bright eyes.
Whiskers.
And an acorn.
A field mouse stepped onto the little stone steps.
She looked at the enormous crowd gathered outside her house.
Then at the Crow Sisters.
Then back at the crowd.
“Can I help you?”
Nobody spoke.
Finally, Bartholomew cleared his throat.
“Good afternoon.”
“Afternoon.”
“Lovely door.”
“Thank you.”
“New?”
The mouse nodded.
“My brother fitted it yesterday.”
The Crow Sisters gasped.
“We knew it!”
The mouse looked confused.
“Knew what?”
“That it wasn’t there yesterday.”
“Oh.”
“Why didn’t you answer this morning?”
“I was collecting hazelnuts.”
“Are you invisible?”
“No.”
“Do you belong to a secret civilisation?”
“No.”
“Are you magical?”
The mouse thought.
“Not particularly.”
The Crow Sisters looked devastated.
Everyone began wandering back towards the village.
Mystery solved.
No invisible civilisation.
No secret kingdom.
No magical beings.
Just a field mouse with a very nice new front door.
The Crow Sisters trailed behind.
“That was disappointing.”
“Very.”
“I really thought there’d be magic.”
The third sister stopped.
She looked back.
The little green door glowed in the afternoon sunlight.
Tiny mushrooms grew beside the steps.
Smoke curled from a chimney they hadn’t noticed before.
A miniature washing line stretched between two roots.
And through the round window, the mouse was placing flowers into a thimble-sized vase.
“Wait.”
The other sisters stopped.
“What?”
She pointed.
“Look.”
They looked.
For a moment nobody said anything.
Then the first sister smiled.
“Oh.”
The second sister tilted her head.
“Well…”
The third sister nodded.
“Exactly.”
Perhaps they’d been looking for the wrong kind of magic.
That evening, the story spread through Down Whimsy Way again.
Only this time it changed slightly.
The Crow Sisters told everyone about the tiny green door.
The stone steps.
The little round window.
The chimney hidden between the roots.
The acorn lantern hanging beside the entrance.
And the field mouse who lived beneath an oak tree in a house nobody had noticed before.
“Was it magical?” asked Mr Tea Toad.
The sisters looked at one another.
“Yes,” said the first.
“Definitely,” said the second.
The third smiled.
“Just not in the way we expected.”
When we’re children, we expect to find magic everywhere.
Behind doors.
Beneath stones.
At the bottom of the garden.
In strange noises from the attic.
We believe something wonderful might be waiting around any corner.
Then we grow older.
And slowly…
we stop looking.
A door becomes a door.
A wood becomes some trees.
A moon becomes something we barely notice through the car window.
We become very good at knowing what things are.
And sometimes, in doing so, we forget to wonder what they could be.
But perhaps wonder isn’t something we’re supposed to grow out of.
Perhaps magic was never about invisible kingdoms or secret spells.
Perhaps it’s the first curl of chimney smoke on an October morning.
A mushroom appearing where yesterday there was none.
A little house beneath an oak tree.
The sound of leaves beneath your boots.
A moon so bright you stop walking just to look at it.
A story that makes you forget, for a few minutes, how old you’re supposed to be.
The world doesn’t necessarily become less magical when we grow up.
Sometimes…
we simply stop expecting to find magic in it.
So perhaps this week, we could borrow something from the Crow Sisters.
Look a little closer.
Wonder a little longer.
And when you find something ordinary that makes you stop and smile…
don’t be too quick to explain the magic out of it.
Some things are much nicer when we leave a little room for wonder.
Until next Friday’s Forest Fable…
May you never become too grown-up to investigate tiny doors, look for magic in ordinary places, or wonder what might be waiting just around the corner.
If you’re ready to look a little closer and find a little magic of your own, there’s something waiting for you Down Whimsy Way. A box full of carefully chosen surprises — the kind that make you stop, smile, and wonder how you went without one for so long.
With warm wishes,
Becky
The Key Keeper
Down Whimsy Way