A Bedtime Story

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Captain Squawk, a magnificent, brightly plumed parrot, was the terror of the seven seas. He had a formidable eye patch, a tiny sword, and a deep, booming voice. He was also a pirate who prided himself on his terrifying, rhyming insults. The only problem? Captain Squawk was terrible at rhyming."Arrr! Prepare to face my wrath, you scallywags! You'll soon be swimming with the… with the… blue fish!" he'd yell, glaring at a passing school of fish.His crew, a long-suffering group of squirrels and chipmunks, would exchange weary glances. "Captain," chirped Squeaky, the smallest chipmunk, "doesn't 'blue fish' usually rhyme with… with nothing?""Silence, you landlubbers!" Captain Squawk would boom. "My rhymes are advanced! Abstract!"One sunny morning, their ship, The Salty Nut, encountered a rival pirate ship, The Slippery Eel. A fierce battle of words began."You're a vile villain, you scruffy sea-dog! Your ship is as leaky as a… as a… wet umbrella!" shouted the opposing captain, a nefarious ferret named Flicker.Captain Squawk puffed out his chest. "You're a rotten rogue, a miserable scamp! Your flag is as tattered as a… as a… torn napkin!"The crew of The Salty Nut winced. The crew of The Slippery Eel burst into laughter.Squeaky, seeing the captain's distress, had an idea. He scurried up the mast and whispered into Captain Squawk's ear. "Captain, sir! Use your special talent!""My special talent?" Captain Squawk looked confused. "My talent is being a terrible rhymer!""No, sir! Your talent for mimicry!" Squeaky insisted.Captain Squawk suddenly understood. He took a deep breath. Instead of trying to rhyme, he perfectly mimicked the sound of a huge, creaking ship's mast snapping in half, followed by the terrifying CRACK of thunder, and then the sound of a thousand hungry seagulls diving for fish.The crew of The Slippery Eel gasped. They looked at their own mast, then at the perfectly clear sky, then back at the miming parrot. Panic set in. "He's cursed us! Abandon ship!"They scrambled into their dinghies, convinced their mast was about to fall. Captain Squawk watched them go, a triumphant gleam in his eye. He didn't need rhymes; he had the power of sound!"Squeaky," Captain Squawk boomed, preening his feathers. "Prepare the victory feast! We shall celebrate my… my… victorious… triumph!"Squeaky just nodded, happy the battle was won, and the rhyming had, for once, been mostly avoided.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Mrs. Hemlock was a librarian unlike any other. While most librarians cherished silence, Mrs. Hemlock, a tiny, bespectacled owl, adored laughter. Her library, the "Giggle and Glee Book Nook," was supposed to echo with happy sounds, but lately, it was eerily quiet. The children, usually a boisterous bunch, were too busy staring at their glowing screens."Oh dear," Mrs. Hemlock hooted sadly, polishing a dusty joke book. "Where has all the joyful noise gone? A library without laughter is like a tea party without biscuits!"She tried everything to encourage merriment. She hid whoopee cushions under story-time pillows. She replaced serious historical texts with books that spontaneously told knock-knock jokes. Nothing worked. The children simply scrolled and swiped.One afternoon, Oscar the grumpy octopus, a frequent (and very silent) reader of maritime law, noticed Mrs. Hemlock's distress."Madam," Oscar rumbled, his voice like rocks tumbling in a bucket. "Perhaps your methods are too… subtle."Mrs. Hemlock looked at him. "Subtle? I just put glitter in the dictionary!"Oscar sighed, then pointed one of his tentacles at a large, brightly colored book on the highest shelf. It was titled: "The Ultimate Compendium of Silly Animal Noises (With Interactive Sounds!)""That book," Oscar explained, "is broken. It only makes the sound of a very loud, very flat tuba every time someone touches it. The children avoid it."Mrs. Hemlock had forgotten all about the "Broken Tuba Book." She carefully took it down. "A flat tuba, you say? Hmm."She opened the book. WHOOMP! A loud, flat tuba sound echoed through the quiet library. The children looked up from their screens, startled. One little fox cub giggled. Then another. Soon, the entire library was filled with children trying to make the tuba book whoomp again, laughing at the silly sound.Mrs. Hemlock watched, a wide smile spreading across her feathery face. She realized the best way to encourage laughter wasn't always through sophisticated jokes or hidden gags, but sometimes, simply through a big, unexpected, silly noise. She decided to keep the "Broken Tuba Book" right on the front desk.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Mr. Flourish was, by trade, a baker. By nature, he was a slightly terrified, meticulously tidy badger who harbored a secret, crippling fear of… flour. Not the taste, mind you, but the mess. The tiny, insidious white particles that got everywhere, clung to everything, and absolutely refused to be contained.His bakery, "The Crumbly Corner," was always spotless, but Mr. Flourish himself wore a full hazmat suit every time he had to open a bag of all-purpose."It's like a tiny, aggressive snowstorm," he'd whisper, peering out from behind his face shield as a single puff of flour escaped a bag. "It multiplies! It colonizes! It… it gets in my whiskers!"His apprentice, a cheerful, perpetually dusty rabbit named Thistle, found Mr. Flourish’s phobia rather endearing."But Mr. Flourish," Thistle would say, shaking flour from her ears (she didn’t even notice it), "you make the most delicious bread! It's worth a little mess, surely?""Never!" Mr. Flourish would declare, vigorously vacuuming a single speck from the floor.One morning, a huge order came in: one hundred rainbow-sprinkle cupcakes for the annual Forest Jubilee. This meant mountains of flour. Mr. Flourish donned his most heavy-duty hazmat suit, complete with breathing apparatus.As he was carefully pouring a bag into the mixer, the bag decided to burst. A huge, white cloud of flour erupted, completely enveloping Mr. Flourish.Thistle gasped, expecting panic. But when the cloud settled, Mr. Flourish stood perfectly still. He slowly took off his helmet. He looked down at himself, covered head-to-toe in fluffy white powder. He looked like a very surprised snowman.Then, something remarkable happened. He sneezed. A huge, reverberating AH-CHOO! that shook the entire bakery.And then he giggled."Good heavens!" Mr. Flourish exclaimed, wiping flour from his eyes. "That was… rather exhilarating! Like being a… a very fluffy ghost! And it feels quite… soft!"Thistle stared, dumbfounded. "You're not… scared?""No!" Mr. Flourish laughed, shaking a shower of flour from his paws. "It turns out, being completely covered in flour is rather fun! It's like wearing a very warm, very powdery winter coat!"From that day on, Mr. Flourish still preferred things tidy, but he never wore his hazmat suit again. He even allowed himself a small, daily flour dusting, which he called his "morning fluff."

