When the Towers Hum

Crayon Cat Castle stood at the very center of Artwork Land, bold and bright against the evening sky. Its four towers were giant crayons — one red, one yellow, one green, one blue — and its walls were the warm golden color of fresh parchment. From a distance, it looked like something a happy kid had drawn on the best day of their life.

Ms. Crayon Cat stood on the highest balcony, her orange-and-white tail swishing slowly as she watched the sun dip below the painted hills. Her blue-and-black supersuit caught the last of the light, and her big bright eyes scanned the rooftops of the art-tool neighborhoods below.

"Quiet night," she murmured to herself.

Behind her, one of the castle's inner walls let out a low, strange hum. Just once. Then silence.

Ms. Crayon Cat turned around slowly.

The wall behind her looked perfectly normal.

Ink Before Bedtime

Ms. Crayon Cat stood very still, her ears flat against her head, staring at the wall where the hum had come from. Nothing. Just smooth, golden stone.

She shook her head and went back inside to make dinner — a bowl of cheese puffs and a cup of warm milk, because sometimes that's just what a night called for.

She was halfway through the cheese puffs when she heard it again. Not a hum this time.

A scratching sound.

She set down her bowl. The sound was coming from the corridor — the long hallway connecting the red crayon tower to the main hall.

She grabbed her giant orange crayon from beside the couch and walked carefully toward the doorway.

The corridor was dark. But on the far wall, something glowed faintly — soft lines, pale and greenish, like fresh chalk in the dark. A drawing. A big one.

It was a picture of the castle.

But in the drawing, all four crayon towers were broken. And at the center, where the castle's main gate should be, something had written three words in looping, wobbly letters:

*This isn't yours.*