⏱ ~4 min reading
Yaremko moved into a new room at the very beginning of spring. It was small, with blue wallpaper with little ships and a big old wardrobe in the corner. The wardrobe had come from his grandfather, and it smelled of an old book and a little bit of apples.
Everything would be fine if it weren't for the door.
Every evening, just as Yaremko turned on the nightlight and picked up a book, the left door of the closet suddenly—cr-r-rip!—would slowly open. On its own. Without any wind. Without someone else's hand. Sometimes it would open a little, sometimes almost wide open.
The first time, Yaremko was so scared that he ducked under the covers with his head and sat there until he fell asleep. His heart was pounding like a drum on a parade. In the morning, it turned out that the door had been open—just the width of his palm.
The next evening he decided to be braver. He sat and watched. And again: at half past eight, quietly—cr-r-rip!—the door slid aside.
“Who’s there?” Yaremko asked in a whisper.
His shirts and sweaters were silent in the closet. Only the sleeve of his striped sweater swayed slightly, as if waving. The air smelled of something green, like a freshly plucked leaf.
On the third evening, he called his sister, Bohdana. Bohdana was older, in third grade, and wasn't afraid of anything in the world—not even spiders.
"Look," said Yaremko. "Now they'll open on their own.".
They sat on the bed and didn't breathe. The clock in the hallway struck eight-thirty. And—cr-r-rip! The door obediently slid aside.
Bogdana wrinkled her nose.
— Hmm. Strange.
She went to the closet and looked in. Sweaters. A box of cubes. Grandpa's old notebook. Nothing out of the ordinary.
"Maybe the floor is crooked," she decided. "That's where it's going.".
But Yaremko knew: the floor was flat. He specially checked with a pencil - it didn't roll. And also: the door always opened at exactly the same time. The floor doesn't know how to do that.
On the fourth evening, Yaremko decided to lie quietly, with his eyes closed, and peer through his eyelashes.
The clock struck half past eight. Something tinkled faintly in the room, like a thin crystal bell. It smelled of something green: young leaves, rain, and a little bit of honey.
Cr-r-rip! — the door slid aside.
And then Yaremko saw.
A tiny girl flew out of the door. No bigger than a sparrow. Her hair was like dandelion fluff, in her braid was an apple blossom petal, and behind her back were wings, transparent like soap bubbles.
She calmly flew up to the window, gently pushed the latch, and the window opened. Fresh night air, smelling of the garden and a little of lilac, poured into the room.
The fairy made a circle under the ceiling, touched the lampshade with her finger (it swayed slightly), and returned to the closet.
"Wait!" Yaremko couldn't stand it.
The fairy froze in midair. She looked at him with eyes as round as two dewdrops.
“Can you see me?” she asked in a small voice, as if someone had clinked a spoon against a cup.
"I see. Who are you?"
"I am the breeze fairy. My name is Rustle. I live in the garden, and I go to your room through the closet—there, behind it, is an old crack in the wall. It's very convenient. I come in every evening, open the window, and let out the stuffy air and let in the fresh. Otherwise you'll have bad dreams.".
Yaremko sat on the bed.
"So it's you?! I thought... I thought there was someone scary in the closet.".
Rustle laughed—the sound was like the wind blowing through bells.
"Scary? Me? But I weigh less than a feather! It's just that the door is old and creaky. I don't even have time to touch it with my finger, and it's already - creak-creak!"
She flew closer and sat on Yaremka's knee. Her wings barely tickled his skin, like a butterfly.
"Can I keep going? It's just that now you'll know.".
"Yes, I can," Yaremko nodded. "And will you bring me good dreams?"
"Of course. Today I will bring you a dream about a boat trip.".
She flapped her wings, blew a gentle breeze on his bangs—it smelled like lilies of the valley—and darted back into the closet. The door quietly—click!—closed by itself.
Yaremko lay down. The sheet smelled of the freshness of the garden. Somewhere under the window a bird was chirping. On the blue wallpaper, the boats seemed to be quietly waving their sails.
"Good night, Shelestynko," Yaremko whispered.
And he sailed off into sleep — to where a small white sailboat was already waiting for him.
✨ The strangest guests sometimes bring the freshest air ✨