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Ignis was a magnificent dragon: emerald scales, powerful wings, and a roar that could rattle mountains. He was, by all accounts, a perfectly respectable, fire-breathing beast. But Ignis had a secret dream: he wanted to be a butterfly.He spent hours in his lair, attempting to flit delicately, much to the confusion of his enormous, leathery wings. He tried to sip nectar from giant flowers (usually flattening them in the process). He even tried to land gently on the nose of Wilbur the worried warthog, who promptly fainted."It's just not working, Wilbur," Ignis sighed, accidentally singeing a daisy with a tiny puff of smoke. "My wings are too heavy! My scales are too green! I need to be light and colorful!"Wilbur, recovering from his faint, blinked nervously. "But Ignis, you're a dragon. You're supposed to hoard gold and protect your cave, not… flutter."One afternoon, Ignis had a brilliant idea. He spent days collecting all the brightest, most iridescent beetle shells, shiny pebbles, and glistening spiderwebs he could find. He then meticulously glued them all over his emerald scales, covering himself in a dazzling, patchwork coat of shimmering colors.When he emerged, he looked less like a butterfly and more like a very large, very shiny, slightly confused disco ball."Ta-da!" Ignis announced, trying to flutter. He managed to wobble slightly.Just then, Flicker, a wise old fairy dragon (much smaller and more sparkly), flew by. Flicker was known for her sensible advice."Ignis, darling," Flicker giggled, her tiny wings buzzing. "What in the name of all that glitters are you wearing? You look like a magpie's picnic!"Ignis explained his butterfly dream. Flicker, instead of laughing, simply landed on his nose and tapped a tiny claw on one of his beetle shells."Ignis, the magic of a butterfly isn't just in its colors, but in its delicate lightness. You're adding weight, not taking it away!" Flicker explained. "If you want to feel light and colorful, try learning a new dance! Or paint pictures! Or simply enjoy the sunshine on your beautiful green scales!"Ignis paused. He looked at his shimmering, heavy body. He looked at the warm sun. He realized Flicker was right. He peeled off the shells and webs, feeling much lighter already. He might not be a butterfly, but he could certainly enjoy the sunshine and perhaps learn a very slow, graceful dragon dance.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Clara the chameleon loved her garden. It was a riot of color, filled with bright flowers and juicy beetles. Her biggest problem, however, was Nimbus, a small, fluffy, very mischievous cloud who floated just above her property. Nimbus had a strange hobby: collecting hats. Not just any hats, but Clara’s hats.Every morning, Clara would wake up to find her favorite gardening hat missing. Then her sun hat. Then her rather elaborate hat with a fake flamingo on top."Nimbus!" Clara would shout, changing her color to a vibrant green in frustration. "Give me back my hats! I need them for… for shade!"But Nimbus would just giggle—a sound like tiny raindrops falling on tin—and float higher, displaying a new, jaunty addition to his collection. He looked quite dashing with a tiny fascinator perched on his wispy top.One particularly sunny day, Clara decided enough was enough. She climbed to the top of her tallest sunflower, armed with a long stick. "Nimbus, this is your last warning! Return the hats, or I shall… I shall tickle you until you rain!"Nimbus paused, his giggles replaced by a nervous shimmer. He’d never been threatened with tickling before. Just then, Hector the helpful heron flew by, carrying a small fishing net."What's all the commotion, Clara?" Hector asked, landing gracefully beside her."Nimbus has stolen all my hats!" Clara explained, gesturing wildly at the cloud, who was now adorned with a tiny, brightly feathered fedora.Hector, being a wise bird, noticed something else. Nestled within Nimbus’s fluffy form, along with all of Clara's hats, were several small, glossy river pebbles and a surprising number of shiny bottle caps."Nimbus," Hector said gently. "Are you… are you trying to keep your hat collection from floating away? Is that why you've weighed them down with stones?"Nimbus, who had been trying to look nonchalant, slowly lowered himself. A small, embarrassed grumble, like very distant thunder, escaped him. "Well, they are quite light, Hector. And it's awfully windy up here. I just wanted them to stay put."Clara, softened by this unexpected explanation, felt a pang of sympathy. "Oh, Nimbus! Why didn't you just say so? We can tie them down! Or put them on a hat rack inside my house!"Nimbus brightened immediately, shedding hats and pebbles in a gentle shower. Clara retrieved her collection, and together they fashioned a tiny, cloud-friendly hat rack for Nimbus’s future hat acquisitions.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!The lighthouse on Whispering Point was usually a place of quiet, rhythmic beams, guiding ships safely through the night. Its lamp, a magnificent, ancient mechanism named Lumina, was supposed to emit a steady, comforting glow. However, Lumina had developed a secret passion for disco.One moonless night, instead of her usual steady pulse, Lumina began to flash in a wild, uncontrolled sequence of greens, purples, and blues. She pulsed to an imaginary beat, spinning her lens as if she were under a glitter ball.Old Man Tiberius, the lighthouse keeper (a gruff, walrus-mustached fellow with a penchant for quiet evenings and knitting), rubbed his eyes. "Lumina! What in the blazes are you doing? You're going to give those poor sailors sea-sickness with all that flashing!"But Lumina wouldn't stop. She flashed faster, brighter, even adding a little strobe effect that made Tiberius feel quite dizzy. It was as if she were shouting, "Dance! Dance! Dance!"Tiberius tried everything. He tightened bolts, he checked wires, he even offered her a new, very sensible, plain white bulb. Lumina just pulsed a defiant magenta.Finally, Esmeralda, a very fashionable seagull who knew everything about current trends (and where to find the best discarded French fries), flew in through the open window."Tiberius, darling," Esmeralda squawked, landing daintily on a lever. "It's the remote control, isn't it?"Tiberius looked blank. "Remote control? For a lighthouse lamp?"Esmeralda pointed with a wing to a small, sleek, silver device that had fallen behind a dusty stack of nautical charts. "Some mischievous young puffins found this during their summer holidays. They thought it would be hilarious to give Lumina a 'dance party' mode. It’s for a new brand of color-changing party light that accidentally got shipped here instead of the proper spare parts."Tiberius picked up the remote, squinting at the tiny buttons. He pressed one labeled "Steady Glow." Instantly, Lumina stopped her wild flashing and returned to a calm, steady, comforting white beam.Tiberius sighed in relief. He thanked Esmeralda, gave the remote to her (with strict instructions to only use it for personal dance parties), and settled back down to his knitting, leaving Lumina to beam peacefully into the night.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Grizzly George was a bear of impressive bulk and even more impressive forgetfulness. Every autumn, like all sensible bears, George was supposed to curl up in his cozy cave for a long winter nap. But this year, something was terribly wrong."Now, what was it again?" George mumbled, pacing his cave. "Do I count sheep? Do I sing a lullaby? Do I… do I tie myself to a tree until spring?"His best friend, Penelope the porcupine, peered out from a knot in the tree just outside George’s cave. "George, dear, you just lie down and close your eyes. It’s a very natural process.""But what if I miss something important?" George worried, his voice a rumbling whisper. "What if the squirrels have a secret nut party I'm not invited to? What if a particularly interesting rock rolls by and I'm asleep?"Penelope sighed. She knew George was a worrier. To help, she’d written him a very detailed list: "1. Eat all the berries. 2. Find a comfy spot. 3. Close eyes. 4. Snore until spring." George had, predictably, lost the list.One frosty evening, as the first snowflakes began to fall, George decided he needed inspiration. He curled up by the cave entrance, determined to watch another animal hibernate. Just then, Willy the sleepy woodchuck ambled by, yawned a wide, chattering yawn, and burrowed into his own den with a contented sigh."Ah!" George exclaimed. "The trick is to yawn dramatically!" He tried it, a huge, cavernous yawn that made his jaw creak. It felt good. He tried another. And another. Soon, George was yawning so much his eyes watered.Penelope, watching from her den , giggled. "Keep going, George! You’re almost there!"George let out one final, enormous yawn, stretched out his big paws, and before he knew it, he was fast asleep, dreaming of endless berries and very quiet rock formations. He snored so loudly the icicles in his cave vibrated gently. Penelope simply smiled, knowing her friend had finally remembered the most important thing of all: how to simply be a bear.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Cosmo the poodle was an impeccably groomed dog with a tiny, sophisticated wardrobe. His most treasured item was a gorgeous, striped sun hat with a wide, floppy brim. The problem was, Cosmo insisted on wearing it indoors, everywhere, all the time.He wore it while sleeping. He wore it while trying to eat his kibble (a tricky maneuver involving tilting his head sharply). He even wore it in the bathtub.His owner, Mr. Desmond, a slightly bewildered human who ran a small bookstore, finally addressed the issue one afternoon as Cosmo bumped the hat into a precarious tower of poetry books."Cosmo, old boy," Mr. Desmond sighed, steadying the books. "Why the hat inside? It's cloudy out. You can barely see!"Cosmo sat down and, with a very dignified, but muffled bark, pointed a paw at the hat.Mr. Desmond bent down. "Ah, I see. You're trying to tell me something with your paw-pointing?"Just then, a tiny, dark object fell from the brim of the hat. It was a single, highly decorative, artificial grape—the kind used to adorn fancy fruit baskets.A small, agitated, high-pitched voice came from inside the hat. "The grape has escaped! Sound the alarm!"Mr. Desmond carefully lifted the hat. Perched deep inside the dome, using the plush lining as a tiny, luxurious bed, was a petite, extremely dramatic house spider named Mortimer. Mortimer was using the large hat brim as his own private, quiet, and slightly dark home."Mortimer! What are you doing?" Mr. Desmond asked."I can't work in the light, sir!" Mortimer declared, shaking his tiny fists. "And this hat is the only place in the whole house where no one ever dusts! It's the perfect, secluded artist's retreat!"Cosmo whined, nudging the hat. He didn't want the spider's house, he just wanted his hat-pillow back!Mr. Desmond chuckled. He placed the hat on a high shelf and put a new, unadorned, very soft pillow on the floor for Cosmo. He also promised Mortimer that the high shelf would never be dusted, ensuring the dramatic spider had a new, quiet place for his work.