← Sleep Tight Stories - Bedtime Stories for Kids
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Hello friends. Before we begin, there's a quick ad and then we'll get right to the story.
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What exactly do you learn at a school for Royal Magic?
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Sophia I can't wait to find out. Join Sophia welcome to Charmswell.
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Don't just stand there.
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We've got spells to learn.
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In her most magical adventure ever, my Emulet's giving me new powers. Blue Maggo It's a good thing I'm at a school for Royal Magic. Sophia the first Royal Magic now available. Disney Junior and Disney. Learn more@disneyplus.com what's on it's the carefree
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already know and love.
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They even have an avatar.
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The last Airbender game centered around the
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Hello friends and welcome to Sleep Tight Stories. Ethan and Bernice are riding home together after school and Bernice notices Ethan's book bag. Ethan is staying with his grandmother for a few days, so he said he needed to borrow some books to read. Ethan and the attic library. How come your book bag is so full? Bernice asked as she sat down beside Ethan on the bus. Did a teacher give you a super amount of homework or something? Yeah, it's pretty heavy, but it's not homework. I think we mostly have to study for tests and stuff now, right? Today after lunch I went to the library and took out all the books I was allowed to. I'm staying at my grandmother's house for a couple of days because my parents are away on a business trip. Though I think they were more excited about going out to dinner at some fancy restaurant than the actual business part. Ethan said with a grin. Anyway, at Grandma's, the only books she has are about gardening, birds and other stuff. Oh, and some books about grown up stuff I don't really understand, so I needed more books or I'd be so bored.
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I could lend you some science books if you like.
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I have some Other stuff, too, Bernice offered. That's okay. I think I've already read all the books on your shelf, and I'm not really into science and that kind of stuff. Yeah, you read faster and more than any other person in the world, I think. Do you think the bus driver is driving super fast again? Because it's almost time to get off and it seems like we just got on. Maybe she's training for a bus race, Ethan said. Yeah, that would be funny. Bobby would love it.
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Ha.
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He would probably invent a drone bus or one with a rocket on the back. I don't think he's allowed to make drones or rockets anymore. He had another big accident at his house, and I think his parents took away a few things. Wow. Oh, here's our stop. After getting off the bus, Ethan and Bernice walked a short distance to her house. Don't stay up all night reading all those books. Bernice called out as she walked up the walkway. I might try. See you later, alligator. Ethan called back. After a while, crocodile, Bernice replied. It wasn't much farther until Ethan arrived at his grandmother's house. A large old house with an attic on top. When he was younger, Ethan used to think it was spooky, but now that he was almost all grown up, he didn't believe that stuff too much. Hi, Grandma, he said as he came through the front door. I have a bit of homework to do, so I can't really chat right now. Okay, dear. We're having spaghetti and meatballs for dinner tonight. Ethan loved Grandma's cooking, especially her spaghetti and meatballs. Though he would usually help in the kitchen, he really wanted to get his homework done so he could get to what he really wanted to be doing. Reading. A short while later, his grandmother knocked on his door and came in with some milk and cookies. Bernice's father dropped these off just a little while ago, and I thought you could use a treat since you're working so hard. Thanks, Grandma. Bernice's papa's cookies are the they're almost as good as yours, Ethan said, trying to be polite. You don't have to be that polite. I know. His cookies are just about the best thing you could imagine. How's your homework coming along? I'm just about done, and if it's okay, I'd like to read for a while before dinner. I brought a bunch of books from the library and some might be really good. That's fine. I have dinner just about all prepared, and you can help by clearing the table later. But you know, she said with a twinkle in her eye. I have more books and stories up in the attic than you could read in a lifetime. After you finish your milk and cookies, you should go up and have a look. Ok, Grandma, that sounds great, ethan said, his eyes lighting up with excitement. After finishing the last crumb of cookie and draining his glass of milk, Ethan could hardly wait to go up to the attic. He'd been coming to his grandmother's house after school for a long time, but somehow he'd never thought to explore the attic. Books that could last a lifetime. That sounded like paradise. He made his way to the narrow staircase at the end of the hallway, the one that led up to the attic. The wooden steps creaked under his feet as he climbed, and he could smell the dusty old house smell getting stronger with each step. At the top, he pushed open the heavy wooden door. Whoa. Ethan whispered. The attic was nothing like what he'd expected. Instead of just storage boxes and old furniture, it looked like a secret library that had been waiting for him to discover it. And unlike what he once thought, there were no ghosts either. Wooden shelves lined the walls, packed with books of every size and color. Some looked brand new, while others were so old their spines were cracked and faded. Cardboard boxes sat neatly labeled by decades. 