But he is nowhere to be seen. Not in the cupboards, she checks with dismay, rattling them a bit. Not under the table- she knows because she hit her head there a minute ago. But oh what’s that, over in the corner?
A big… black… pot.
The footprints lead up to it.
Clara crawls her way to the big cookpot and looks inside. A single sticky handprint, in glorious cherry flavor.
As she gets back up again, she notices the small kitchen window, just a little square on the Eastern side of the house, is pushed inward, toward her.
Must have been how you got in here, my little mouse!” she calls, slumping on the only chair for a breather, “I’ll leave it for the next one!”