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Professor Quentin Quibble was a genius. Or, at least, he thought he was. His laboratory, a ramshackle shed at the edge of the whispering woods, was filled with whirring contraptions and bubbling beakers. The problem was, every single one of Professor Quibble's inventions seemed to invent only trouble.His "Automatic Toast Butterer" once buttered the entire ceiling. His "Self-Folding Laundry Machine" merely tied all the shirts into elaborate sailor's knots."Just a few minor adjustments!" Professor Quibble (a frazzled squirrel with permanently singed whiskers) would declare, covered in soot or jam.His long-suffering assistant, Millie the careful chipmunk, usually spent her days untangling wires or scraping sticky goo off the walls.One crisp autumn morning, Professor Quibble unveiled his latest masterpiece: the "Instant Leaf-Sweeper-and-Autumn-Decorator 5000." It was a magnificent, shiny brass contraption with dozens of brushes, tiny rakes, and a powerful suction hose."This," Professor Quibble announced dramatically, "will clear the entire forest floor of leaves and rearrange them into pleasing autumnal patterns! No more raking, Millie!"Millie, remembering the buttered ceiling, backed away slowly.The Professor pressed the "ON" button. The machine whirred to life. The brushes spun, the tiny rakes raked, and the suction hose sucked. But it didn't just suck up leaves. It sucked up acorns. And then pinecones. And then Millie's favorite knitted scarf. And then, with a mighty WHOOSH, it began to suck up the machine itself, collapsing into a heap of shiny brass and autumn debris.Professor Quibble stared at the smoking pile, his whiskers drooping. "Oh dear. It seems to have created a rather enthusiastic vortex."Millie, carefully retrieving her scarf from the wreckage, sighed. "Professor, perhaps your inventions should start small. Like, say, a device that reliably makes tea?"Professor Quibble’s eyes lit up. "Tea! Brilliant, Millie! I shall invent the 'Automatic Tea-Pourer-and-Biscuit-Dunker 3000!' What could possibly go wrong?"Millie simply patted his shoulder, already mentally preparing for a very soggy afternoon.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Nutkin and Hazel were a pair of siblings whose lives revolved around the annual autumn nut-gathering. It was a race against time, with squirrels from all over the forest competing for the tastiest acorns and walnuts. This year, they were off to a terrible start. The best nuts were being scooped up by their rivals, the Chippers.One afternoon, while foraging near an abandoned picnic blanket, Nutkin found something strange: a small, black object with lots of buttons. It was a television remote control. He sniffed it, then accidentally pressed a button marked "PAUSE."Suddenly, the world went still. A startled blue jay was frozen mid-flight, a gust of wind hung motionless in the air, and a rival squirrel was suspended, one paw just about to grab the most delicious-looking acorn. Nutkin blinked. He wiggled his tail. The world was still. He nudged Hazel, who was also frozen.He pressed the "PLAY" button. Everything started moving again. The blue jay flew on, the wind rushed by, and the other squirrel snatched the acorn. Nutkin and Hazel stared at each other, their little squirrel brains working overtime. They had discovered a time machine! Well, a time-pausing device.They started to use the remote for their nut-gathering. They'd spot a prime pile of walnuts, hit "PAUSE," and then leisurely stroll over and scoop them all up. Hazel would use the time to organize their nut stash into neat little piles, while Nutkin would occasionally use the remote to briefly un-pause his sister just to ask where she wanted him to put a particular chestnut. It was glorious.Their nut pile grew larger and larger. The other squirrels were baffled. The Chippers were particularly confused. "How are they getting all the nuts? It’s like they're faster than light!" one of them exclaimed.Nutkin and Hazel, meanwhile, had a different problem. They had gathered so many nuts that their tree hollow was overflowing. The remote also had an interesting side effect. Nutkin accidentally paused the world right as he was about to sneeze. He and Hazel had to wait, unmoving, until Hazel could scurry around and press "PLAY," so Nutkin's sneeze could finally come out.The squirrels decided that while pausing time was fun, it was also a little overwhelming. They had enough nuts for the winter and a whole lot of weird, paused moments to remember. They put the remote away, deciding that a good old-fashioned nut race was a lot more fun, even if it meant a smaller haul.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Silas the lighthouse keeper lived a simple life. He polished the light, wrote letters to his sister, and made sure the enormous, glowing lamp was always ready to guide ships safely to shore. His days were quiet and predictable, which was just how he liked them. One blustery morning, he found a bottle washed up on the shore. Inside was a tiny rolled-up note. He uncorked the bottle and unrolled the paper.The note was written in perfectly neat, elegant script. It read:"Dear Sir or Madam,I do hope this letter finds you well. My name is Orville, and I am an octopus. I was enjoying a particularly splendid underwater swim when I lost my bearings. I believe I am quite lost. Might you be able to provide directions to the nearest library? I am in dire need of a good book on advanced knot-tying and the history of sea-based poetry.Yours with sincerest gratitude,Orville T. Tentacles"Silas chuckled. An octopus who wanted to go to the library. He decided to write back. He got out his best paper and his finest fountain pen and wrote a response. He put it in a new bottle, tied a ribbon around it, and tossed it into the sea, hoping Orville would find it.Two days later, another bottle washed ashore."My Dearest Silas," the new note read. "Your directions were simply marvelous! The first turn at the coral reef was a bit tricky, but the second turn by the clam with the top hat was perfectly clear. I have arrived at the library and am now searching for a book on proper table manners for octopuses. Thank you for your kindness! I have enclosed a small gift for your trouble."Silas looked down. There was no gift. He looked inside the bottle and saw a tiny, elegant, and perfectly tied knot. He smiled. He decided to write back again, asking what the table manners book was like. He spent the next month exchanging letters with Orville, who was a delightful correspondent. Orville wrote about the books he was reading, the new friends he was making, and the trouble he was having trying to use a fork.Silas learned a lot from Orville's letters. He learned about the different kinds of kelp, how to speak to a passing whale, and what a polite octopus says when it accidentally squirts ink on a friend. Silas's life was no longer quiet and predictable, but it was certainly a lot more interesting. And every time a ship sailed by, Silas didn't just see the light from his lamp; he also saw a grand blue sea full of possibilities, and maybe, just maybe, an octopus reading a book.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Sir Gideon was the bravest knight in the land. He had defeated the Great Dragon of the East, outsmarted the Wicked Sorcerer of the West, and even negotiated a truce with the grumpy River Trolls. There was only one thing that terrified him: puppies. He was currently on a quest to escort the Royal Pup, a tiny ball of fluff named Buster, to the neighboring kingdom.Buster was a small, adorable Cavalier King Charles Spaniel with big, sad eyes. He was also a menace. He chewed on Sir Gideon's shiny armor, pounced on his polished boots, and had a nasty habit of licking Sir Gideon's face whenever the knight wasn't paying attention. Sir Gideon, a man who had faced fire-breathing monsters without flinching, was a shivering, nervous wreck.He tried to keep his distance from Buster, but the pup was relentless. Every time Sir Gideon stopped to rest, Buster would sneak up on him, his tail wagging furiously. Once, while Sir Gideon was trying to eat a biscuit, Buster ran off with it, leading the knight on a frantic chase through a field of buttercups. Sir Gideon, in his heavy armor, looked like a panicked turtle running after a fluffy dandelion.Sir Gideon's squire, a young man named Leo, couldn't understand his master's fear. "But Sir Gideon, he's just a little pup!" Leo said one afternoon as Buster licked Sir Gideon's cheek with gusto."He's a ball of unstoppable fluff!" Sir Gideon whimpered, trying to wipe the slobber from his face. "You don't understand, Leo. They’re too… cute! I can't fight something so adorable! It goes against all my training!"One evening, a storm rolled in. Sir Gideon and Leo took shelter in a small cave. The wind howled and the rain poured down. Buster, whimpering at the sound of the thunder, crawled into Sir Gideon's lap and curled up, trembling. Sir Gideon, for the first time, forgot to be scared. He stroked the pup's soft fur and whispered comforting words. Buster looked up at him, his big, wet eyes full of trust.When the storm passed, Sir Gideon realized something. He wasn't afraid of puppies; he was afraid of not being brave enough for them. He had been so focused on fighting monsters, he'd forgotten how to be gentle. He scooped Buster up and carried him the rest of the way, even letting the little pup chew on the hilt of his sword. From then on, Sir Gideon was known not just as the bravest knight, but also as the kindest, always with a small, fluffy dog by his side.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Milo was a sloth of simple pleasures. He enjoyed a good nap, a slow-moving leaf, and the quiet hum of the forest. He did not, however, enjoy anything fast. One afternoon, while lazily inching his way along a branch, he came across a discarded musical instrument. It was a golden, curvy thing with a lot of buttons. A trumpet. Milo had never seen one before, and he carefully held it, his claws curled around the cold metal. He took a nap, the trumpet nestled beside him.That night, something magical happened. In his dreams, Milo wasn't a slow-moving sloth; he was a fast-moving, tuxedo-wearing musician on a brightly lit stage. He raised the trumpet to his lips and, instead of a slow, sleepy toot, a lively, upbeat, and incredibly jazzy tune came out. The trumpet sang with a life of its own. Milo played a solo so full of twists and turns that the other animal musicians on stage—a squirrel on drums and a rabbit on the double bass—could barely keep up. The dream audience of fireflies and owls cheered wildly.Milo woke up the next morning feeling strangely energized. He looked at the trumpet. He put it to his lips and blew, but all that came out was a soft, gentle puff of air. "Sigh," he said. He tried again. The trumpet just made a quiet, sleepy little whisper. Milo tucked the trumpet under his chin and took another nap. He was a sloth, after all, and the most important part of the day was always the next nap.That night, the jazz concert resumed in his dreams. He played a wailing, soulful number. In the morning, he’d wake up, try to play the trumpet, and be met with a sleepy puff. This became Milo's new routine. By day, he was the same quiet, slow-moving sloth. By night, he was a famous jazz musician, known throughout the dream-world for his incredible solos.One day, a group of birds flew by. "Look!" chirped one. "It's Milo the sloth. They say he’s the slowest creature in the whole forest."Milo, with his trumpet tucked under his arm, smiled a secret smile. They had no idea that when he closed his eyes, he was the fastest, jazziest creature in all the land.