1950s, 1960s, 1970s. An old trunk in the corner had books spilling out of it, and Ethan could see titles in languages he didn't recognize. This is incredible, he said to himself, running his fingers along the spines of the nearest shelf. Fantasy novels, adventure stories, mysteries, poetry books, and even what looked like old journals with handwritten labels. Ethan didn't know where to start. It was like being in the world's best candy store, except instead of sweets, it was filled with stories. He pulled out a thick fantasy novel about dragons, then noticed a series of adventure books that looked like they were from the 1960s. But as he was reaching for those, something else caught his eye. On a small shelf near the window sat a thin, hand bound book that looked different from all the others. The COVID was simple brown leather, and written on the front in faded gold letters was his last name, Thompson. Ethan carefully picked it up, opened the COVID and saw, written in neat handwriting, stories and Adventures of the Thompson Family, as told by William Thompson to his children and grandchildren. William Thompson, Ethan whispered. That was his great grandfather, the one his dad sometimes mentioned. He flipped through the pages and saw they were filled with handwritten stories, some with little drawings in the margins. There were tales about traveling to their town, starting the family store, funny mishaps and adventures that sounded Both exciting and completely real. Ethan sat down on an old cushioned chair near the window, completely forgetting about all the other books around him. As he opened to the first page, the outside world completely disappeared. The first story was about his great grandfather William's arrival in town. With nothing but a worn leather suitcase and exactly $17 in his pocket. William had been determined to start his own store, even though everyone told him the town was too small and he was too young. I may not have much money, william had told the bank manager, but I have something more valuable. I know how to listen to what people need. As Ethan read on, he discovered story after story that made him laugh out loud. There was the tale of William's first day running the store, when he accidentally ordered 15 pounds of salt instead of five and had to convince every customer for weeks that they really needed extra salt for the winter. Then there was the story about William's sister Margaret, Ethan's great great aunt, who could fix any broken machine in town but was so shy she would only work on them at night when no one was watching. That's just like me, Ethan thought, remembering how he preferred reading alone to being in big groups. Another story told about William's wife, Ethan's great grandmother, Rose, who once organized the entire town to build a library. When the old one burned down, she went door to door, not asking for money, but asking each person to contribute one book they loved and tell her why it mattered to them. Books aren't just stories, Rose had said. They're bridges between people's hearts. Ethan never thought about books that way, but it made perfect sense. Every time he recommended a book to Bernice or Bobby, he was building a little bridge. The more he read, the more he recognized himself and his family in these stories. His dad's stubbornness when he believed in something that came from William, who once spent three days straight fixing a customer's broken clock because he promised it would work like new. His mom's way of solving problems by asking lots of questions. That was just like his great great Aunt Margaret, who would study a broken machine from every angle before ever picking up a tool. And his own love of getting completely lost in stories. William had done the same thing with people's stories. He would sit and listen to customers for hours, learning about their lives, their dreams, their problems. The book was filled with stories that customers had shared with William, stories that had happened right here in town decades ago. Ethan was so absorbed in reading about William's adventure trying to catch Mrs. Henderson's escaped chickens, which had somehow gotten into the store and made a terrible mess that he didn't notice the light in the attic growing growing dimmer. He didn't hear his grandmother calling his name from downstairs. He didn't even notice that his stomach had started grumbling. When Ethan finally looked up, the attic was full of shadows and the sky outside had darkened. Ethan blinked, confused for a moment about where he was. For the past few hours, he had been so completely living in his great grandfather's world that returning to the present felt strange. Ethan, sweetie, are you up there? Came his grandmother's voice from the bottom of the attic stairs. Oh, no, ethan whispered, suddenly realizing he had no idea what time it was. He looked around and saw that he had pulled several more books from the shelves and they were scattered around his chair. When had