Deep beneath the park, where the slide’s ladder twisted into the earth like a metal corkscrew, there was a secret door. It smelled of old library books and buttered popcorn—warm, dusty, and just a little bit sticky. Creak! went the hinges as Jeremiah, a boy with knees always scuffed from adventures, pushed it open. His sneakers squelched on something squishy. Splortch! A half-melted gummy bear clung to his sock like a tiny, sticky monster.

Welcome to the Underground World of Lost Objects! The air hummed with the sound of a thousand ticking clocks, all slightly out of sync. Tick-tock-tick-tock-ticka-tock! The walls were covered in forgotten things: mittens with only one thumb, hair clips shaped like butterflies, and a single roller skate that wobbled when Jeremiah brushed against it. Clatter! He giggled, but his laughter faded when he saw the sign:

"Lost something? Find it here! But beware: blaming others is the quickest way to lose your way forever."

Jeremiah’s tummy did a little flip. He hadn’t come to find anything… or had he? Earlier that day, he’d knocked over his mom’s favorite vase. CRASH! It had exploded into a million pieces, and in the chaos, he’d pointed at the cat. "It was Whiskers!" he’d said, even though Whiskers was napping in a sunbeam, paws twitching in dreamland. The cat had given him a slow blink, as if to say, "Really, kid?"

Now, Jeremiah’s fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. The Underground World was alive with whispers. A sock, balled up in the corner, let out a tiny snore. A yo-yo dangled from the ceiling, spinning lazily. Whirrr… Then, out of the shadows, waddled a creature made entirely of lost buttons. Its body was a patchwork of colors, and its eyes were two mismatched beads—one blue, one green. It sniffed the air, which suddenly smelled like wet dog and bubblegum.

"Hmm," said the Button Creature, its voice like a kazoo. "You’re not here to find something. You’re here to un-lose something."

Jeremiah’s cheeks burned. "I didn’t lose anything," he mumbled, kicking a pebble. It skittered into a pile of jacks, sending them scattering. Ping! Ping! Ping!

The Button Creature sighed, its belly jiggling. "Everyone loses something here. Socks, mittens, even tempers. But the hardest thing to find? The truth." It reached into its button belly and pulled out a tiny, crumpled piece of paper. "This," it said, "is a Blame Slip. You fill it out when you point the finger at someone else. See?" It unfolded the paper, and Jeremiah’s stomach dropped. There, in his own messy handwriting, it read: "Whiskers did it."

Jeremiah’s hands felt clammy. The Underground World seemed to tilt, like a funhouse floor. The yo-yo above him spun faster. Whirrr-WHIRRR! A single marble rolled toward him, stopping at his toes. He picked it up. It was warm, like a tiny sun. "What do I do?" he asked.

The Button Creature’s eyes twinkled. "You say the magic words. The ones that fix everything." It leaned in, smelling of cinnamon and old pennies. "I’m sorry."

Jeremiah took a deep breath. The air smelled like rain on hot pavement. He closed his eyes and whispered, "I’m sorry, Whiskers. And Mom. I broke the vase. It was me." The words felt heavy, then light, like a balloon letting go of its string. Whoosh!

Suddenly, the Underground World stopped spinning. The ticking clocks fell into perfect rhythm. Tick… tock… tick… tock… The yo-yo slowed. Whirrr… The Button Creature clapped its button hands. "Well done! Now, let’s get you home."

The door back to the park was right where he’d left it, but now it smelled of fresh-cut grass and sunshine. Jeremiah stepped through, the gummy bear still stuck to his sock. Splortch. He peeled it off and grinned. "Maybe I’ll save this for later," he thought.

When he got home, Whiskers was waiting on the porch, tail flicking. Jeremiah knelt down and scratched behind the cat’s ears. "I’m sorry," he said. Whiskers purred, a sound like a tiny motorboat. Brrrrm. Then, with a flick of his tail, he knocked over Jeremiah’s juice box. SPLASH!

Jeremiah burst out laughing. "Okay, okay! Maybe we’re even."

And from that day on, whenever he felt the urge to blame someone else, he’d remember the Underground World of Lost Objects—the place where the truth always found its way home.