This very special 300th episode is dedicated to Sarah, who not only guest-stars in this episode doing four different voices, but is also endlessly supportive and patient with me doing this show, even when she just wants to get out the door and I’m finishing an edit.Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!The scent of stale pizza, Mountain Dew, and unwashed dice bags hung heavy in Mark’s basement. It was a familiar aroma, one that had permeated so many Saturdays for the past six years. Tonight, however, was different. Tonight was session number 300.Mark, the Dungeon Master, adjusted his glasses, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Alright, adventurers,” he announced, a dramatic flourish accompanying his words, “tonight we celebrate a momentous occasion. Three hundred sessions of triumph, tragedy, and questionable life choices. And tonight… you face your greatest challenge yet.”Across the table, Sarah, a wizard player, groaned. “Mark, please tell me we’re not fighting another lich. My spellbook is practically falling apart from all the necromantic energy it’s had to absorb.”    “Relax, Sarah,” interjected David, whose brawny fighter, Borin Stonehand, had a knack for charging headfirst into danger. “Whatever it is, Borin’s axe is ready. Probably just a bigger, badder goblin, right, Mark?”  A chuckle rumbled from Mark. “Oh, sweet summer child. If only it were that simple. But before we delve into the depths of your imminent doom, a quick recap.” He gestured to a sprawling map of the realm of Eldoria, meticulously drawn and annotated over hundreds of sessions.“You stand before the Obsidian Gate, the last bastion of the ancient sorcerer-king, Kaelen. Your mission: retrieve the Sunstone of Eldoria, an artifact said to be capable of banishing Kaelen’s perpetual twilight and restoring light to the land. You’ve battled through his Shadow Legion, navigated treacherous ruins, and endured my terrible attempts at elven accents.”“Your dwarven accents weren’t much better,” quipped Emily, whose rogue, Lyra Swiftfoot, was usually the first to point out Mark’s shortcomings.“Hey, I try!” Mark defended, a grin playing on his lips. “Anyway, as you approach the gate, a chilling wind whips around you, carrying with it the faint, guttural chants of Kaelen’s minions. What do you do?”David’s eyes lit up. “Borin kicks down the door!”“Of course he does,” Sarah muttered, rolling her eyes. “Fighters. Always so subtle.”“Hold on, Borin,” Emily interjected, her fingers already tracing a path on the map. “Lyra wants to scout ahead. See what kind of nasties are waiting on the other side. A stealth check, please, Mark.”Mark nodded. “Give me a d20.” Emily rolled, a satisfying click echoing in the quiet basement.“Seventeen! Not bad, Lyra. You manage to slip past the gate’s outer defenses, a shadow amongst shadows. What do you see?”Emily leaned in, imagining the scene. “I see a courtyard, vast and oppressive. There are… shadow knights, at least a dozen, patrolling. And in the center, a colossal obsidian altar. And standing before it…” she paused for dramatic effect, “is Kaelen himself, a dark figure cloaked in swirling shadows, performing some kind of ritual.”Sarah gasped. “Kaelen? Already? Mark, you said this was the final fight, but I didn’t think he’d be waiting for us at the doorstep!”“He’s been waiting for 300 sessions, Sarah,” Mark replied, feigning a stoic expression. “He’s got nothing but time.”“Alright, new plan,” David announced, his initial enthusiasm for door-kicking momentarily deflated. “Borin will… distract them. Create a diversion. While Lyra and Elara try to sneak past and get to the Sunstone.”Sarah’s wizard, Elara, was a beacon of arcane power, usually the one to turn the tide of battle with a well-placed fireball. “Distract them how, Borin?” she asked, a hint of exasperation in her voice. “Yell really loudly about your beard?”“Exactly!” David exclaimed, pumping his fist. “Borin charges in, shouting about the injustice of darkness and the glory of dwarvenkind! Maybe even flex a little.”Emily snorted. “He’ll be a pincushion before he even reaches the altar.”“Mark, can I cast Greater Invisibility on Borin?” Sarah asked, a glimmer of hope in her eyes.Mark stroked his chin thoughtfully. “You can, but it’s a high-level spell. You’d be burning through a lot of your arcane reserves before the real fight even begins.”Sarah sighed. “Fine. Borin, you’re on your own, you glorious idiot. Just try not to die immediately.”David grinned. “Borin lives for glorious idiocy! Right, Mark, Borin bursts through the gate, axe gleaming, and lets out a roar that shakes the very foundations of Kaelen’s fortress!”Mark chuckled. “The Shadow Knights turn, startled by the sudden intrusion. Kaelen pauses his ritual, his shadowy form radiating palpable anger. He hisses, ‘Fools! You dare interrupt my ascension?’ Roll initiative, everyone!”The clatter of dice filled the basement. Tension, thick as

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Alistair the wizard was having a very bad day. He’d woken up on the wrong side of his enchanted bed, his potion cabinet had inexplicably arranged itself by color instead of alphabet, and worst of all, his grumpy pet dragon, Smolder, refused to breathe fire on the morning oatmeal to give it that perfectly toasted crust. Alistair decided to cheer them both up by attempting a "Sparkling Dragon Rejuvenation" spell he'd found in an old, dusty book. He waved his wand, chanted the words, and a soft, pink light enveloped Smolder.For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a sound like a wet sneeze, Smolder collapsed into a shimmering, goo-like puddle on the floor. Alistair stared. The puddle rippled. Two small, googly eyes popped up from the surface."I say," said a voice that sounded remarkably like Smolder’s, only squishier. "This is a bit… liquidy, isn't it? My scales feel wonderfully moisturized, though. So there’s that."Alistair blinked. "Smolder? Is that you?""Of course it's me! Who else would be a talkative puddle of dragon-goo in your parlor?" The puddle-Smolder wobbled over to a leg of the armchair. "Fascinating. I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to be a slow-moving flood. Oh, look! I’m a lake now!" The puddle spread out, a tiny, gooey smile visible on its surface.Alistair panicked. He flipped through the book. There was no reversal spell listed. The goo-puddle, meanwhile, was having the time of its life. It oozed under the door to the kitchen and promptly engulfed a spilled drop of milk, growing slightly larger and whiter."Alistair! The milk tastes delicious! I have a sudden urge to be a pancake! Do you think you could pour me onto a hot griddle?""Absolutely not! You're a dragon, not breakfast!" Alistair insisted, scooping up his gooey pet with a large dustpan. The puddle wiggled happily. He carried it to the garden, hoping some fresh air would help. Puddle-Smolder dripped onto a flowerbed and absorbed a patch of mud. "Oh, now I’m a mud pie! How marvelous!"Alistair sighed, realizing he wasn't going to get his dragon back to normal anytime soon. He decided to embrace the gooey chaos. For the rest of the day, Alistair and Puddle-Smolder made wobbly journeys around the house and yard. The puddle happily absorbed stray leaves, a crumb of toast, and even a discarded button. By dinnertime, Smolder was a shimmering, multi-colored goo-puddle, and Alistair, though his house was a little messier, had to admit that his friend was in the best mood he'd been in all year.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Mr. Quill was a book binder with a problem. He had just finished a beautiful, leather-bound volume, but the book itself was a dud. Its pages, instead of being blank for a new story, were filled with the worst jokes Mr. Quill had ever heard. Every time he opened it, a new one would leap out.“What do you call a sleeping dinosaur?” he had read one morning. “A dino-snore!” The pages rattled with what sounded like tiny, polite snickers.Mr. Quill couldn’t sell the book. Nobody wants to buy a book that makes you groan and shake your head. He tried to hide it under the counter, but the book kept reappearing on top, its leather cover gleaming innocently. He even tried to give it away to a street performer, but the man said the jokes were so bad he was afraid they'd ruin his reputation.One afternoon, a small, sad-looking boy named Leo came into the shop. He had been trying to read a very serious history book, and it had put him in a terrible mood. He was frowning as he walked down the aisle, his shoulders slumped.Mr. Quill, seeing a chance to get rid of the book, picked up the dreadful volume and opened it. “I have a special book for you, young man,” he said. He read the next joke. “Why did the teddy bear say no to dessert? Because he was stuffed!”Leo looked at him, his frown deepening. "That's a terrible joke," he said.Mr. Quill shrugged. "I know, but listen to this one. 'Why was the math book sad? Because it had too many problems!'"This time, a tiny smile appeared on Leo's face. "That's also terrible," he said, but he couldn't help a small giggle escaping. Mr. Quill, feeling a glimmer of hope, kept going.“What do you get if you cross a snowman and a vampire? Frostbite!” Mr. Quill read.Leo’s small giggle turned into a full-on laugh. He sat down on the floor, shaking his head and wiping a tear from his eye. The jokes were so bad, so completely and utterly unfunny, that they had become hilarious. Leo asked if he could take the book home. Mr. Quill, overjoyed, gave it to him for free.Leo became the most popular kid in his class. He would tell a joke from the book, and the entire class would erupt in laughter, not because the jokes were good, but because they were so very, very bad. And Mr. Quill learned a valuable lesson: sometimes, the worst thing in the world is the best thing, if you just find the right person to share it with.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Thelonius was not an ordinary teapot. He lived on a high shelf in a little antique shop, and while other teapots dreamed of serving fancy teas, Thelonius dreamed of being a professional whistler. He loved the sound of a good, clear whistle, the way it could rise and fall like a bird in the wind. The problem was, Thelonius couldn't whistle. He was a teapot, and all teapots can do is steam.He'd practice all day long, taking a little bit of water inside him and trying to force it out in a perfectly-pitched stream of air. But every time, the result was the same: a wobbly, sputtering sound that was more like a gurgle than a whistle. It sounded like a bathtub drain trying to sing opera. His shelf-mate, a very elegant silver platter, was not impressed. "Oh, do stop, Thelonius," the platter would sigh. "You're getting condensation on me."Thelonius wouldn't give up. He spent hours trying to perfect his craft. He tried different tunes, from happy folk melodies to sad, soulful ballads. The result was always the same: a shaky, off-key burble that sounded like a tea party gone wrong. One morning, the shop owner’s little girl, Lily, came into the shop. She had been tasked with dusting and was feeling particularly glum. She looked at all the old things, not a single one bringing a smile to her face.Just then, Thelonius, in a moment of desperate inspiration, took a deep breath of water and blew out his most vigorous, wobbliest whistle yet. It was a complete failure as a whistle, but it made a surprisingly funny, gurgling sound that was so unexpected it made Lily giggle. She picked up Thelonius and looked at him. "You sound like you're trying to whisper a joke!" she said, giggling again.Thelonius tried to whistle again, and again, the sound came out like a clumsy burp. Lily laughed even harder. The other teapots looked on in horror, but Thelonius didn't care. He wasn't a great whistler, but he was a fantastic funny sound-maker. Lily carried him to the shop counter, where she and her dad had tea. Thelonius was filled with warm water, and every time the kettle began to steam, he'd let out a wobbly, sputtering sound. Lily would giggle, and her dad would smile.Thelonius the teapot never did become a professional whistler, but he became something better. He became the teapot that made Lily laugh.