he done that? I'm here, Grandma, he called back, his voice slightly hoarse from not talking for so long. He heard her footsteps on the creaky stairs, and then her head appeared in the doorway. She looked around at the books scattered on the floor and at Ethan, who was still clutching the family storybook. Oh my, she said with a gentle smile. I was calling you for dinner, but I can see you found something very interesting up here. Ethan felt his face grow warm. I'm sorry, Grandma. I didn't mean to miss dinner. I was reading about great grandfather William and I guess I just forgot about everything else. His grandmother came into the attic and looked at the book in his hands. Her smile grew even warmer. Ah, you found William's stories. I was wondering when you might discover those. You knew about this book? Ethan asked. Of course, dear. Your great grandfather loved telling stories almost as much as you love reading them. He used to say that every person who came into the store at a story worth hearing. She gently pointed out that the dinner he'd missed was probably cold by now. But her tone wasn't scolding. It was understanding. I've been up here for hours, haven't I? Ethan asked, a little embarrassed. About three hours, his grandmother said. But don't worry. I saved you a plate. His grandmother sat down on an old wooden crate nearby. Your great grandfather loved books, too, she said with a smile. He used to get so lost in stories, sometimes he forgot he wasn't in one. Books are magical like that. Just remember, the best adventures are sometimes the ones we live and share with the people around us. She picked up one of the books Ethan had pulled from the shelves. You know, William didn't just collect these stories for himself. He loved sharing them with anyone who would listen. That's how this book came to be. He told these family stories so many times that I finally convinced him to write them down. Ethan looked down at the handwritten book, then at the others around him. Do you think. Do you think other people would want to hear these stories, too? I think, his grandmother said that stories are like seeds. They only grow when you plant them in someone else's imagination. The next morning on the bus, Ethan could barely sit still. Still, he had the family storybook carefully tucked in his backpack, along with one of the adventure novels he'd found. You look different today, bernice said as she sat down beside him. Did you stay up all night reading those library books? I found something even better, ethan said. My grandma's attic is full of books, and I discovered stories about my own family. Really? In the spooky attic?
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Like what?
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As the bus sped along, Ethan told Bernice about his great grandfather William and the $17 and the escaped chickens. Bernice laughed so hard at the salt story that the other kids on the bus started looking over at them. That's incredible, bernice said. Your own history book. I was thinking, ethan said, maybe I could share one of the stories at lunch today with you and Bobby and Gertrude and the rest of the gang. I think that would be a great idea. Bobby is always telling stories, but yours are about history and stuff. It would be so cool. At lunch, Ethan felt his usual shyness creeping in as he looked around the table at his friends. But then he remembered his grandmother's words about stories being seeds, and he took a deep breath. Hey, guys, I found something really cool yesterday, he began. It's a story about my great grandfather and a very stubborn pig. As Ethan told the story of William chasing Mrs. Peterson's runaway pig through the town square and into the fountain, his friends listened so closely they forgot to chew. Bobby laughed so hard he nearly choked on his sandwich. Even quiet, Gertrude giggled. Your great grandfather sounds like he was really brave, gertrude said. Bobby grinned. Okay, Ethan, that was cool. You should be the one telling stories at recess from now on. I think I need to read more books that aren't about dinosaurs and stuff. That afternoon, after another blink and you miss it bus ride, Ethan walked home with Bernice. You know what? Bernice said? You should ask your grandmother if you can borrow more of those stories. I bet lots of people would love to hear them. Maybe you could even give a presentation in class or something. It would be fun to listen to more. I think maybe I will, ethan said. That evening, after dinner and a warm bath, Ethan climbed the attic stairs one more time to return the family storybook. He took a moment to look around the quiet space, now lit by a soft lamp near the window. The shelves, the journals, the old trunk. They all seemed to be waiting patiently for tomorrow. His grandmother appeared at the top of the stairs. Come on now. Bedtime for little readers. You've had quite the adventure. Ethan smiled and carefully placed the book back on the table. I'll be back tomorrow. There's a story about a runaway goat I haven't finished yet. As they walked downstairs together, she tousled his hair. That goat kept William busy for three days. Later, tucked under a heavy quilt in the guest bedroom, Ethan yawned a big bedtime yawn. Cookie, the cat on loan from Bernice for the night, curled up at his feet. He closed his eyes, still thinking about chickens in stores, buckets catching rain, and books that felt like bridges. Tomorrow he'd share another story, but for now, his own story was gently drifting off into dreams. And that's the end of our story. Good night. Sleep tight.