← Sleep Tight Stories - Bedtime Stories for Kids
Sleep Tight Stories - Bedtime Stories for Kids
Nicole And The Box In The Barn P.21 ✨ (Bedtime Series)
00:25:22
Cozy up and settle in as the mystery deepens in this gentle and imaginative bedtime story, perfect for curious listeners of all ages.
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Narrator
Hi. Sleep tight friends. There's a brand new Smurfs movie coming to theaters July 18th and it's smurftastic fun for the whole family. This time Papa Smurf, voiced by one of our favorite actors John Goodman, has been taken by some very wicked wizards. Now it's up to Smurfette, voiced by Rihanna, to lead the Smurfs into the real world on an epic rescue mission. It's a wild music filled adventure with comedy, heart and teamwork and a smurfy message about being kind and finding your true self. This sounds like a story we would like. With an all star cast and brand new music from Rihanna, Tyla, DJ Khaled and more, it's the perfect summer movie night for everyone. Don't miss the Smurfs. Only in theaters July 18th. A short message for Grown Ups Parents We've all had those times when the whole family is off on their own screens. Wouldn't it be great to find something active and fun that everyone agrees on? Families everywhere are discovering Next Playground an active gain system where your body powers the play. No controllers or wearables, just natural, 100% motion driven fun. Fly with how to train your dragon, dance with Barbie, pop bubbles in Gabby's Dollhouse, or master moves with Kung Fu Panda. All from your living room. Even better, Next Playground is totally kid safe. No ads, no in app purchases, and no mature content. Just good clean fun for long summer days. Want to learn more? Visit nextplayground.com that's nextplayground.com to explore active family gaming today. Hello friends, and welcome to Sleeptight Stories. If you're new to the story or just need a quick update, here's what Nicole in the Box in the Barn is all about. When Nicole and her mother move to her late grandfather's farm on Prince Edward island, she expects long days of unpacking and learning how to live in the quiet countryside. But everything changes the day she discovers a wooden box tucked away in the old barn, locked tight and humming with secrets. Inside the box, a book with no author, a glowing compass, and strange carved pieces of wood. Before long, the compass leads Nicole to a hidden garden and a door that doesn't behave like any ordinary door. It opens somewhere else. Nicole steps through and finds herself in a different time, where the farm is bustling and a boy named Angus lives in the same house. But in the past. As their friendship grows, Nicole begins to question the nature of the door, the garden, and the mysterious pull of the book. Back in her time, Nicole and her mother begin digging through old family letters, attic boxes, and forgotten journals. They discover that Nicole's great grandfather, Donald McDonald, left behind coordinates that point to something hidden on the land. The more Nicole uncovers, the clearer it becomes her family has been connected to the door and its magic for generations. Nicole has so much to think about after her conversation with her mom and the things she has seen. When she wakes up, she knows that she isn't going to be able to get back to sleep. So she gets up and decides what she needs to do next. Nicole and the Box in The Barn Part 21 Nicole opened her eyes and immediately knew she wouldn't be going back to sleep. The conversation with her mother replayed in her mind like a favorite song on repeat. Except this song was about magical gardens, time travel, and family secrets that seemed impossible even though she'd experienced them herself. I think I need to compare the books, she whispered to her ceiling, where a small crack ran from the window to the light fixture. Back in Montreal, she used to trace similar cracks with her eyes when she couldn't sleep, but somehow this crack felt friendlier. Maybe it was because this house had belonged to her father's family, or maybe it was because impossible things had a way of making everything else seem more possible, too. The house was quiet except for its usual creaks and sighs. Nicole had grown used to these sounds over the past few weeks, and they no longer felt spooky. Instead, they felt like the house was stretching and waking up alongside her, preparing for another day of discoveries. She dressed quickly in yesterday's jeans, the ones with grass stains that told the story of her magical adventures and a clean hoodie. Grabbing both books from her nightstand, she tiptoed down the creaky stairs, each step announcing her movement despite her best efforts to be quiet. So much for being sneaky, she muttered, pausing to listen for any signs that she'd woken her mother. When she heard nothing but the house's usual sounds, she continued to the back door. It was too early even for her mom. The morning air was crisp and sweet, carrying the scent of dew and growing things. Nicole had started to love this time of day on the island before the world woke up, when everything felt fresh and full of possibility. She used to hate mornings in Montreal, but here mornings felt like secrets waiting to be discovered. Walking across the dewy grass toward the garden, Nicole felt the familiar tingle of anticipation. The garden always seemed to know when she was coming, and today was no different. As she approached the gate, the flowers turned slightly toward her, and she could swear the morning mist swirled a little bit more deliberately around the pathways. Good morning, garden, she said softly, opening the gate. I brought some reading material. I think you might find it interesting. The response was immediate. The flowers seemed to bloom a little brighter and