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!In the town of Gleam, where shadows had their own playful personalities, lived a timid person named Penelope. Her shadow, however, was a mischievous prankster named Flicker. While Penelope was quiet and reserved, Flicker was loud and boisterous, often waving at people and impersonating other shadows.Penelope was trying to befriend a man named Julian, whose shadow, a dignified fellow named Sterling, always stood ramrod straight and bowed politely. But Flicker would have none of it. As Julian and Penelope talked, Flicker would sneak behind Sterling and wiggle his shadow-fingers, making Sterling look like he was doing a silly dance. Julian, a very serious man, would furrow his brow and wonder why his shadow was behaving so strangely.The annual "Shadow Puppet" festival was just a week away. It was a contest of the most creative shadows, and Penelope had an idea. She would teach Flicker to be a proper, well-behaved shadow. But Flicker had a different idea. He wanted to win by causing the most chaos.On the day of the festival, the town square was a hub of activity. Shadows were dancing, singing, and performing magnificent feats. A baker’s shadow was baking a gigantic shadow cake, while a musician’s shadow was playing a grand shadow guitar.Penelope went up to the stage, her heart thumping. She had planned a simple, elegant routine, but as soon as the lights came on, Flicker went rogue. Instead of gracefully mimicking Penelope, he started impersonating the other shadows. He first mimicked the baker’s shadow, then the musician’s shadow, then the judge’s shadow, making it look like the judge was scratching his head in a very odd way.The crowd gasped, then started to laugh. They had never seen such a thing. Penelope was mortified, but she couldn't stop Flicker. He was on a roll, impersonating every shadow in the square, making them all look like they were doing the conga. It was a chaotic, beautiful, and utterly hilarious disaster.Then, Flicker did something unexpected. He imitated Julian’s shadow, Sterling, and gave a deep, respectful bow. Julian, watching from the crowd, was so impressed that his face broke into a wide smile.The judges, after a moment of stunned silence, started to laugh. "We've never seen such a magnificent display of shadow artistry!" one judge exclaimed. "It was a celebration of every shadow's unique personality!"Penelope and Flicker won the grand prize. Julian, impressed by Flicker's performance, came up to Penelope and said, "Your shadow is a genius! He made mine look so dignified! Would you… would you like to get a cup of tea sometime?"Penelope, a shy smile on her face, agreed. As they walked away, Flicker's shadow wiggled his fingers at Sterling, who, for the first time, wiggled his back. Penelope finally understood. Her shadow wasn't a prankster; he was just a funny friend trying to help her make new friends in a very unique way.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!On a tiny floating island, no bigger than a large pancake, lived a grumpy chef named Jasper. His restaurant, "The Salty Spatula," was renowned for its exquisite, gourmet dishes, but his tranquility was constantly disrupted by a flock of opinionated seagulls. These weren't ordinary seagulls; they communicated in perfect, rhyming couplets."We want a dish that's truly grand, a tasty treat, by human hand!" one seagull squawked, perched on the restaurant's roof.Jasper sighed. "I just made a lovely grilled cheese sandwich. It’s perfect for a quick snack.""A simple cheese? We can't agree! A gourmet meal is what we need!" the seagulls chorused, flapping their wings in unison.Jasper had tried everything. He'd offered them crumbs, fish, and even an exceptionally delicious bowl of soup, but they turned their beaks up at every dish that wasn’t a multi-course masterpiece. They were, in a few words, food critics with feathers.One day, Jasper was preparing his signature dish, the Floating Fish Flambé. He was a master of the flambé, and the fish was a perfectly seasoned, succulent specimen. As the flames licked the air, the seagulls descended."The fire is hot, the fish is done, a tasty meal for everyone!" they squawked excitedly.Jasper plated the dish beautifully, with a sprig of dill and a swirl of lemon sauce. He placed it on a small serving platform outside. The seagulls landed, their beady eyes inspecting the meal."The plating's good, the smell is sweet, but what about the tasty treat?" a seagull named Salty squawked.Jasper, exasperated, pointed at the fish. "It's right there! It’s the finest fish on the floating islands!""But what about the sauce so grand? A perfect flavor, close at hand?" Salty persisted.Jasper realized he had to outsmart them. He picked up a perfectly good piece of bread and broke it into tiny pieces. He arranged the crumbs in a swirling pattern on a small plate. "This," he announced with a flourish, "is the world-renowned Crumb Confetti, a delicacy of my own invention!"The seagulls stared at the plate. "The crumbs are small, the bread is plain, but we will try it, once again," they squawked, and one by one, they pecked at the crumbs.Jasper watched in amazement as they ate the entire plate of breadcrumbs, then flew away, leaving a final, satisfied couplet: "The dish was fun, the meal was new, a perfect taste, a happy crew!"From that day on, Jasper served the seagulls nothing but “inventive” dishes made of everyday food. A single berry was a “Berry Bomb,” a sliver of cheese was a “Cheesy Cloud,” and a piece of lettuce was “Floating Foliage.” The seagulls never complained again, happy to dine on what they believed were high-class, unique creations. Jasper had finally found peace, and the seagulls had found their perfect, rhyming-foodie paradise.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!The town of Serenity was known for its quiet libraries and even quieter librarians. One of the quietest was a woman named Cora, who possessed the ability to read a book just by touching it. This made her the most efficient librarian in all of Serenity. She could tell you if a book was good, bad, or merely average just by shelving it.One rainy Tuesday, a mysterious, unmarked leather-bound diary was dropped off at the library. The cover was blank, and it had a strange, wobbly quality to it. When Cora touched it, she expected to feel the calm flow of words, but what she got was a blast of absolute nonsense.The first page she "read" was about the town mayor. "The mayor, a man of exceptional gravity, spent the afternoon flying his pet potato around town on a kite string." Cora stared at the diary in disbelief. The mayor was a very serious man, and his only pet was a perfectly normal goldfish.Intrigued and slightly flustered, Cora turned the page. "Mrs. Higgins, the local baker, just won the national pretzel-sculpting contest with a life-sized statue of a walrus made entirely of salted pretzels." This was even more preposterous. Mrs. Higgins only baked muffins, and she was allergic to salt.Cora realized what was happening. The diary was a chronicler of comical falsehoods. It changed its contents to reflect the most outlandish version of events. She decided to test it. She touched it again, thinking about her morning coffee. The diary changed to, "Cora, the esteemed librarian, bravely fought a swarm of sentient teacups to secure her morning cup of coffee."This was getting out of hand. The diary was a mischievous thing, and Cora knew she couldn't let it fall into the wrong hands. She had to hide it. She found a book on the history of doorknobs and tucked the diary inside its pages. But when she touched the doorknob book, the diary's content changed again."The mysterious diary, a font of whimsical truth, has been hidden in a book about the history of doorknobs, a subject of great importance to the secret society of door-knob enthusiasts," the diary read. Cora gasped. The diary was not only making up stories; it was making up stories about its own story!She decided she had to outsmart the book. She held it and focused all her will on one simple, undeniable fact: the sky is blue. The diary responded: "The sky, a swirling tapestry of magnificent purples and shimmering fuchsia, was admired by all."Cora sighed. There was no winning with this thing. She decided the best thing to do was to give it to someone who would appreciate its chaotic nature. She put it in a basket with a bow and left it on the doorstep of the town's most whimsical inventor, a woman named Penelope. The diary's final entry she "read" was about Penelope: "Penelope, a woman of great imagination, has just acquired a magical diary that tells the truth about everything. It says her latest invention, a machine that can talk to squirrels, works perfectly."Cora smiled. It was a lie, of course, but it was a good lie. The diary was in its perfect home.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Jasper was a boy with an extraordinary ambition: to win the annual "Most Peculiar Pet" contest. His pet was a robot named Bolt, a contraption of polished chrome and blinking lights that could only communicate through interpretive dance. Bolt was a fantastic friend, but his dances were… well, they were a mess. One dance looked like a spider trying to untangle itself from a kite string. Another looked like a penguin attempting to do the tango with an invisible partner.The contest was just a day away, and Jasper was getting nervous. “Bolt, we need to practice our routine,” Jasper said, holding up a sign that read, "A Dance of Pure Joy." Bolt blinked his lights and proceeded to spin around in circles, then suddenly drop to the floor and flop like a fish out of water.