On Sundays, in our house, at exactly three o'clock, something magical happens: everything transforms; just like in fairy tales. One time the house becomes a giant ship, another time an impregnable castle or a mythical kingdom or an unknown city or a deserted island with castaways. On Sundays, in our house, at exactly three o'clock, grandpa arrives. As soon as a magical bell rings, a little door opens, and knights, dragons, witches, dwarfs, fairies, pirates, giants, princes, cyclopes, kings pour out everywhere. They gallop on horses, fly on flying carpets, on magical brooms and dustpans, and roam secret cities. Only I and one other person know them.