Have you ever had a dream that was so sad, you woke up with a broken heart? That's how I felt the next morning. I couldn't forget the moon-white frog and his sorrowful music.
But this was no dream. The red door was still there.
After an unanswered knock, I opened the door. The frog sat on the locked wooden trunk looking gloomier than before.
"Hello," I said. The frog didn't seem to hear me, or notice me at all.
I wanted to help him. But how?
And—what's in that locked trunk?