A Mystery in The Magic Woods

“Fun, funny, and filled with adventure!” –Leonard Spencer Shelby, Tortoise

A Mystery in The Magic Woods is an exciting and humorous adventure story that follows the journeys of Mr. Shelby, Squirrel, Hickory the Owl on one quest; and Jessica, Bhikku Kat, and Joe the Bunny on another. These two adventures come to an exciting clash but not before Magic Woods Rescue sends out Dylan and Alex who arrive just in the nick of time to save our heroes from the certain peril that seeks to destroy all that is beautiful and good in The Magic Woods. Humor abounds in this delightful tale that is heartily recommended for Young Readers.

What first took wings as an educational children’s television program to teach young kids about backyard nature has now undergone a metamorphosis into a colorful cinematic adventure story for young readers that promises to be a real page turner. Begun under the incredible mentorship of Mr. Fred Rogers, The Magic Woods brand has blossomed into an exciting fun-filled series for the young and young at heart. All of the colorful characters from The Magic Woods are here to bring the charm of this special place to the hearts and minds of every reader. We’ll see you in The Magic Woods!

A Mystery in The Magic Woods

Please enjoy this Ten Page Story Sample:

I. The Trouble With Nuts

A tortoise can live for a very long time, which is a good thing for an animal that moves about so slowly and takes forever to get where they’re going. You might think that moving at a snail’s pace would instill some sense of patience in a tortoise, but this is certainly not the case for Mr. Shelby. One thing he is not is easy-going.

Mr. Shelby has many honorable qualities. He’s thoughtful, kind, and always very helpful. But as people are often best understood by their own contradictions, we have to remember for as friendly as he is, Mr. Shelby can have a quick temper; he will not suffer fools gladly. How such an endearing gentle tortoise could have the short patience of a begging dog is a great mystery. It’s not the only mystery that we’re going to confront.

On this crisp new morning Mr. Shelby is about to lose his patience big time. He’s mere moments from blowing his cool after he slips on a huge pile of wet slippery acorns that have been scattered carelessly all around his cottage floor. In a minute he’ll  flail about frantically like some clown slipping on a hundred banana peels for laughs. As his arms gyrate and he completely loses his balance, he’ll knock over every single thing in his house and leave a terrible mess. Get ready; Mr. Shelby’s fall will be a doozy!

A smart reader such as yourself may wonder—why are all of those acorns on the floor and who put them there? These are good questions. When Mr. Shelby went to bed the previous night his house was in perfect order: a place for everything and everything in its place. All of his books were neatly arranged on his tidy bookcase beside his favorite old chair. His kitchen, as always, was swept and spotless; even the fireplace was free of old ashes. So why all the nuts?

Alas, the answer will have to wait because here comes our pratfall.

Oh, it started off innocently enough, of course; Mr. Shelby was blithely unaware of any impending disaster as he began his day with a broad smile as usual; he then earnestly greeted the dawn of a bright new morning:

“What could possibly go wrong on a day such as this?” he asked himself.

“Nothing, heh-heh!” he answered. Shelby gracefully slid out of his bed and quickly tidied the covers. 

As you can see, he’s very neat.

Now, curiously, he closed his eyes as he stretched his arms and then stepped toward the kitchen to brew his morning Earl Grey tea with his eyes still firmly shut. He moved slowly as if he were still savoring a delightful dream; perhaps dreaming about when he was a young hatchling in the Galápagos Islands. Although the kitchen was just a few short steps away, the path was littered with hundreds—if not thousands — of acorns, which concealed all but a few patches of bare floor. Miraculously, even with his eyes closed, Shelby’s feet always found the open floor! It was uncanny.

As a creature of habit, he began everyday like the last, with three deep breaths to encourage healthy living. He drew in his first breath then exhaled with a great gust: “One!” he said. Next the second step; a deep inhale, then: “Two!” he said, again as a great wind blew forth.  And then just before the third step a sharp inhale followed by “And threeeeeee…!”

Just then Shelby’s right foot finally found a massive pile of nuts.

