Zosia notices her green carpet twitching, warming, and whispering. When the room grows still, the carpet lifts into the air and asks her to close her eyes and wish for a place to go.
Zosia had just finished building the tallest block tower she had ever made. She sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor, admiring it from a safe distance, when something odd caught her eye.
Her green carpet shivered.
Not much. Just a tiny wobble, as if someone had brushed past it. But the window was shut, the door was closed, and nobody else was in the room.
Zosia leaned closer. Carpets did not wobble. Carpets did not blink. Carpets did not do anything at all.
She put both hands on the soft green wool. It was warm. Warm as toast.
Then silver threads began to glimmer along the edge, curling and twisting like little shining snakes. Blue. Gold. Pink. The colors sparkled brighter and brighter until Zosia had to squint.
A quiet voice tickled the air.
"Hello, Zosia. Are you ready?"
Zosia froze.
She looked at her teddy frog, Bolka, sitting by the pillow. Bolka said nothing. The voice had come from under her hands.
"My carpet can talk?" Zosia whispered.
The carpet gave a soft, pleased tremble. Her block tower rattled. One block slipped. Then another. The tower teetered, wobbled, and stayed upright by the tiniest bit.
The carpet lifted an inch off the floor.
Zosia’s mouth fell open. The room seemed to hold its breath. Even the clock by the bed sounded quieter than before.
"If you want," said the carpet, now glowing at the edges, "I can show you something very unusual."
Zosia hugged Bolka against her chest and climbed onto the middle of the carpet.
"But first," whispered the carpet, rising higher, "close your eyes and think of a place you have always wanted to visit."
Zosia shut her eyes tight and pictured a meadow full of bright flowers and fluttering butterflies.
The carpet shivered beneath her.
Then, with a soft swoop, it rose toward the ceiling.