Seven-year-old Zosia finds a cloak in her wardrobe that makes her disappear. When she hears a strange sound from the garden, her quiet morning turns into something much bigger.
Zosia was seven and lived in a little house at the end of Flower Street. She liked costumes best of all, and she liked her cat, Spot, almost as much.
One morning, while she was getting ready for kindergarten, she opened her wardrobe and froze. On the top shelf lay a cloak she had never seen before. It was soft and silver, and it shone as if it had caught a scrap of moonlight.
Spot peered over the edge of the bed and gave a tiny meow.
Zosia lifted the cloak and slipped it over her shoulders.
At once, her hands vanished.
She gasped. The cloak had disappeared too, along with her feet, her dress, and even the tip of her nose. She was still there, but no one could see her.
Spot sprang backward, ears twitching.
Zosia covered her mouth to stop a laugh. Then she tiptoed out into the hall. Her brother was there, hunting for his slippers, right beside her, but he looked straight through her as if she were made of air.
“It really works,” Zosia whispered.
Her heart thudded with excitement. If she was invisible, what could she do first?
Before she could decide, a strange sound drifted in from the garden. It was not the wind. It was not Spot. It was a soft, scratchy shuffle, as if something outside had just moved in the grass.
Zosia turned toward the back door. The cloak felt warm on her shoulders.
Then the garden gate gave a slow, creaking sigh.