If life played out in slow motion we would see all of the nuts shooting at us like a thousand little rockets, each ricocheting off the stone walls and fireplace, strafing the fine china and lead pane windows with impressive accuracy, leaving nothing that was fragile unbroken. Amid the shards of exploding glass and flying debris we’d witness our poor Mr. Shelby suspended momentarily in mid-air, caught halfway between the word “three” and a screaming yelp. His rotund tortoise-ness seemingly defying the laws of gravity, caught in the sky like a moon in orbit, his limbs twisting and turning uselessly like a fish trying to swim in the air.

But in real time Shelby shot every one of those acorns around the room, breaking everything last thing in sight, and then fell to the floor with a mighty crash— WHAM! 

And this is when he lost his temper.

“BLAST!!! Who left all these nuts here?!” he bellowed.

Just then Shelby heard what sounded like a dump truck backing up with series of sharp “beeps!” right before several hundred more nuts poured in through one of the shattered windows. We have found our culprit: Squirrel popped his head in the window and said matter-of-factly, “Oh good, you found my nuts.” 

Shelby could hardly contain himself. “Found your nuts! What on Earth are you talking about?!” he shouted.

Squirrel was a frequent, if not always welcome, guest at Shelby’s, and has many good qualities—but as we’ll learn, seeing the obvious was not always one of them.

“What are you doing lying on the floor? Aren’t you supposed to be, like, doing stuff?” Squirrel said. He darted into the room and nicked a nut from the floor and started to nibble. “You know what they say: the early bird catches the thing.” Squirrel loved all of the old sayings from Benjamin Franklin—he just couldn’t remember how any of them went. “You should be on your way by now,” he continued between bites. “Remember: early to bed, early to rise makes a man…uh, something, something, and something,” he shrugged, then tossed back the last of the nut and chewed vigorously.

Shelby laid on the floor too mad to say anything as his face turned a deep red.

“That’s all I got,” Squirrel said, then swallowed. As he turned to run off he called back over his shoulder, “Hey, I hope you don’t mind if I keep my nuts here. I need someplace to store them for the winter. Thanks!” And with that Squirrel scurried back outside to gather what he thought would be many more.

. . . 

With his flying goggles and white scarf, Hickory the Owl looked every part the aviator. We find him now soaring high above the woods looking for prey. Owls have long held the reputation of being wise, but Hickory was a little challenged in that regard. It’s not that Hickory wasn’t smart—he certainly knew all about owl stuff, like hunting and such thing— but Hickory didn’t really know anything about the kind of things that you learn in school, like history or math. Which is funny, because of what happened next. 

It was just starting to get light out when he spied some critter working outside “to beat the band,” as he would say. Hickory had never seen anything like it. He silently glided in for a closer look and stealthily perched in a tree where he couldn’t be seen. 

“This poor little animal is working like the dickens!” Hickory thought, as he watched that little angel endlessly running back and forth, up and down, never stopping to take a break, working harder than anyone he’d ever seen before. It was so inspiring to see such a great work ethic that it reminded Hickory of his own task at hand: hunting. Watching that little guy scurrying back and forth collecting nuts gave Hickory quite an appetite.

Wait — collecting nuts?

Yes. Do we mean…? Yes. It was at that very moment that Hickory decided to make a meal of Squirrel. 

Because that’s what owls do. It’s nature.

This is going to be one of those rare times when working extra hard wasn’t going to pay off for Squirrel. 

So Hickory leapt from the tree branch and with the expert skill of a flying ace he snatched Squirrel (whomp!) in his talons and then sailed off into the resplendent sunrise with his breakfast in tow; sort of an owl’s version of take out.

Even though Squirrel could famously be a little slow on the uptake, it didn’t take our poor friend much time to realize what was happening, as Hickory clutched him in his claws and flew for home. Squirrel saw now that all of his hard work was for naught. For reasons known only to himself he decided to lighten the mood.

“How long until the beverage service on this flight?” he asked cheerfully. Hickory didn’t recognize the airplane reference so he kept to himself. Undaunted, Squirrel pressed on:

“I’d ask you what’s for breakfast, but I’m guessing it’s yours truly.”

“Why, hoo-hoo-hoo! Yes in-deedy do.” Hickory hooted.

“Yes, (gulp!) that’s what I thought.” 

As these were undoubtably his last moments on this good Earth, Squirrel decided to at least try and enjoy the ride and the scenery. He’d never been this high in the sky before and from here he could see deep into The Magic Woods just as the first rays of the new day’s sun lit the trees, trails, meadow, and the lake. It was beautiful to see.

