Young Writers Society

"I think that's low-balling it. Mia loves to talk to people. She's much better at it than us." Onni laughed. "And who wouldn't want to talk to her?"

"No one in there right mind would ever refuse to talk to her," agreed Sylvie.

Onni sighed. "Hopefully, Not-a-squirrel-Brian helps us out some, then."

"Let's hope so."

Onni and Sylvie approached the base of the tree. There, mostly hidden in the branches, was a giant house. A rope hung from the front door with a sign attached to the bottom that read, "Tug to ring doorbell."

"I guess we ring the doorbell," said Sylvie.

Onni nodded and tugged on the rope. A large dong rang out, rustling the leaves.

There was a slight shake as if something inside the tree was moving and then before Onni could pull on the rope again, there was the creak of the door opening and a man poked his head out.

“No one’s home!” He slammed the door shut behind him.

Onni sighed. “I know the feeling, but that’s when you hide, not answer the door.”

"I guess we ring the bell again," said Sylvie.

Onni sighed and rang the doorbell again.

The same man opened the door. "I said no one's home!"

"Forgive me for assuming, but aren't you home at the moment sir?" asked Sylvie, slowly.

"Obviously not. I just said no one's home."

Onni groaned. "Then how are you here? Answering us?"

"No one's answering you because no one's home."

Sylvie sighed. "But sir, you are answering aren't you. If you weren't how would we know that no one was home?"

"Because it's obvious that no one is home." The guy gestured at his house.

"But that doesn't explain you, standing on the porch of your treehouse."

"No one. Is. Home. That's enough explanation."