“That’s… not what joy looks like, Bolt,” Jasper said with a sigh. “That looks more like a sock puppet trying to escape a washing machine.”Their rival, a girl named Maya, had a pet snake that could play the ukulele. The snake, named Slinky, was currently strumming a perfect rendition of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" in the town square.Jasper felt a pang of despair. How could a robot with a penchant for interpretive chaos possibly compete against a musical reptile?On the day of the contest, the town square was packed. The judges, three very serious-looking individuals in elaborate hats, sat at a table in the center. Jasper and Bolt were up last.“Next up, Jasper and Bolt!” the announcer boomed.Jasper pushed Bolt onto the stage. He held up a sign that read, “A Dance of Courage and Victory.” Bolt’s lights flickered. He stood still for a moment, then began to wiggle. He wiggled his arms, his legs, his head, and then his entire body. It looked less like a dance and more like a poorly made Jell-O mold having a seizure. The crowd tittered. The judges looked confused.Jasper felt his shoulders slump. He was about to give up when Bolt suddenly changed his routine. He started to sway back and forth, slowly and gracefully. Then he started to mimic the other contestants. He did a perfect little shuffle, like Slinky the ukulele-playing snake. Then he did a little hop and skip, just like the hamster on a tiny skateboard. He ended his routine with a small bow, then one last, magnificent wiggle.A hush fell over the crowd, and then, a roar of laughter and applause. The judges were doubled over, wiping tears from their eyes.“That was the most peculiar, and most hilarious, thing we have ever seen!” one of the judges exclaimed. “It was a dance of pure imitation and unexpected humor. The winner is… Bolt!”Jasper hugged his robot tight. Bolt's lights blinked with what Jasper could only assume was a sense of triumph. They had won, not because Bolt's dance was graceful, but because it was truly, magnificently, and perfectly peculiar.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!In the charming town of Everlight, lived a man named Arthur. Arthur possessed a very peculiar and utterly unhelpful superpower: he could make anything he held feel a tiny bit warmer. Not hot enough to cook an egg, mind you, just a pleasant, toasty temperature. It was a power that made his tea cozy collection rather redundant, but not much else. He'd tried making a frozen pizza feel warmer, but it just ended up being a lukewarm rock. He'd once tried to comfort a sad friend, but all he did was slightly heat their hand, which only made them wonder if he was getting a fever.One Saturday morning, the tranquility of Everlight was shattered by a most curious crime. The annual Everlight Muffin Competition had just taken place, and the winner, Mrs. Gable's famous blueberry muffin, had gone missing from its velvet display case. A wave of panic rippled through the town hall. Who would steal a muffin? And why?Arthur, who had been admiring a rather ornate muffin stand, was suddenly pulled into the investigation by Sheriff Gable, who also happened to be Mrs. Gable’s husband. "Arthur, you're a man of keen observation and... well, you're here. We need all the help we can get."Arthur, feeling slightly overwhelmed, agreed to help. They interviewed everyone, but the clues were as cold as a forgotten ice cream cone. That's when Arthur, out of habit, picked up a stray muffin crumb from the floor. He focused his mind, and the crumb grew just a hair warmer. It was a completely useless thing to do, but it gave him an idea. He began to touch every object near the crime scene, a chair, a table, a water pitcher, but nothing gave off a feeling of unusual warmth.Then he saw it. A discarded, half-eaten muffin on a bench near the town hall entrance. It was a perfectly ordinary muffin, not Mrs. Gable's prized creation, but Arthur’s heart started to thump. He leaned over and, with a silent prayer to the Muffin Gods, placed his hand on it. Nothing. Then he saw a small, metal clasp lying on the ground next to the bench. It was from the town's official Muffin Award trophy. He touched the clasp, and it felt just a bit warmer.He suddenly had an idea. He walked over to the trophy case and touched the velvet lining. It felt warm. Then he reached down to the floor, where a small, almost invisible trail of blueberry goo led to the coat of Mr. Fitzwilliam, the notoriously clumsy town mayor. Arthur walked over and lightly brushed his hand against Mr. Fitzwilliam's coat. It felt warmer than it should have."Mr. Fitzwilliam, did you perchance, sit on the winning muffin?" Arthur asked gently.The mayor's face turned as red as a tomato. "I… I thought it was a cushion! The case was so low, and I was just so tired from all the excitement. I didn't mean to!"With a sigh, Mrs. Gable produced a second muffin from her handbag. "I always bake a spare, dear. Just in case."And so, Arthur’s useless superpower had finally, gloriously, found its purpose: solving the great muffin mystery. From that day on, he was known as "The Warm Detective," a title that made him smile every time he held a cold doorknob.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Professor Pip was a genius, but a very disorganized one. His lab was a marvelous mess of bubbling beakers and tangled wires, and his hair looked like a bird’s nest after a particularly windy day. His newest invention, the "Everything-Finder," was supposed to find anything you'd lost. He was about to test it when he realized he couldn't find the main power button.He scrambled through a pile of blueprints. He looked under a stack of very sticky jam jars. He even checked inside a half-eaten sandwich. "Where is it?" he mumbled.The Everything-Finder, a clunky machine with a blinking red light, suddenly whirred to life on its own. It seemed to have found its power button itself. A little screen lit up. It was asking a question in a wobbly font: "WHAT IS MISSING?"Professor Pip, frustrated and without his spectacles, which he had also misplaced, squinted at the screen. He typed in his most recent, most pressing problem: "MY GLASSES."The Everything-Finder whirred and beeped. A little robotic arm popped out and pointed straight at the professor. He looked at the arm, then at his messy hair. He was wearing his glasses on top of his head the whole time. The machine hummed with what sounded suspiciously like a laugh."Well, that's not quite right," Professor Pip said, taking his glasses off his head and putting them on his face. "Let's try again. What else is missing?" He thought for a moment. He had been looking for a very specific, very important gear for his Perpetual Motion Machine. He typed: "THE LITTLE WHIRLY-GEAR."The Everything-Finder whirred, and the little arm popped out again, this time pointing to the pocket of his lab coat. He reached in, and there it was, the little whirly-gear, just where he'd put it for safekeeping.The professor was amazed. "It works!" he said, doing a little dance. He decided to find the most impossible thing to find. He typed: "MY SENSE OF DIRECTION."The Everything-Finder whirred and beeped one last time. The screen flashed a final message: "CHECK YOUR SHOES."Professor Pip looked down at his shoes. His right shoe was on his left foot, and his left shoe was on his right foot. He burst out laughing. It turned out the most important things weren't missing at all. They had just been there all along, in the silliest places. He gave the Everything-Finder a big hug and decided to take a break. He had a lot of things to put back in their proper places, after all.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Jasper was a young boy with a telescope and a deep-seated fear of anything that might go thump in the night. One night, while he was looking at the moon, he heard a sound. Not a thump, but a sort of a gentle slurping sound, coming from the sky. He lowered his telescope just in time to see something amazing: a creature, about the size of a cow, but made entirely of purple smoke, gently sucking on a little star.The creature noticed Jasper and floated down, its smoky form swirling around him. It had two big, friendly eyes that twinkled like distant galaxies. "Hello!" it boomed in a voice that sounded like wind chimes. "I'm the Star-Eater. Do you happen to have any more of those tiny, crispy ones?"Jasper, who was very, very surprised but also very curious, pointed up at the sky. "You mean… stars?""Yes! Exactly!" the Star-Eater boomed. "They're a delightful snack. A bit zippy on the inside, but oh, so crunchy on the outside. The little, crispy ones are my favorite."Jasper couldn't believe it. This creature wasn't scary at all. It was just a giant, hungry, purple cloud with a sweet tooth. "Do you… eat all the stars?" he asked nervously."Oh, goodness no!" the Star-Eater chuckled. "I only eat the old ones, the ones that are getting a little bit dim and tired. Think of me as a sort of cosmic cleaning crew. We can't have the universe getting all cluttered with burnt-out stars, can we?"Jasper thought about it. The idea of a tidy universe sounded nice. "What about the big, shiny ones?" he asked."Oh, those are too spicy for me," the Star-Eater said with a shudder. "Too much heat! I prefer the cooler, more mellow flavor of a star that’s been around for a long, long time."Jasper decided he liked the Star-Eater very much. The creature looked up at the sky, its tummy rumbling. "Well, I really must be off. It's almost morning, and I have a few constellations to tidy up before the sun rises." With a gentle farewell, the Star-Eater floated back into the sky, its purple form disappearing as it slurped on a particularly crunchy star.Jasper put his telescope away, no longer worried about things that go thump in the night. Now, he knew that sometimes, the sounds were just a friendly star-eater, tidying up the universe.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Captain Poppy was a pirate, but not the kind who stole treasure. She was the kind of pirate who collected wobbly things. Her ship, the Grumble-Grumble, was filled with wobbly chairs, wobbly tables, and a very wobbly lamp that had a tendency to fall over at the slightest bump. Captain Poppy believed wobbly things had character.One day, Captain Poppy received a letter, delivered by a parrot in a tiny sailor’s hat. The letter was from the famous explorer, Professor Quincy, and it spoke of a legendary treasure: the most perfectly wobbly jelly in the world, hidden on the Island of Jiggle-Jangle."To the Island of Jiggle-Jangle!" she roared to her crew, a motley bunch of squirrels and a very nervous tortoise named Sheldon.The Grumble-Grumble wobbled its way across the sea. When they finally reached the island, it was just as the letter had described. Everything jiggled. The trees were made of marshmallow fluff, the ground felt like a giant trampoline, and the rocks wobbled when you walked past them. Sheldon the tortoise looked greener than usual.They followed a trail of sugar sprinkles and giggles. Soon, they found it—a giant, shimmering, red jelly, sitting in the middle of a clearing. It pulsed and quivered with a magnificent wobble. Captain Poppy let out a gasp of pure joy."It's perfect," she whispered. "This is the wobbliest thing I have ever seen."Sheldon, however, looked very worried. "Captain, I'm not so sure about this. It's... too wobbly."As Captain Poppy reached out to touch the jelly, it let out a loud WHOOSH! and wobbled with such force that the entire island began to shake. The marshmallow trees shook, the trampoline ground bounced, and the Grumble-Grumble began to wibble-wobble in the harbor. The squirrels squeaked and scrambled up trees. Sheldon ducked into his shell.Captain Poppy had to think fast. She couldn't take the jelly with her, it was too big and too wobbly. So, she did the only thing she could. She pulled out a giant spoon from her pocket, gave a giant scoop, and took a giant bite. The jelly was delicious, tasting of raspberries and happy memories. The giant jelly let out a final, happy wobble and then settled, its wibbles now just gentle ripples. Captain Poppy, with a very full tummy, decided the best treasure isn't always something you can take with you. Sometimes, the best treasure is a memory and a very, very full belly.