A quiet moment passed while Hickory labored along, climbing a little higher to find a rising air current that he could ride.

“You must be a very good hunter. You’re the first one to catch me ever.” Squirrel said, “And I know that hunting takes a lot of work— a lot of work, yes sir-ee! Do you know what Benjamin Franklin said about hunting?”

Hickory didn’t.

“A sleeping fox catches no … no, um, no nothing! That’s what he said.”

Hickory nodded and started his slow descent.

“Ben also said that a penny saved is a penny … for sure!” 

Hickory didn’t know that. “You’re pretty wise for being a little squirrel,” he said.

Squirrel’s ears perked up— he saw an opening for a game of wits. “You must be pretty wise, too, being an owl and all,” he said.

Now anyone who has ever struggled to learn something new, like sports or mathematics, will understand how Hickory felt at this moment (besides being very hungry). Hickory knew he wasn’t, in fact, a wise owl— at least not yet. He burned with a mix of shame and embarrassment at the mention of it, like someone who missed the potential winning shot to lose the school basketball championship and then gets a call from Grandma who asks, “And how’s our little basketball star doing?”

So Hickory just hooted and huffed.

“That’s what I thought,” Squirrel said, suppressing a smile, “I could see how wise you were the moment we met.”

“Why, hoo-hoo-hoo! Really?” Hickory asked.

“Oh yeah; the way you swooped down and caught me all unawares, I thought to myself, now this must be a really wise owl.” 

“You didn’t think that.”

“No, I did, really!”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I’m serious! Like Ben Franklin said, honesty is the best … um, thing to do!” 

“Hmm,” was all Hickory said. He noticed his favorite perch down below at the Trail Mailbox and glided in for a landing. Time was running out for Squirrel and he knew it.

. . . 

Not too far from the Trail Mailbox was a magnificent treehouse designed and built by a famous architect who loved to provide children and adults with special places to learn all about the blessings of nature. This particular treehouse was the home of our resident storyteller Matthew and his beautiful wife, Mrs. Craig. Mrs. Craig had the Treehouse decorated very warmly with an eye toward comfort; she even had some of Matthew’s drawings framed on the wall. 

As Matthew set out for the day he kissed her goodbye. He sang a little song he had written while he gingerly marched down the front steps. It went like this:

“Let’s go outside to see what we find, we’ll look all around, on the ground.

Let’s go outside to see what we find, we’ll count the birds who fly high in the sky—High in the sky!

Listen: I hear a cricket that is near, by my ear I hear a cardinal call.

Walk with me through the woods, if you please, 

Because we’re learning while we play.

Let’s go outside to see what we find, we’ll look all around, on the ground.

Let’s go outside to see what we find, we’ll count the birds who fly high in the sky—High in the sky!”

Mr. Shelby ambled by right on time as usual just as Matthew reached the end of the walk. 

“Good morning, Mr. Shelby.” Matthew said.

“Yes, hello; welcome outside, Matthew. I wish I could say that it’s been a good morning,” Mr. Shelby said, “I took quite a spill earlier.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that! Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. Luckily I come equipped with my own hard shell. Heh! Heh!”

“You sure do!” Matthew said as he placed his hand on Mr. Shelby’s back. “I’m glad you’re okay because we have some urgent business to take care of today: writing a new adventure story.”

“Then we should proceed at once without delay,” Shelby said. He pivoted somewhat quickly—he is a tortoise after all—and started off in the direction opposite from whence he came.

“Wait,” Matthew said, “don’t you think we should check the Trail Mailbox first to see if there’s an important letter or package?” 

“Given that we have urgent business it seems best that we get right to it,” Shelby said.

“Oh, it’ll only take a minute,” Matthew said. “Come on, we’re almost there already,” he said and pointed in the other direction. Shelby sighed. He was always anxious to get going on the day’s task.

“You may delay, but time will not,” Mr. Shelby said.

“That’s a good line—did you just make that up?”

“No—I heard some version of it from a squirrel I know,” Shelby said.

“You should write it down.”

“Yes, yes,” he said as he joined Matthew walking down the trail, “I may also live it.”

. . .

At that very moment just down the trail, Hickory was preparing to break his night’s fast and enjoy one of his favorite meals. When he had finished eating he would zip over to the Babbling Brook nearby and wash his meal down with a sweet cool sip of fresh clear water. It looked to be the perfect start to a beautiful morning.