the leaves rustled despite the still air. Nicole had stopped questioning these responses weeks ago. Some things she'd learned were more important to experience than to understand. She made her way to her spot by the pond where the early morning light bounced on the water's surface. Setting both books on the soft grass beside her, Nicole opened her great grandfather's journal first. The old fashioned handwriting made her feel connected to her family's history in a way she'd never experienced before. Okay, Great Grandpa, she said aloud, her voice barely above a whisper. Let's see what you were trying to tell us. Nicole opened the journal to a page she'd read before, but now she had the magical book beside it for comparison. The morning light was perfect for reading, soft and golden filtering through the apple tree's leaves. The symbols, she murmured, tracing a swirling pattern her great grandfather Donald had drawn in the margin. They're the same. She held the magical book next to the journal, comparing the faint markings around the illustrations with the deliberate drawings her great grandfather had made. They were identical, the same looping spirals, the same star like shapes, the same intricate knots. But it was the words that made Nicole's breath catch. Her great grandfather had written, the garden chooses its own guardians. Not everyone who plants the seeds will see them grow. Not everyone who opens the door will will find what lies beyond. But for those the garden calls, the responsibility is real and lasting. Below that, in smaller handwriting, Margaret says, the garden remembers everything. Every guardian, every choice, every consequence. We are part of something much larger than ourselves. Margaret, Nicole whispered the old woman from the market. The garden rustled around her and Nicole looked up to see the flowers swaying despite the still morning air. The red soil of Prince Edward island peeked through between the plants, rich and warm like cinnamon, so different from the gray dirt of Montreal. Should I read this out loud? Nicole asked. Garden. The response was immediate. Every flower in her line of sight turned toward her as if they were eager listeners. At story time, Nicole cleared her throat and began reading. The compass doesn't point north. It points to possibility. Follow it with respect and it will show you what needs to be seen. The garden exists in many times at once, and each guardian must learn to navigate not just the paths between flowers, but the paths between moments. As her voice carried across the garden, something extraordinary happened. New plants began to appear, not growing but manifesting as if they had always been there and were now just choosing to become visible. Small flowers that glowed with their own soft light, like tiny stars that had fallen to earth and taken root. The existing plants responded, too, growing brighter and more vibrant. The strawberries became redder, the peonies fuller, and even the grass seemed to shimmer with an inner light. You knew all of this, nicole whispered, running her fingers over the handwriting. You knew the garden was alive. She continued reading. Each guardian faces choices that ripple across time. What seems like a small decision in one moment can change the landscape of the past or future. The caretaker families understand this. They help guide new guardians, but ultimately each person must find their own way. The pond beside her began to shimmer more brightly, and when Nicole looked into its depths, she could see shapes moving. Not fish, but shadows of people, like memories playing out in the water. Caretaker families, she repeated, thinking of Angus and his easy familiarity with the farm. Had his family been caretakers? Was that why he'd been so welcoming? As she read these words, the compass in her pocket began to grow warm. Nicole pulled it out and watched as the needle, instead of pointing steadily toward the garden door as it usually did, began to swing slowly around the garden, pointing first toward the old barn, then toward the house, then towards the fence line. It's pointing to different places, nicole said, standing up. Maybe it's trying to show me something. The compass needle settled on the old barn, and Nicole felt a pull she couldn't ignore. She looked back at the books, then at the pond where those shadow memories continued to play. I'll be back, she promised the garden. But I think I need to follow where this leads. Nicole held the compass steady as she approached the old barn, watching the needle point directly at a spot she'd never paid attention to before, a patch of ground just to the left of the big red doors where wildflowers grew between the red soil and weathered fence posts. Standing there, Nicole blinked in surprise. The air shimmered just like it did at the garden door. She could almost see through to something else. Shadows of people moving. The sound of voices carried on the breeze that wasn't there. There's another doorway, she whispered, excitement bubbling up in her chest. The compass needle spun again, this time pointing toward the back of the house. Nicole jogged across the yard, her sneakers kicking up little puffs of the island's famous red dirt. At the second spot, the shimmer was fainter, but definitely there. The soil here looked different, darker, richer, as if it remembered being part of a garden once. How many places are there? She asked. The compass, which immediately swung toward the old fence line. This third location was the most surprising. Hidden among the tall grass and Queen Anne's lace, Nicole found something real, something she could actually touch. Partially buried in the soft earth was a small piece of carved wood about the size of her thumb. She brushed the dirt away carefully. The carving was weathered but clear, the same