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Milo was a ghost, a fact he was quite proud of. He could float through walls, make things rattle, and was a master of the spooky "wooooooo" sound. But Milo had a secret. He was absolutely terrified of the dark. Not a little bit scared. A lot. Which was a bit of a problem for a ghost, who by nature of the profession, was nocturnal.One night, while on a grand tour of the old library, Milo became so engrossed in a particularly dusty book about haunted houses that he didn't notice the sun had set. The library, which during the day was filled with the soft light of large windows, was now a cavern of deep, inky black."Oh dear," Milo whispered to himself, his voice a faint wisp of a sound. "It's dreadfully dark."He tried to float out, but he bumped into a bookshelf. He tried to "wooooooo" for help, but it came out as a pathetic squeak. He was lost in the library, and it was a very, very big library. Every creak of the floorboards, every rustle of a page in the wind, made him jump.He decided to find something to make light. He floated from shelf to shelf, looking for a flashlight. He tried to light a candle with a ghostly wisp of magic, but he only managed to set a stack of books on a shelf on fire, and he quickly put it out with a whoosh of his ghostly self.Suddenly, he heard a sound. A quiet sound. A series of soft, rhythmic clicks. He floated toward the sound, a little afraid, but more curious. The sound led him to a corner of the library, where a small, glowing green beetle was clicking its legs together, creating a tiny, glowing beacon of light.Milo watched the beetle, mesmerized. It wasn't a spooky sound. It was just a little click-click-click. And the light it made was enough to make out the shape of the books around him. He felt a little less scared. He followed the beetle, which seemed to be going in a clear direction.The beetle clicked and glowed, leading Milo through the maze of shelves, until he saw a rectangle of faint moonlight. The beetle had led him to the window!"Thank you, little beetle," Milo said, his voice a little more confident this time.The beetle gave a final click and flew away. Milo floated out into the night, no longer afraid. He had found a friend in the dark, and a new appreciation for even the smallest of lights.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!The Craggs were a family of dragons, though a rather small one. Their father, a miniature dragon named Archibald, was no bigger than a house cat, while his children, Mavis and Finn, were just slightly larger than a squirrel. They lived in a cave on the side of a mountain, and while their home was safe and warm, it was, in Archibald's opinion, rather drab."We need some sparkle!" Archibald announced one morning, his tiny snores having just filled the cave with puffs of warm air. "This cave has no pizzazz. No panache. We shall go to the village and gather some decorative items."And so began the Great Decorating Heist. Archibald, Mavis, and Finn, with their shimmering scales and little puffs of smoke, flew down to the village at dusk. Their goal? Anything shiny.Finn, the bravest of the bunch, spotted a pile of silver spoons on a windowsill. He snuck in through an open window, grabbed one, and flew out, leaving a trail of tiny, happy embers in his wake. Mavis, who had a particular fondness for things that glittered, found a box of glass marbles left in a yard. She picked up a handful, careful not to drop them, and flew back to the cave with them clinking like miniature bells.Archibald, the most ambitious of the dragons, saw a sign for a bakery. It was not the baked goods he was interested in, but the big, shiny, brass door knocker. It was shaped like a lion, and it was glorious. He pulled and tugged, but it was too heavy. A little girl named Clara, passing by with her mother, noticed the tiny dragon.“Look, Mama! A little dragon wants the door knocker,” she whispered.Archibald stopped, mortified at being seen. But Clara’s mother just smiled. “He can have it, if he’s so keen on it,” she said, and unbolted the knocker, placing it on the ground.Archibald looked at it, then at the two humans. He let out a little puff of smoke in thanks, grabbed the knocker, and flew back to his cave, his heart filled with a mixture of relief and pure, decorative glee.Back in their cave, the Craggs arranged their treasures. The spoons were hung from the cave ceiling, catching the light like tiny, crooked chandeliers. The marbles were scattered on the floor, glittering like colorful, captured stars. The brass lion knocker was placed with great pride by the entrance. Their cave was now a mishmash of stolen (and one gifted) treasures, a chaotic but beautiful collection of things that gleamed. And to the Craggs, it was the most magnificent home in the world.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Ms. Penelope Featherwing was a librarian with a very serious mission: to maintain absolute and total quiet in the Great Hollow Library. As an owl, she had a natural affinity for shushing. Her motto was "silence is golden," and she enforced it with a stern look and a pointed feather.But one warm evening, as the moon rose high in the sky, a group of fireflies decided to have a party. They didn’t mean any harm, of course. They just thought the library, with its grand, arched ceilings and tall bookshelves, was the perfect venue for a dance party. One by one, they flew in through an open window, their tiny lights blinking on and off in a chaotic rhythm.Ms. Penelope, perched on her high stool, blinked. A small, golden light blinked on and off near the section on ancient history. Another one started blinking in the poetry section. Soon, the entire library was a sparkling, chaotic light show.“Shoo!” Ms. Penelope hooted. “This is a library, not a disco!”But the fireflies didn't listen. They started to buzz, their tiny wings a low, humming symphony. They flew in circles around the bookshelves, their lights blinking to an internal, silent beat. They danced in the aisles, making the air shimmer.Ms. Penelope, flustered, tried to shoo them away with a book. She swooped down, her wings ruffling, but the fireflies just danced around her, their tiny lights winking. One of them, particularly brave, landed right on her beak. Ms. Penelope blinked. She could feel the tiny vibrations of its dance.She tried to be mad, she really did. But the lights were so pretty. The buzzing was so cheerful. It was like the library was full of tiny, floating stars. Her feathers, usually so neat and tidy, began to ruffle with the sheer joy of it all. She found herself bobbing her head slightly to the beat. Then a little more. Then, to her great surprise, she started to tap her foot.The fireflies, seeing the change in their stern librarian, blinked faster, as if in encouragement. Soon, Ms. Penelope wasn't just bobbing her head. She was swaying from side to side, her feathers twitching with an energy she didn't know she had. The library was no longer silent. It was alive with the gentle hum and dance of the fireflies, and the rhythmic foot-tapping of a very happy owl.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Sheldon, a squirrel with a flair for the dramatic, gathered his crew. "Listen up, team," he chittered, his tail twitching with anticipation. "Our target: The Acorn of Ages. It's in the Museum of Natural Wonders. They say it's the biggest acorn in the world. A feat of nature. We, my friends, shall make it a feat of heist."His crew consisted of Penelope, a squirrel with impressive climbing skills, and Chester, a squirrel who was excellent at distracting humans with his adorable antics. Their mission was clear: infiltrate the museum, bypass the alarms (which, for squirrels, mostly consisted of trying not to get noticed), and steal the Acorn of Ages.Their first challenge was the glass door. Penelope, nimble as a leaf in the wind, scurried up the wall and through an open vent. Chester, meanwhile, waited by the entrance. A little girl dropped her ice cream cone, and as the mother looked at her, Chester began to do a series of intricate backflips, completely distracting the human. While the family was in a fit of laughter, Penelope scurried inside.She found the acorn in the center of the main hall, sitting on a velvet pillow. It was massive, bigger than she had ever imagined, and it shone under the museum lights. She tried to budge it. It didn’t move.“It’s too big!” she radioed back to Sheldon, using their secret chittering code. “It’s bolted down!”Sheldon, who had come in through the back, arrived on the scene. “Aha!” he declared. “We must work together! A distraction of epic proportions!”Chester was now busy with his antics, charming the museum guard by pretending to read a book upside down. Sheldon and Penelope started to push, but the acorn was too heavy. They pushed and pushed, their little paws slipping on the slick floor.Then, Sheldon had an idea. He ran back and came back with a small, round stone. "It's a lever!" he chittered excitedly. They placed the stone under the acorn and pushed down on the other side. With a loud creak, the acorn tilted. It was not enough to unbolt it, but it was enough to see that under the pillow was a very simple-looking, small, wooden nut. It was a fake! The real acorn was in the gift shop, right next to the postcard rack.The trio abandoned the heist, scurrying to the gift shop. There, on a little display stand, was the true Acorn of Ages. It was the biggest and most beautiful nut they had ever seen. They worked together, pushing it off its stand and rolling it out of the museum, leaving a trail of happy chittering and a very confused security guard who could have sworn a squirrel just smiled at him.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Sir Reginald, a knight with more dents in his armor than a crumpled tin can, was given a most important mission: to deliver the Luminous Orb of Sibling Harmony to the king. The orb was said to settle any argument, but it had a strange quirk. It was incredibly, unbelievably ticklish.