← Sleep Tight Stories - Bedtime Stories for Kids
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- [00:09]
Nicole
Hello, friends, and welcome to Sleept Stories. Nicole is not sure what is going on. Has she done something to make this change happen? How can she make it right? Nicole looks at the book again, again and again, and realizes she needs to talk to someone about what has happened. Nicole and the Box in The Barn Part 20 Nicole stared at the book, her heart beating faster. The ink on the page looked fresh, as if it had just been written, but that was impossible. She ran her fingers over the words. Not all doors are meant to be opened, but some are waiting for you. Below the text was a sketch of a city built into a hillside, with narrow, winding streets and towering buildings that seemed to glow in the light of the setting sun. It looked familiar, like something she might have seen in a book or a movie, though she couldn't quite place it. She glanced toward the window. Outside, the farm looked unchanged. That was good. She had watched enough movies about mysterious doors and time travel to know that changes in the past could have serious consequences. The sky was still a bright, cloudless blue, the scent of fresh cut grass drifting in through the open window. Everything here felt solid, real, the same. But what about the past? Had she really altered something in Angus World? And if she had, what did that mean for hers? Her chest felt tingly and jittery, the same feeling she used to get in crowded places. The market had changed that. It had been one thing to wander through the garden door, stepping into new places like a traveler exploring a dream. But now she knew her presence mattered. The past wasn't just some distant story. It was woven into her life, into her home, into this very farm. Nicole swallowed hard and looked down at the book again. Had the past changed because of something she did? Or something she hadn't done yet? And what did that mean for the future? The compass in her pocket gave off a slow, steady warmth, a reminder, a nudge. She closed the book and pressed her palm against the COVID Before, she had been so eager to explore, to see what was out there. Now she wasn't sure if she should keep going. But the book, the carving, the disappearing barn. None of them were coincidences. A cool breeze drifted through the kitchen, making the curtains sway and sending a shiver down her arms. The winds were always cool and fresh on the farm. Nicole exhaled and lifted the book's cover again, hesitating for a moment before returning to the newest entry. She needed time to think. Nicole got up, tucked the book under her arm, and stepped outside. The morning warmth was the same, the sky still clear, the air crisp. A perfect island day. Her mother would call it. Normally she would have appreciated it, but now something about the quiet unsettled her. Across the yard, the garden stood still, as if watching. The apple trees, the berry bushes, and the winding path to the wooden door were all exactly as she had left it. But she felt different. Her mother was still out on her walk, but Nicole wasn't ready to tell her about this. Not yet. Whenever she had to talk about something big, she rolled it over in her mind again and again, sometimes even practicing it out loud. She needed time. So she sat on the porch steps and flipped the book open again to the sketch of the unfamiliar city. What was it trying to tell her? Her fingers traced the edges of the illustration. Just as before, something shifted. The ink darkened, the lines forming a new shape. A symbol appeared in the corner of the page, one she recognized. Nicole stared at the symbol, her fingers running over its familiar curves. It was the same as the one on the wooden carving she had found buried near the apple tree. The same as the markings on the wooden beam near the entrance of the shed on Angus Farm. This wasn't just some coincidence. The book, the garden, and the compass were leading her somewhere. But did she want to follow? Her stomach twisted as she thought. Back to Angus Farm, to the missing barn, to the unsettling feeling that something had changed because of her. What if she had done something wrong? What if she made things worse the next time? She shut the book with a thud and pressed her palms against the worn leather cover as if she could hold back whatever was coming next. She had been so eager before, so excited to see where the garden door would take her. But now. Now she knew the truth. Her choices mattered. Nicole glanced toward the garden. The door stood there, quiet and waiting. Vines curled protectively around its edges. It had never forced her to step through. That was always her choice. But what if she made the wrong choice? Her first instinct was to keep this to herself, to sit with it a little longer, to pretend she didn't see the symbol in the book. To pretend she wasn't being pulled forward. But deep down, she knew that wasn't the answer. She needed help. Real help. Her mother. She stood up, dusted off her jeans, and turned toward the house. It was time to talk. But first it would be best to practice what she would say. Before she could open the door, she heard the crunch of footsteps behind her. Her mother had come back. Beautiful morning for a walk. A perfect island morning, she said, setting her water bottle on the step. But I think I overdid it. Those back fields go on forever. She sighed, stretching her arms. What have you been up to? Nicole hesitated. She had been mulling over what to say, but hadn't had the chance to practice the words, and everything felt tangled. Her mother must have noticed the expression because her smile faded slightly. Nicole. Nicole swallowed. Mom, can we talk? Sure. Nicole. Let me go in the house and get a drink of water first. I'm parched. Nicole needed time. I'll be in after a minute, she said. Okay. Take your time. I want to start preparing something for tonight's dessert. Nicole waited until she could hear her mother walk into the kitchen, and then she started to practice what she wanted to say, but the words wouldn't come. She sighed. Why was explaining these things so difficult? It's not like she was going to be upset or something. Her phone vibrated. It was the group chat that she had with her friends in Montreal. Now wasn't the time. Nicole found her mother in