← Sleep Tight Stories - Bedtime Stories for Kids
Sleep Tight Stories - Bedtime Stories for Kids
✨Premium Preview✨ Kelly and the Silent Jungle 🌿🐅
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Kelly loves to draw, and her favorite things are animals. She is staying up later than she should, trying to finish a drawing when she opens a jungle book for inspiration and something strange happens. Kelly and the Silent Jungle Kelly was supposed to be asleep already, but she couldn't help it. Her sketchbook was way more interesting than her pillow. She sat cross legged on her bed, pencil moving across the page as she added whiskers to a tiger that was probably supposed to be orange but looked pretty good in gray. Just five more minutes, she whispered to her stuffed elephant, Mr. Snuffy, who was giving her a look like he knew she'd been saying that for the past half hour. Her room was basically an animal sanctuary, if you didn't count the fact that none of them were real. Giraffe stickers stretched up her closet door. A cow shaped alarm clock sat on her nightstand, currently showing way past her bedtime, and her bookshelf was crammed with every animal book she could get her hands on. But her sketchbook? That was her favorite thing ever. She flipped through the pages. There was the family of raccoons she'd drawn after seeing them in their garbage can. The three legged dog from down the street. She'd given him a superhero cape and about 15 different cats because, well, cats were just fun to draw. Kelly. Mum's voice drifted up from downstairs. Lights out in five minutes. Okay, kelly called back, but she was already reaching for the jungle book on her nightstand. Just a quick look at the pictures for inspiration. Then she'd definitely go to sleep. The book fell open to her favorite page, this amazing illustration of a waterfall crashing through thick green vines with colorful birds and mysterious shadows lurking behind the trees. She traced her fingers along the twisting vines, imagining what it would be like to actually be there. To hear the water and smell the jungle and maybe even meet a real parrot who could. Wait, did that vine just move? Kelly blinked hard and looked again. The vine on the page was dead, definitely curling, like it was reaching toward her. And was that the sound of rushing water? The waterfall sound got louder, like someone was turning up the volume on a nature documentary. Kelly's finger was still touching the page when suddenly the vine, the actual real vine, wrapped gently around her wrist. What? Before she could finish, her whole room started spinning. Or maybe she was spinning. Or maybe everything was spinning together in this weird, dizzy way that wasn't scary so much as surprising. Like when you're on a merry go round and everything blurs together. Then her feet hit solid ground, wet, squishy ground that smelled like rain and Flowers and something wild she couldn't name. Kelly looked around and her mouth just dropped open. She was standing in the jungle. The actual jungle from her book. Enormous trees stretched up so high she couldn't see their tops. Vines hung down like nature's rope swings. And everywhere, everywhere were the sounds of life. Chirping, chattering, rustling, splashing. This is totally impossible, she said out loud. But then a bright red parrot landed on a branch right in front of her face. Impossible is possible when the drum falls silent, the parrot said in this very serious voice, like he was sharing some super important secret. Kelly stared at him. Um, you just talked. Talking's not the trick. Listening is. The jungle needs your help. Sketchmaker. How do you know I make sketches? Kelly looked down and realized she was still holding her pencil. Somehow her sketchbook had made the trip, too. Clutched against her pajama top, the parrot tilted his bright head. When the heartbeat stops, the restlessness starts. The drum that makes the night songs has gone missing. Lost without its lullaby rhythm, none can rest. Okay, so he talked in riddles. That was actually kind of cool in a mysterious, magical way. You want me to help find a drum? Kelly asked. We want you to help find the drum, said a new voice, soft and rumbly. Kelly turned around and nearly dropped her sketchbook. A tiger was walking toward her through the trees. A real, actual, enormous tiger. And he looked really, really shy. The Tiger stopped about 10ft away and sort of shuffled his paws, which was probably the weirdest thing Kelly had ever seen, because tigers in her books were always fierce and confident. This one looked like he wanted to hide behind a tree. Hi, the tiger said quietly, not quite meeting her eyes. I'm Rusty. Sorry if I'm scary or whatever. Kelly blinked. You're apologizing for being scary? Well, I am a tiger. People usually run away screaming. He sat down and somehow managed to look even bigger, but also less threatening, but crimson. That's. The parrot said. You might be able to help us. So I thought maybe you're not scary, kelly said, and meant it. You're just really big. Rusty's ears perked up a little. Really? Before Kelly could answer Rusty, something small and fast dropped out of the trees and landed right on her shoulder. She yelped and nearly fell over. Sorry, sorry. Squeaked a monkey, who was about the size of a squirrel but way more energetic. I didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to see if you had any shiny things. The monkey had this little pouch around his waist that jingled when he moved, stuffed full of what looked like bottle caps, coins, and random bits of colorful glass. This is Pip, rusty said, sounding a little tired. He collects everything. Shiny things are the best things, pip announced, bouncing from Kelly's shoulder to her head. Do you have any? I've got buttons and marbles and this really cool piece of mirror and a oh, your pencil is shiny. Don't take her pencil, crimson said firmly from his branch. She needs it for the quest. There's really a quest? Kelly asked. This was all happening so fast that her brain felt kind of scrambled, but also excited. Like when you're reading the best book ever and can't turn the pages fast enough. The drum's been missing for three days, rusty explained, still in that soft voice. It usually beats every night when the sun goes down, like