swirling patterns that decorated the magical box, the same symbols her great grandfather had drawn in his journal. Someone dropped this here, nicole said, turning the small carving over in her palm. But when? And who? The compass had grown quiet now, its needle pointing steadily back toward the house. Nicole looked across the gently rolling fields of Prince Edward island and wondered how many secrets this peaceful landscape held. As she walked back toward the house, Nicole clutched the wooden carving in one hand and the compass in the other. Three locations where the past seemed to bleed through into the present. Maybe these were all places where doors could exist or had existed, or might exist someday. The kitchen window glowed warmly as Nicole approached, and she could see her mother moving around inside. For a moment, Nicole hesitated. How much should she share? But then she remembered her mother's words from the night before. We're in this together, mom, she called as she opened the back door. You're not going to believe what I found. Nicole burst through to the kitchen to find her mother already sitting at the table, surrounded by papers and sipping tea from her favorite mug, the one with the chip on the handle that she refused to throw away. You're up early, her mother said, looking up with a smile. And you look like you've been digging in the garden again. Nicole set both books on the table and looked down at her hands, which were indeed dusty with red soil. I found something, Mom. Actually, I found three somethings. She held up the carved piece of wood. But first, what are all these papers? Her mother's eyes widened as she took the carving from Nicole. This looks just like the patterns on the box. Where did you find it? She set it carefully on the table next to the scattered documents and these papers. I couldn't sleep after our conversation last night, so I went back up to the attic. Look at this. Nicole sat down and examined the additional yellowed letters her mother had found, along with Donald McDonald's journal and her father's journal that were now both spread open on the table. Did you find anything new? I did. This letter mentions the garden specifically, her mother said, pointing to a document dated 1898. It says the caretakers were responsible for helping the visitors and that young ones with the gift would come to learn Nicole's heart skipped. Visitors like me visiting Angus time? It seems that way. And look at this. Her mother showed her another document, a family tree with their last name at the top. We've owned this land for over 150 years, but there were long periods where it was managed by caretakers while family members lived away. Nicole studied the family tree, tracing the lines with her finger. So other people from our family have lived here before? Other kids, maybe? It looks that way. Her mother picked up the great grandfather's journal from where Nicole had just placed it. There's something else I want to try. Watch this. She carried the journal to the kitchen window that faced the garden. In the morning light streaming through the glass, additional words appeared on the page, fainter than the regular ink, like they were written with invisible ink that only showed up under certain conditions. Nicole gasped. There's a secret message. Together, they carried the journal outside to the garden. As soon as they crossed through the gate, the hidden text became perfectly clear. Nicole read aloud. The garden remembers everything, but not all memories exist in the same time. To my descendants who inherit this gift, you have inherited more than just the farm. Follow the coordinates, but remember, every choice has consequences across time. Guard well what has been entrusted to you. Donald MacDonald, 1892. Nicole's eyes filled with tears. He wrote this for us. For his family. Her mother squeezed her shoulder. He knew someone in the family would find their way back here. He knew someone would understand. Below the message were a series of numbers that definitely looked like coordinates. But when they tried to map them using Nicole's mother's phone, they pointed to empty spaces, areas where no buildings or landmark existed on their current property. These coordinates don't match anything that's here now, nicole said, frowning at the screen. But the compass was pulling me to places where I could see shimmers. Like maybe things used to be there. Her mother studied the numbers thoughtfully. Or maybe they exist in a different time. If the garden really can connect to the past, maybe these coordinates point to buildings or places that existed then. Nicole pulled out the compass, which immediately began to warm in her hand. When she pointed it toward the coordinate locations, the needle swung eagerly in those directions. I think I need to ask Angus about his family, she said finally. If there were caretakers, and if his family has been on this farm for generations, then maybe he knows more than he's been telling me. Maybe his family are the caretakers. Her mother nodded. That sounds like a good place to start. But Nicole, be careful. The message mentioned that choices have consequences across time. Whatever you discover, think about how it might affect not just you, but everyone else, too. Nicole pocketed the compass and the small wooden carving. I will, Mom. I promise. As she prepared to return to the garden and stepped through the door to Angus's time, Nicole felt the weight of her family's legacy settling on her shoulders. She wasn't just a girl exploring a magical garden anymore. She was the latest in a line of guardians, carrying on a responsibility that stretched back generations. And somewhere in the past, Angus was waiting with answers she desperately needed to find. And that is the end of this part. Good night. Sleep tight, Sa.