For an owl, that is. For a squirrel? Not so much.

With one claw perched atop the Trail Mailbox sign, Hickory clutched Squirrel with the other and readied himself to dine. If these kinds of things make you squeamish you’ll be forgiven for looking away — Squirrel certainly wished he could look away! But predator and prey is the way of nature, as Hickory and Squirrel both surely knew, and for Squirrel the dinner bell was about to ring; just not in the way that he would’ve liked.

“Well, I guess this is it,” Squirrel said. Hickory didn’t see the need to say anything; partly out of respect, but partly because no one really likes talking to their food. Besides, if he had answered, “Why, hoo-hoo-hoo! Yes in-deedy do!” that might’ve seemed cruel. And creepy.

So Hickory just nodded.

“Perhaps I could have a few last words?” Squirrel asked. Even Hickory knew that this was just a stall tactic, but he held Squirrel’s fate in his hands, so to speak, so what was the harm? 

“Just make it quick,” he said.

. . . 

It was just a short stroll to the Trail Mailbox from the Treehouse, and Matthew and Mr. Shelby would be there in no time, even at Shelby’s pace. They could not have imagined the scene that awaited them. Hickory was just about to do what hungry owls do with their prey, when Squirrel uttered his last words.

“Ben’s really gonna miss me when I’m gone!”  he said. 

This stopped Hickory right in his tracks. 

“Ben who? Hoo-hoo-hoo!” Hickory said.

“Ben Franklin. I’m his pet squirrel.”

Now this left Hickory completely betwixt, befuddled, and bewildered. Eating a squirrel is one thing, but eating the pet of a beloved historical figure is something else entirely.

“Why, hoo-hoo-hoo! I thought he was dead.”

“Oh, no—I just saw him right before you came. He said to say hello,” Squirrel said. “He was hoping to have a chance to meet you in person. He said owls are noble birds, like turkeys, so he wanted to meet you.”

Squirrel was on a roll now.

The very thought of meeting the great Benjamin Franklin caused Hickory to puff out his chest and stand a little taller and more proud. “How can I meet him?” he asked.

“Well, you’ll have to let me go, of course.”

“Of course,” Hickory said.

He then quickly reconsidered. “Why—how do I know you’re not just saying all of this to get away?”

“Pff! How could I fool you?” Squirrel said, “You’re, like, the smartest owl I’ve ever met!” Hickory’s ego was more than a little flattered by this. Maybe I am a smart owl after all since I’ll get to meet someone important like Benjamin Franklin, he thought; not everyone gets to say that! Certainly no other owls that he had ever met.

“Well, okay then. But no tricks!” And so Hickory released his death grip and let Squirrel go, just as Shelby and Matthew arrived.

. . . 

To say that Squirrel wasted little time scurrying to safety would be a grand understatement. If you can imagine flipping a light switch off and then jumping into bed before the room got dark, then you have some idea of how fast that scared l’il fellow ran! He scooted right over to Shelby and hid behind his shell.

“What’s going on here?!” Shelby blurted out. He was startled to see Squirrel dart at him and hide for cover.

“Why, hoo-hoo-hoo! He’s going to introduce me to Benjamin Franklin,” Hickory said. “I hear he’s very nice.”

“I didn’t know your friend was also a great magician, Mr. Shelby,” Matthew said.

“How do you mean?” Shelby asked.

“It’ll be a neat trick to meet the good Doctor Franklin; he’s been dead since 1790.” Matthew said.

Now, it’s well known that birds of prey, like owls, have outstanding eyesight. It’s less well known that they are also excellent practitioners of the art of “stink eye.” Hickory demonstrated this by shooting such a look at Squirrel, who shot one right back!

Scary stuff.

“Matthew, we should remember that we have pressing business today,” Shelby said.

“Yes! Since you’re here, Hickory, you can see what’s in the Trail Mailbox with us,” Matthew said.

The drama of the last few minutes was momentarily set aside as everyone’s attention focused on what might be inside the Trail Mailbox. Matthew stepped over and firmly opened the door. His eyes widened by what he found:

It was a magical key. 

(c) 2024 by Matthew Craig as administered by TMW Imagination Co.

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