Basia and Kuba find strange glowing footprints under an old oak tree in the park, and a faint laugh in the leaves makes them wonder who is watching them.
It was a soft spring morning in the park, and Basia and Kuba were racing between the benches and the trees when Basia suddenly stopped.
There, under the wide roots of the old oak tree, were tiny footprints glowing on the grass.
They shone bright yellow, as if someone had stepped through a handful of sunlight and left it behind.
Basia crouched down. "Kuba, look," she whispered. "Who made those?"
Kuba bent low beside her and blinked at the trail. "They don't look like dog prints," he said. "Or bird prints."
Basia touched the edge of one footprint with one fingertip. It felt cool, almost like glass, and a little spark tickled her skin.
The footprints led around the oak's thick roots, then curved toward the bushes, as if whoever made them had been in a hurry.
Basia and Kuba followed slowly, step by step, holding their breath.
Just as the last print disappeared into the leaves, they heard a tiny giggle.
Both children froze.
A breeze moved through the branches, and on the oak's rough bark, a silver mark began to shine where there had been nothing before.
Basia stared at it. Kuba gripped her hand tighter.
Something was hiding behind the old tree.