Every summer, Jack and Lucy looked forward to visiting their grandmother’s house. It wasn’t just because of the cookies she baked or the stories she told—it was because of the gate. The rusty, vine-covered gate at the back of her garden led to something extraordinary: a cartoon world.

It started one sunny afternoon when Jack, who was eight, and Lucy, who was six, were chasing butterflies in the yard. Jack pushed open the gate, and instead of finding the neighbor’s field like they expected, they stepped onto a pathway of bright yellow bricks that twisted through a world of oversized mushrooms, talking flowers, and hills with smiling faces.

“Jack, look!” Lucy squealed, pointing at a tree with ice cream cones for leaves. “It’s amazing!”

Jack grinned, tugging her hand. “Come on! Let’s see what else is here.”

The world beyond the gate was like stepping into a cartoon. The sky was a deep, shimmering blue with clouds that floated like puffs of cotton candy. Birds whistled tunes that sounded like melodies from their favorite shows, and the ground beneath their feet felt springy, as if it were made of rubber.

On that first day, they met a group of cheerful ducks wearing bow ties who invited them to a picnic. The sandwiches were enormous, and the lemonade bubbled like soda pop. Lucy loved the talking squirrels who traded nut-shaped coins for jokes, while Jack couldn’t stop laughing at a grumpy frog who insisted he was the king of the puddle and demanded they bow every time they passed.

They spent hours exploring, giggling at every turn. When the sun in the cartoon sky began to set—literally lowering itself with a loud “Ahhhh!”—they heard their grandmother calling them back for dinner. The moment they stepped back through the gate, the cartoon world disappeared, replaced by their grandmother’s neat and quiet backyard.

“Did you two have fun?” their grandmother asked as she placed bowls of steaming soup on the table.

Jack and Lucy exchanged wide-eyed looks but said nothing. They weren’t sure if she knew about the cartoon world.

As the summer days passed, Jack and Lucy returned to the gate daily. Each time, they found something new. One day, they helped a group of penguins build a roller coaster out of rainbow-colored slides. Another day, they entered a race with cheetahs on skateboards. They learned to dodge wacky pies that launched themselves out of windows and hopscotched across a river of jellybeans.

When they told their parents about their “adventures,” their mother, busy typing on her laptop, smiled absently. “That’s wonderful, kids.”

Their dad, flipping through a stack of papers, nodded. “Good for you. I’m glad you’re having fun.”

Jack shrugged, grinning at Lucy. “They don’t get it.”

“They don’t need to,” Lucy replied, tugging his sleeve. “Let’s go back!”

Their last day at Grandma’s house arrived too soon. They spent the morning packing, but as soon as the bags were zipped, Jack grabbed Lucy’s hand. “One more time,” he said. They dashed out to the garden, pushed open the gate, and stepped into the cartoon world for one final adventure.

This time, they climbed a giant pancake stack, slid down syrup rivers, and watched a parade of elephants playing trumpets. At the end of the day, as they walked back to the gate, they heard a familiar voice.

“You two sure have been giggling a lot this summer,” Grandma said, waiting for them on the other side of the gate.

Jack froze. “You know about this?”

Grandma smiled. “Of course. I used to visit the cartoon world when I was your age. It’s always been here, waiting for someone with enough imagination to open the gate.”

Lucy hugged her. “It’s the best place ever!”

“Just remember,” Grandma said, “the world beyond the gate isn’t magic—it’s made from all the best parts of your imagination. That’s what makes it so special.”

That night, as they drove home, Jack and Lucy stared out the window, already missing the giggling gate. “Do you think it’ll still be there next summer?” Lucy whispered.

Jack smiled, remembering Grandma’s words. “It will be. We just have to open it.”