the kitchen, slicing apples at the counter. The scent of cinnamon drifted through the air, making the house feel warm and familiar, but Nicole's thoughts were anything but comfortable. Her mother looked up, smiling. I thought you might have fallen asleep out there. She gestured to the apples. Thought we could make a crisp for dessert. Want to help before we chat? Nicole hesitated. She wanted to say yes, to just sit and peel apples and pretend everything was normal. But her fingers tightened around the book in her hands and she knew she couldn't ignore this any longer. She pulled out a chair and sat down. Mom? Her mother turned, her hands pausing over the apples. That was all. It took. One look and her expression shifted from casual to serious. She wiped her hands on a dish towel and sat across from Nicole. Sorry, Nicole. I didn't realize this was a more serious chat. What's on your mind? Nicole swallowed, feeling the weight of her words. I think. I think I've changed something in the past. Her mother's brows furrowed, but she didn't speak. She was waiting, the way she always did when she wanted Nicole to find the right words on her own. Nicole opened the book, flipping back to the fading sketch of the barn. You know I told you about Angus. How his family lived on this farm a long time ago. She traced the barn with her fingertip. Something was here. A barn. But now it's gone. Not just collapsed or abandoned. Gone. Like it was erased. Her mother's lips pressed into a thin line. And you think that has something to do with you? It looked like a mirror image to me. Nicole nodded slowly. When I went back, I felt it. Like the farm was different. And then this carving showed up near the apple tree. And when I looked through the book again. She turned the pages until she reached the new illustration. This appeared. Her mother leaned in, eyes scanning the unfamiliar city. This wasn't there before. Nicole shook her head. Not until today. And it has the same symbol as the carving. Her mother sat back, exhaling. I don't like this, Nicole. I know, nicole admitted. But I think I have to go. I think the book, the door, the compass are all guiding me somewhere for a reason. Her mother drummed her fingers on the table thoughtfully. You don't even know where this place is. Nicole hesitated. I don't. But I think I could find out. Her mother's gaze flickered to the book, then back to Nicole. Before you do anything, there's something I need to tell you. Something about this farm. Nicole sat up straighter. What do you mean? Her mother sighed, rubbing her temples. I told you before that this farm has been in your father's family for a long time. But what I didn't tell you is that, well, you're not the first person in this family to talk about strange things happening here. Nicole's pulse quickened. What do you mean? Her mother hesitated, then stood, disappearing into the hallway. A moment later she returned with an old leather bound book. Not the book from the garden, not the book from the attic, but another one. She placed it on the table between them. This was your father's, she said quietly. And I think you need to read it. Nicole stared at the book her mother had set on the table. The leather cover was worn at the edges, the corners bent from years of use. It was different from the other books she had found. This one had belonged to her father. Her fingers hovered over the COVID before she slowly reached for it. Dad's? She echoed, her voice quieter than she expected. Her mother nodded. He didn't talk about it much. Not to me, anyway. But he always had questions about this place. About the things he saw, the things he felt. I thought maybe this could help you understand what you're dealing with. Nicole swallowed and opened the book carefully. The first few pages were filled with familiar writing. Her father's handwriting. Some were just quick notes. Lists of repairs to do on the farm, reminders about planting seasons. But as she flipped further, the entries changed. The writing became messier, more hurried, as if he had been jotting things down as quickly as they came to him. The air shifts sometimes near the barn, like something is waiting to be uncovered. There are places where the past lingers. I swear I saw footprints where no one had walked. The stories in the Attic journals. Could they be real? Nicole's breath caught. He had been asking the same kinds of questions she was now. She turned the page, her eyes landing on an underlined passage. Some doors don't just open to new places. They open to old ones. Her mother exhaled softly. I think your dad knew something was different about this farm, but I don't think he ever figured it out. I think in part, that was because we ran off together. Nicole ran her fingers over the ink. He had been searching, just like she was. But if he hadn't found the answers, could she? She closed the book, her mind buzzing with new questions. The disappearing barn, the symbols, the carving. And now her father's notes. It wasn't just about her anymore. It never had been. Nicole glanced at her mother. What do you think he would have done if he had found the door? Her mother was quiet for a long time. Then with a small smile, she said, I think he would have stepped through. Nicole gripped the edge of the table. She already knew what she had to do next. Nicole spent the next hour reading through more of her father's notes while her mother flipped through the old attic journal. The deeper they read, the clearer the pattern became. There were mentions of other places, hints that the farm had always been something more than just a farm. And then, tucked between descriptions of old planting schedules and weather records, they found it. There are places where time is not a straight path, but a web, where past and present intertwine. Some know these places as doorways. Some call them crossroads. They exist in the quiet spaces, waiting for those who listen. Nicole sat back, her heart hammering. It's talking about the farm. Her mother nodded, her finger resting on the words. And the door. The realization settled over Nicole like a weight. She wasn't just passing through these places. She was a part of them. She looked down at the compass in her pocket. It had been guiding her, pulling her towards something. And now she had to find out why. And that is the end of this part. Good night. Sleep.