a giant heartbeat. Helps everyone settle down to sleep. But now he gestured around with one massive paw. Kelly listened and realized what he meant. All the jungle sounds were restless, anxious, like everyone was tossing and turning but couldn't get comfortable. That's awful, she said. No wonder you all can't sleep. Pip nodded vigorously from her head. I found 17 new shiny things yesterday just from wandering around all night. So, crimson said. Will you help us find where the lost drum has gone? Kelly looked at her new friends, the riddle talking parrot, the shy tiger, and the hyperactive monkey. Of course I will. So where do we even start looking? Kelly asked as they set off through the jungle. Pip had claimed permanent residence on her shoulder, jingling softly with each step, while Rusty padded beside her and Crimson flew overhead, scouting. The drum lived in the heart place, crimson called down, where the old growth meets the new growth, where the earth sounds are the strongest. Kelly was getting better at understanding his riddles. The center of the jungle exactly right. They walked for what felt like forever, but was probably only 20 minutes. Kelly kept sketching as they went, quick drawings of the weird purple flowers that seemed to glow, the butterflies that were bigger than her hand, the way the light filtered through the leaves in these amazing patterns. You're really good at that, rusty said shyly, peeking over her shoulder at her sketchbook. Thanks. I just. I like noticing stuff. I guess that's a very good skill for finding lost things, crimson said approvingly. They came to a clearing where the trees formed this perfect circle, like nature had planned it that way. In the center was a raised platform made of smooth stones, and right in the middle, nothing. This is where it was, rusty said sadly. The drum was as big as a tree stump made from the oldest wood in the forest. When it beat, you could feel it in your chest. Like your own heartbeat, but slower. Calmer. Kelly walked around the platform, studying everything. The stones were worn smooth, like they'd been here forever. There were scratches and marks all over them, but they didn't look random. Hey, she said, crouching down. These marks. They're not just scratches. Look. She opened her sketchbook and started copying the patterns. Curved lines that connected to one another, forming shapes that looked almost like. Like they're paw prints, she said suddenly. And claw marks. And are those wing patterns? Pip bounced excitedly on her shoulder. Oh, I know those marks. I've seen them before. Where? Everyone asked at once. The old hollow tree. The really, really big one by the second waterfall. I was looking for shiny things in there last week, and there were marks just like that all over the inside. Crimson's eyes brightened. The hollow tree is where the ancient ones used to gather for ceremonies. If someone moved the drum there. But why would someone move it? Kelly asked. Rusty looked thoughtful. Maybe. Maybe they weren't trying to steal it. Maybe they were trying to protect it. There was that big storm two nights ago. What if someone thought the drum might get damaged out here in the open? Kelly felt something click in her brain, like when you finally figure out a really hard math problem. Come on, she said, closing her sketchbook with a snap. I think I know what happened. The hollow tree was massive, so big that Kelly could have lived inside it, like a tiny apartment. And there, sitting in the center like it had always belonged, there was the drum. It was beautiful, deep brown wood, polished smooth by countless hands and years, with intricate carvings spiraling around its sides. But it sat silent and still. There it is, Pip squeaked, diving off Kelly's shoulder to examine it. But why isn't it making music? Kelly walked around the drum slowly, her artist's eye taking in every details. The carvings showed animals, lots of them. Tigers and parrots and monkeys, but also deer and frogs and even tiny insects, all dancing together in an endless circle. I think. I think it needs all of you, she said quietly. Look at the carvings. Every animal in the jungle is part of the drum's song. Rusty padded closer, his big paws making no sound on the soft earth. But we don't know how to play it. Maybe you don't have to play it, kelly said. Maybe you just have to be with it. She sat down next to the drum and placed her hands gently on the surface. The wood was warm, like it was alive. Come on, guys, let's try together. Crimson landed on the drum's edge. Pip scampered up to sit cross legged on top. Rusty settled down beside Kelly, his massive form surprisingly graceful. For a moment nothing happened. Then Kelly felt it, a tiny vibration under her palms, like a heartbeat just starting to wake up. It's working, she whispered. The drum began to beat, softly at first, then stronger, filling the hollow tree with a rhythm that felt like breathing, like sleeping, like the most comfortable lullaby ever created. The sound spread out through the jungle, and immediately Kelly could hear the difference. Chattering became softer, rustling became gentler, and even the waterfall seemed to settle into a quieter flow. Thank you, rusty said, his voice drowsy with contentment. Thank you, sketchmaker crimson agreed, tucking his head under his wing. Kelly yawned. The drum's rhythm was making her sleepy, too, in the best possible way. Her eyelids felt heavy, and the jungle around her seemed to be getting softer, more distant. She blinked, and she was back in her room, sitting on her bed with her jungle book in her lap. Her sketchbook was beside her, open to the last drawing she'd made, the one of the three friends around the drum. Except there was something new on the page. Right next to her drawing of Rusty was a paw print she definitely hadn't drawn, still slightly damp, as if it had just been pressed there. Kelly smiled and closed the sketchbook gently. Outside her window she could hear the soft night sounds of her own neighborhood settling down to sleep, and somehow they sounded just like a lullaby. Thanks, guys, she whispered, and finally let herself drift off to dream. And that is the end of our story. Good night. Sleep tight. Thank you to Nora from Toronto, whose idea inspired this story. Story.