Blue Tape and Quiet Corners

The crayon-shaped tower looked like it had been scribbled into the sky. Inside, the lobby smelled like hot cocoa and wet boots.

Ms Crayon Sheep leaned on the front desk, scrolling parade reminders on her phone. Her blue mask pinched her cheeks. A cold draft skated past her legs and flipped a paper flyer against a plant.

A deer kid hurried in, rubbing his horns with bare hands.

“Ms Crayon Sheep?” he said. “My horn warmers are gone.”

“Gone where?” she asked.

“Here. I took them off for cocoa. I hung them on the rack.” He pointed at a coat rack by the supply closet.

Ms Crayon Sheep walked over. One hook had a strip of blue painter’s tape stuck to it, like someone tried to label it and quit.

“Juniper, did you put tape on this?”

He shook his head fast.

Near the closet door, low on the wall, a faint smear of bright blue crayon curved like a thumbprint.

The Door That Wouldn’t Behave

Ms Crayon Sheep yanked the supply-closet door.

Cold air punched out like a prank. A mop bucket toppled. Soapy water raced across the lobby tiles.

“Whoa!” Juniper, the deer kid in a red jacket, skated forward.

Ms Crayon Sheep grabbed his sleeve and hauled him back. Her boots squeaked. The door banged once, like it was arguing.

“Okay,” she muttered, pushing it shut. “That is not normal.”

A bell jingled as a woman hurried in, cheeks pink from the street.

“I’m Nia,” she said. “I fix shoes two blocks over. Your wind just tried to steal my shop sign.” She stared at the puddle. “Also… kids keep coming in with one mitten missing. One. It makes no sense.”

Ms Crayon Sheep pulled out her phone and opened the camera. “Hold this steady,” she told Juniper.

She aimed the lens at the coat rack. The blue tape on the empty hook fluttered, pointing at the closet, while the closet knob twitched