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?