When Paul does not show up at their bus stop that morning, Olivia knows she needs to worry. If it were any other morning, she would assume he overslept or got sidetracked, or found a baby bird that needed rescuing. But this is not any other morning. This is the morning when Paul is finally going to present his big project to his whole class, the one he’s been working tirelessly on. The one his mom can’t know about. The one about something called the Dark Web. Olivia did not approve of the project, because everything Paul told her about it sounded dangerous. But she knows how important today is to Paul.

Olivia, Paul and Olivia’s little brother Oliver have shared a bus stop since Paul’s first day of Kindergarten and Olivia’s first day of Grade One. As the oldest of the three, Olivia took it upon herself to keep the other two organized. When Paul’s mom went back to work last year, it meant she would be leaving the house before him. But Olivia assured her that she, Olivia, would be responsible for making sure Paul got to school okay. Mrs. Smart had thanked her in a genuinely relieved way, not in that way adults sometimes patronizingly speak to children. Olivia lives for that genuine praise.

Olivia knows the adults see her as very responsible, so she can’t let Paul’s absence slide. She grabs Oliver’s hand in hers and pulls him down the sidewalk to Paul’s house. Inside, they find Paul’s Toronto Maple Leafs winter jacket still hanging on its hook downstairs, his dirty white runners, worn regardless of season, resting on the shoe rack underneath.

Olivia narrows her eyes at the jacket. This is suspicious.

She tugs on the sleeve of Oliver’s blue Nike hoodie. Her brother still has still not said anything, his face buried in a Nintendo Switch that he somehow managed not to stop playing the whole time his sister was pulling him aggressively along the sidewalk and into the house.

“Did you know that more than 45,000 missing children are reported every year?” She asks Oliver. He says nothing. The game he’s playing says beep-beep-bleeep. She drags him up the stairs to find Paul’s bedroom door open a little bit. Olivia pushes the door all the way open. She reaches into the pocket of her favourite dark jeans, takes out a long stick of pink bubble gum and pops it into her mouth. She chews thoughtfully as she begins to look for clues. She notices the Bristol board for Paul’s project is still resting on his desk. She nods approvingly at what looks like a very neatly organized layout with meticulous attention to alignment. She subjects the room to a slow, scrutinizing 360-degree scan. Paul’s sweatpants and Raptors’ hoodie lie on the bed, like he never put them on. Two discarded slippers point toward the window, which is open to allow frigid February air to flood the whole room. The crisp white cotton curtains billow like giant sails and the wind carries a kind of ominous quality that Olivia can’t quite place.

“Look at this, Ola.” She doesn’t realize Oliver finally stopped his game until he shoves the little soft gray booklet in her face, interrupting her as she ponders the mysterious open window.

Disturbed, she attaches her scrutinizing gaze to the strange object, held in her brother’s two outstretched palms. She pokes the cover of the book with a tentative finger, then withdraws. If she didn’t know better, she could swear she felt the wind gushing through the open window switch directions and pick up speed as she pokes the strange booklet. Its cover feels like it’s made of something like patent leather, but softer. It is light grey, about the size of a baseball card, but more square. Stamped on one cover is the word ‘Passport’ and on the other, the words, in capital block letters: ‘RABBIT ISSUE.’ Underneath is what looks like a replication of a carved insignia of a very regal-looking rabbit’s profile.

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“It was behind the toy box,” says Oliver, as if that explains anything. Olivia moves to pick up the booklet to leaf through it. As she does so, something happens at the open window again. There is a sound as the booklet opens, and a soft swish-swoosh as a staircase materializes. Its end is too far away to make out. It descends into murky blackness.

Olivia is not the type to follow staircases with nebulous endings that just appear in windows. Olivia is the type to carefully study a map before embarking on any journey, the type who plans and knows exactly what to expect. The type who knows all the facts. Olivia does not take a single step without knowing precisely where she hopes to end up.

But this staircase is so inviting. Her fingers want to feel its smooth mahogany bannister. Her feet want to step on each delicately-engraved stair. It is irresistible. It looks refined and other-worldly, something you’d find in an ancient castle or library filled with secret, forbidden knowledge.

Oliver has turned around and noticed what’s happening at Paul’s window. He doesn’t see a staircase, but instead the slide from the park where he played as a little boy. Oliver is too big for that slide now, obviously, but this long, yellow, plastic apparition snaking down out of Paul’s second-floor window is calling to him. He feels the same mix of thrill and terror he felt as a tiny child. He remembers the few milliseconds of perfect freedom and abandonment after he let go at the top and before his feet hit the playground wood chips at the bottom. This slide is so long he can’t see the end of it. The freedom must be endless.

Olivia, still clutching the soft grey rabbit-issued passport tightly in her fingers, reaches out to grasp the mahogany staircase railing with the other hand. She begins to descend, slowly, at first, then picking up her pace as curiosity and the experience of the beautiful staircase take her over. As she walks, she notices chandeliers strung above her head bearing hundreds of flickering candles. Their enchanted flames wave back and forth in perfect unison, a silent chorus for their guest. There is the sound of light piano music in the background. It picks up speed as she does. The music and Olivia spur each other on, faster, faster until she is running. As she runs, the rabbit-issued passport in her hand begins to emit a kind of scorching warmth hotter than Olivia’s body heat. It gets warmer and warmer until it feels red-hot to the touch. She wants to drop the passport, but some little voice in the back of her head tells her she shouldn’t do it. Without slowing her pace, Olivia impatiently tugs her sweatshirt sleeve down over her palm and grips the passport with the cloth, protecting her palm as with an oven mitt.

With his sister’s first steps, Oliver feels himself being pulled forward, too. He shoves his Nintendo Switch into the front of his hoodie, so both hands are free to grasp the metal railing around the top of the slide. With one big breath out he launches himself – whooooooshshssh – down the big yellow slide that he knows can’t really be from the park, but is exactly like he remembers. That familiar freedom feeling takes him over as he hurtles forward. It steals his breath and threatens to crush his chest. He lets out an exhilarated yelp of pure glee.

And so, both children hurry forward into the big, murky, unknown darkness. They both feel a little scared and very, very curious.