Bedtimes Stories Novels & Stories

The cook set a plate in front of Blake. “Let me know if there is anything else I can get for you, sir.” Blake picked up a fork. “This looks great, Albert. Thank you.” “You're welcome, sir.” After dinner, Alma assisted Iris with her bath and then watched as the little girl brushed her teeth. When Iris was ready for bed, Blake came into the room to read her a bedtime story. They settled on the bed and he began to read ‘The Sleeping Beauty’. By the time he was done with the story, Iris's eyelids were drooping and her chin was resting on her chest. Blake tucked her into bed and kissed her goodnight. Moving toward the door, he stopped when she called out to him.

She said in suggestion. Herzl nods and gets up from the couch. Lisa follows him to his bedroom, where he gets to change into his pajamas. Then they sit down on his bed and Lisa begins to tuck him in. As she does, she asks. “Do you want me to tell you a bedtime story?” “Yes, please…" Herzl uttered, his eyes already beginning to droop as he lay comfortably on his bed. Lisa thinks for a moment before replying. “I'll tell you the story of the three little pigs.” She enounced. Herzl's eyes light up, and he gives a sleepy grin.

I said with a small laugh. The remaining nighttime was spent in bedtime routines and warm baths, in stories and toothbrushes. Mirabel insisted on one of Clinton’s old bedtime tales — something about a crocodile and a mango — and I fumbled my way through the story while they giggled under their covers. When they finally dozed off, I stayed a while longer in the hallway, just watching them sleep. Japheth curled toward the window. Jake, hugging his teddy. Mirabel, one leg dangling off the bed as if dreaming of her little bride walk.

Davina lamented. “Are you a grown-up? The answer is No! You are still a child and sleeping early would help your brain’s activities.” I responded. I tucked them in successfully and turned off the light after reading a short bedtime story of Mama Bear and Baby Bear. Striding carefully out of the room I closed the door gently behind me. “Is there anything you want me to do for you before retiring for the day?” Nana Amy asked. “No, you can leave now. But before you go, where is Father?” I inquired.

Then, in a low, even voice, she began telling stories. She told five. Thomas didn't seem remotely sleepy. In the past, by the third story, Theo would already have been asleep. But she knew better than to compare Thomas to him. Thomas's insomnia ran deep; his body and mind refused to rest easily. Patient as ever, Sharon kept going. She had prepared around thirty bedtime stories that night. If none of them worked, she would simply try another approach tomorrow. But the truth was—she hadn't slept much the night before, keeping vigil over him. Now, lulled by her own soft cadence and the drowsy pull of her words, she began to nod off mid-sentence.

The evil ones. The kind of bedtime stories mothers whispered to keep their children from wandering past the watchtowers after nightfall. Stories I'd dismissed as folklore meant to frighten the young and gullible, nothing more than superstition wrapped in shadow. Yet here one stood, in my bedroom, as real as the floorboards beneath my feet.

“Here, Daddy.” I laid down next to them, and when I started to weave a story about the animals on the ceiling, Naomi linked our fingers together, while Becky laid her head on my arm. Just like that, all the stress from the day was gone, and I knew that no matter what, I was never going to miss another bedtime story.

A small nightlight shaped like a rocket ship glowed in the corner. "Mummy, can you read me a story?" Bernard asked, his big eyes looking up at her hopefully. She smiled and brushed his hair back. "Of course, sweetheart. Which one?" "The one about the brave knight!" Mrs. Harrington reached for the book on the nightstand and began reading. Her voice was soft and soothing, painting pictures of castles and dragons in the boy's imagination. Within minutes, Bernard's eyelids grew heavy, and soon he was fast asleep. She kissed his forehead gently, turned off the main light, and stepped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

“Mommy.” I looked at him instantly. “Yes baby?” “Can you read me a bedtime story please?” he asked sleepily. “Sure baby,” I quickly sat by him. “I’ll read it offhand. Is that okay?” He nodded. I went on to tell him a few stories I could remember from my childhood and by the time I was done, he was already fast asleep. I leapt to my feet and snuck out of the room. When I got to Malcolm and my room, he was not there.

]* Bedtime. Not Alex’s room. Not ‘through.’ Our room. Big bed. Knight bed. Day 1 bed. Twins. Middle. Already asleep. Sand in hair. _HOME_ washed off. Still there. Alex. End of bed. Book. _Not_ shark. _Not_ court. _Not_ 11 seconds. _The House That Was Just Home._ Susan wrote it. Last night. 4 AM. “Therapy,” she said. Illustrated it. Stick figures. Us. Bear. No bad men.