After breakfast, I bundled up in my oversized scarf and Dad's hand-me-down mittens. Maplewood Ridge looked like it had been dusted with sugar overnight—tiny rooftops covered in snow, smoke curling from chimneys, and the streets lined with frosted pine trees.
The air smelled like pine needles and cinnamon from someone's bakery. I tried not to think about the hot chocolate waiting for me at home—too late, my stomach betrayed me with a loud grumble.
I trudged down the familiar sidewalks, snow crunching under my boots. The chill nipped at my nose, and I pulled my scarf higher. It wasn't bitter cold, but it had that perfect bite that made you feel alive, like winter itself was daring you to enjoy it.
Kids were sledding on the small hill by the community park. Their laughter echoed through the crisp air. One kid—probably a third-grader—almost crashed into a snowman someone had spent at least thirty minutes crafting. I shook my head, smiling. Classic Maplewood chaos.
I waved at Mr. Jensen, our neighbour, who was trying to shovel his walkway while balancing a coffee mug. He waved back with one hand and gestured for me to avoid the icy patch. I nodded. Somehow, in a town this small, everyone knew everyone—and everything about everyone.
The library bell chimed as I passed by. I almost went in—almost—but I remembered I had homework and a suspicious sense of responsibility tugging at me. Still, the little glow from the breakfast table this morning kept flickering in my mind. I shook my head. Probably just me imagining things.
Walking past Maplewood Ridge High, I caught sight of some of my classmates trudging to school, their heads down, backpacks slung too heavily over one shoulder. I smirked. "Same routine, different day," I muttered.
Even the town square looked ordinary. The Christmas decorations twinkled, but they weren't magical, just festive. For a moment, I sighed. Life here was cozy, predictable… and maybe, just a little too ordinary.
I ducked into my favourite corner café to warm up. The barista, Sarah, smiled at me like she knew every detail of my life. "Morning, Sandra! You're the only person I know who wears mittens that big and still drops them everywhere."
"Morning, Sarah. Someone has to keep life interesting," I said, slipping off my mittens and shaking the snow off.
I sipped my hot chocolate, watching the steam curl like little ghostly dancers. And that's when it happened—just a flicker, a soft shimmer in the reflection of the window, barely noticeable. My curiosity prickled. I blinked. Surely it was just the lights from the café.
But something about it… felt deliberate.
I shook my head again. I told myself to stop noticing odd things. This was Maplewood Ridge, not Narnia. Or maybe it was. Maybe all small towns held secrets like this, hidden just beneath the surface.
By the time I left the café, my fingers were tingling from the cold, and my mind was buzzing. The glow—or whatever it was—wasn't leaving me alone. I tried to act normal, walking past the snow-laden streets, nodding to neighbours, waving at the mailman. But my eyes kept darting back, searching for a hint, a clue, a reason why the ordinary world felt suddenly… off.
The small-town chill wrapped around me, gentle yet persistent, whispering something I didn't understand yet. Something about adventure. Something about doors… twelve doors, as if my brain whispered out loud.
I laughed at myself. Twelve doors? Seriously?
But as I trudged home, the glow from this morning's breakfast table kept tugging at me, like a thread, pulling me toward… something I didn't know yet.
And for the first time that morning, Maplewood Ridge didn't feel quite so ordinary.