Charles and Lena answer Mr. Stefan's odd request and discover that his new space fridge has its own rules, a singing carrot, and a very suspicious guardian.
Charles had barely opened his eyes on Saturday morning when he learned two things: his neighbour Mr. Stefan was ringing the doorbell, and something in the day ahead was going to go completely wrong.
He was right about both.
Mr. Stefan stood on the doorstep in his slippers, grinning so widely that his moustache looked as if it might fall off. Behind him, in the hallway, Lena was already peering over Charles's shoulder, because when Mr. Stefan turned up unannounced, he usually arrived with trouble in one hand and a joke in the other.
"Urgent assistance required," said Mr. Stefan, pressing a hand to his forehead in a tragic pose. "My new space fridge has developed its own ideas, and those ideas are ruining my morning. It has locked away my favourite carrot juice. A disaster of the highest order."
"Your fridge locked up your carrot juice?" Charles asked.
"Not just locked it up," Mr. Stefan said. "It has begun to regulate my entire life. I was reaching for a snack when the door informed me that I was not authorised."
Lena blinked. "The door talked?"
"Only briefly," said Mr. Stefan. "Then it beeped at me in a very rude tone."
Charles should have known better. He should have gone back upstairs, finished his breakfast, and pretended not to hear any of this. Instead, he looked at Lena, and Lena gave him the same look she always gave just before something silly became impossible to resist.
Five minutes later, they were in Mr. Stefan's kitchen.
The fridge stood in the corner like it was trying very hard to look ordinary, which only made it more suspicious. It glowed at the edges with tiny coloured lights. A handwritten note had been taped to the door.
Lena read it aloud. "Attention: enter singly. Or double, if one likes a squeeze."
"That is not reassuring," Charles said.
"It is, however, excellent customer service," Mr. Stefan replied.
He folded his hands behind his back and nodded toward the handle as if he were presenting a prize on a game show. "Who wishes to go first?"
"Me," said Charles at once, because if there was a strange fridge involved, he was determined not to let Lena be braver than him.
He pulled the door open.
Cold air did not hit him.
Music did.
The inside of the fridge stretched far deeper than it should have, with bright shelves spinning slowly like a carousel. A jar of pickles gave them a cheerful wobble from a top shelf. Somewhere in the back, a tin of beans hummed to itself. The light was pale and pearly, as if the whole place had been made from moonshine and leftovers.
"Good morning in a cold world," said a voice.
Charles stared. Lena stared harder.
Something thumped beneath their feet. A sack of frozen chips kicked one corner up and began to shuffle sideways as if it had suddenly remembered a dance lesson. The yoghurts lined up in a neat row with military precision. Then, from behind a tower of ice cream tubs, a creature stepped into view.
It was furry. It was round. It had a milk bottle cap perched on its head like a crown, and a spoon in one paw like a wand.
"I am Chodzix," it announced. "Guardian of the fridge. Keeper of the shelves. Protector of proper order. And you, I assume, are trespassers."
Charles opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Lena found her voice first. "We came for the carrot juice."
Chodzix narrowed its eyes. "Everyone comes for something. Few are worthy."
At that exact moment, the shelves gave a sharp metallic shiver. The frozen chips twitched into a samba. One of the yoghurts slid forward and spun once on the spot. Then the carrot, still squashed in its crate near the back, lifted itself upright and began reciting a poem about vitamins in a solemn, booming voice.
Charles looked at Lena. Lena looked at Charles.
Both of them were trying very hard not to laugh.
Chodzix slapped the spoon against a shelf. "Silence! The fridge is unstable. If you want the carrot juice, you will have to pass my challenge."
"What kind of challenge?" Charles asked.
Chodzix did not answer.
Instead, it turned and pointed a furry paw toward a narrow door Charles had not noticed before, half-hidden behind the yoghurts. A strip of light flickered along its edge. Something on the other side flashed once, bright and alarming, as if it had just woken up and was not pleased to be found.
Then the fridge shook again, harder this time, and the hidden door began to creak open.