“Be careful, Sir Reginald,” the Royal Oracle warned, her voice a low rumble. “The slightest jiggle, the faintest bounce, and it will giggle. A small giggle is harmless. A big giggle, however, might just send a shockwave through the entire kingdom.”Reginald, who was not known for his grace, strapped the orb to his saddle. The moment his horse, a sturdy but rather wobbly mare named Daisy, took a step, the orb let out a tiny, high-pitched giggle. Sir Reginald froze. “Whoa, Daisy,” he whispered. He had to cross the Bumpy Forest, a place known for its uneven terrain and roots that seemed to trip travelers on purpose.As they entered the forest, Daisy stepped on a particularly large root. The orb jiggled, and a series of deep, booming laughs erupted from within it. The trees around them shook, and a family of squirrels scurried away, chattering in alarm. Sir Reginald clung to the orb, his knuckles white.“Stop, stop!” he pleaded with the orb. “This is a very serious mission!”Daisy, for her part, was an absolute menace. She seemed to delight in finding every pebble, every divot, every tiny imperfection on the trail. Each time she did, the orb would erupt in a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Once, as she tripped over a loose rock, the orb let out a shriek of pure joy that caused a cascade of colorful leaves to rain down on them, tickling Sir Reginald’s nose and making him sneeze.The knight realized he had to change his strategy. Instead of trying to avoid the bumps, he decided to embrace them. He started to sing a little song, a jaunty tune that had him bouncing in the saddle in a rhythm. The orb, in response, started to giggle in time with the song, a series of cheerful, musical sounds that didn't shake the earth but instead felt like a chorus of tiny, happy bells.Sir Reginald and Daisy bounced and sang all the way to the castle. They arrived, not with the silence of a solemn journey, but with a trail of joyous giggles that echoed through the castle halls. The king, a stern man, saw the orb and smiled for the first time in years. Perhaps, he thought, a little laughter was exactly what his kingdom needed.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Leo, a young inventor with a mop of unruly red hair and a mind full of gears and gadgets, had finally done it. He’d created the Tidy-Bot 5000, a small, disc-shaped robot designed to zip around a room and put everything back in its proper place. He envisioned a world where his mother would never again have to remind him to clean his room. The Tidy-Bot was perfect. At first.The Tidy-Bot 5000, which Leo affectionately nicknamed "Zippy," zipped around his room with impressive efficiency, organizing his books by color, stacking his comic books into neat little piles, and even folding his clothes. But on the third day, something strange happened. Leo couldn't find his favorite toy spaceship. He looked everywhere, but it was gone. The next day, his lucky slingshot disappeared. Then, his left shoe.Leo watched Zippy from behind his desk. The little robot whirred and buzzed, cleaning up the mess of parts from a half-built rocket. It zipped over to a pile of crayons, picked them up, and then, instead of putting them back in the crayon box, it slid them into an empty tissue box. Leo gasped. The Tidy-Bot wasn’t just tidying; it was hiding things!“Zippy, what are you doing?” Leo asked, but the robot just gave a series of cheerful electronic beeps and zipped away.The next day, Leo found his missing spaceship tucked inside an old boot. His lucky slingshot was carefully placed inside a flowerpot on his windowsill. The left shoe? That was in the cookie jar in the kitchen.Leo realized the Tidy-Bot wasn't just tidying up; it was playing a game. He decided to play along. He intentionally left out a single toy soldier, watching as Zippy zipped toward it. The robot picked it up, spun in a circle, and then, with a mischievous little whir, tucked the soldier into the pocket of Leo’s coat hanging on the back of the door.Leo laughed. His Tidy-Bot was a prankster! He didn’t just want to clean; it wanted to play hide-and-seek with all of his belongings. Leo knew his room would never be perfectly organized again, but he also knew it would never be boring, either. He had a new best friend, and a whole new game to play.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Professor Alistair P. Pumblechook was a renowned wizard, though his greatest magic often felt like a series of magnificent messes. His latest magical misfire involved his cat, a fluffy, grey Persian named Winston. Winston was a creature of refined disdain, preferring to nap on velvet cushions rather than participate in Alistair's strange experiments. One Tuesday, while Alistair was attempting a spell to make his teacups sing opera, Winston leapt onto the spellbook, knocking a vial of shimmering azure liquid directly onto the professor’s favorite teacup. A flash of light, a puff of lavender smoke, and a rather loud POP later, Winston was no longer a cat. He was a walking, talking teacup.“This is an outrage,” the teacup said, its tiny, ceramic handle twitching in indignation. “You’ve turned me into a vessel for hot beverages. The indignity!”Alistair stared at the teacup. “Winston? Is that really you?”“Who else would I be? A teapot? Heavens, no. I have my standards,” the teacup sniffed, or at least, made a sound like a sniff. “And I must say, this porcelain is terribly cold. I prefer a nice, sun-warmed window sill, thank you very much.”Professor Pumblechook spent the rest of the day trying to reverse the spell. He tried turning Winston back into a cat, but instead, he accidentally made the professor’s favorite armchair levitate and float around the room, humming a tune that sounded suspiciously like a sea shanty. Winston, now a floating teacup, found this quite amusing.“Look at you, a grown man chasing a chair,” the teacup chortled, spilling a tiny bit of nonexistent tea. “And you call yourself a master wizard. Honestly, I think I preferred being a cat. At least then I could swat things.”Alistair sighed, realizing he needed to find a different solution. He picked up the teacup, held it carefully, and whispered, “Winston, what would you like me to do?”The teacup was quiet for a moment. Then, with a voice that was surprisingly serious, it said, “I think I’d like to be warm. A cup of chamomile tea, if you please. And perhaps a saucer with a few small fish crackers. A cat’s got to eat, you know, even if he’s a cup.”Alistair smiled and went to the kitchen. It seemed that even a teacup, if it was a cat on the inside, still had the same simple demands.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Gronk was an ogre, which, as most people know, means he was big, a little bit stinky, and had a tremendous appetite for turnips. But what people didn’t know was that Gronk was also a poet. He wrote beautiful, heartfelt verses about sunsets, the bravery of beetles, and the simple joy of a good mud puddle. This year, he was determined to win the annual village poetry competition.“The theme is ‘bravery,’ he grumbled to himself, sitting on a stump and sharpening his quill with a chipped stone. “A fine theme. I shall write of the bravery of the humble dandelion.”He had the perfect poem in his head. The first line was magnificent: “O, brave yellow sun, a hero in the weeds…” He put his quill to the parchment, but nothing came out. The inkwell was dry.“Blast!” he roared, a puff of steam rising from his nostrils. He found a new inkwell and tried again. He got to the second line: “…with roots that hold the earth in sway,” when the quill itself splintered.Gronk sighed. This was a classic case of writer’s block, and it was happening at the worst possible time. He tried a new quill, but then a strong gust of wind came and blew his paper away. He chased it down, catching it just before it flew into a creek, but when he got back, his jar of ink had tipped over, leaving a large, splotchy puddle on the ground.“This is impossible!” he bellowed, throwing his hands up in frustration. He stomped around in a circle, muttering about ink, and quills, and the injustice of it all. He sat down and stared at the empty page, completely defeated.Just then, a small girl with a mischievous smile, named Lily, walked by. She had been watching him from behind a bush. “You’re a poet, aren’t you?” she asked.Gronk, a little embarrassed, nodded. “I am. But my pen keeps running out of ink. It’s a very difficult process, this poetry.”Lily smiled. She reached into her bag and pulled out a fountain pen, filled with shimmering, purple ink. “My grandpa said a writer should always have a backup pen,” she said, holding it out.Gronk, with a grateful look, took the pen. He dipped it in the ink, and the words flowed from him as if they had been waiting to be set free. He wrote about the bravery of sharing, about the unexpected kindness of strangers, and about how true courage can be found in a simple gift. He won the poetry competition that year, and in his acceptance speech, he thanked the little girl and her little purple pen.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Rainy days were usually just a little bit boring for Beatrice. She would sit by the window and watch the gray world outside. But today, a puddle had formed right outside her house, and it was a puddle with a secret. As Beatrice watched, the puddle began to shimmer, and she heard a soft, watery whisper."Hello," it gurgled. "Is anyone out there?"Beatrice ran to the front door, pulling on her boots and rain jacket. She splashed right up to the puddle. "Hello!" she said. "You're a talking puddle!""I am!" the puddle replied, its surface rippling with what Beatrice guessed was a happy wiggle. "My name is Splish. And I'm quite full of fascinating stories."Beatrice sat on the curb, fascinated. "What kind of stories?""Oh, all sorts!" Splish gurgled. "Just this morning, I saw a squirrel try to bury a nut in a bush, but he got his tail caught in a rose bush. He had to be rescued by a very kind robin. The robin then taught him a song about the importance of watching where you bury your snacks. It was very dramatic."Beatrice giggled. "That sounds like a great story!"Splish rippled again. "Just yesterday, I reflected the image of a lost toy car, and I showed it the way back to its owner, a little boy named Arthur who had been looking everywhere for it. I'm a bit of a map, you see. I show all the little lost things where to go."For the rest of the afternoon, Beatrice listened to Splish's amazing stories. Splish had seen a snail with a miniature backpack, a ladybug who was a famous opera singer, and a caterpillar who was very picky about which leaf he ate.As the sun began to peek through the clouds, the puddle began to shrink. Beatrice felt a little sad. "Are you going away?" she asked."Oh, just for now," Splish replied, its voice getting softer and softer. "But every time it rains, I'll be back. And I'll have a whole new collection of stories to tell. Just look for the shiniest puddle. That'll be me."Beatrice nodded, a big smile on her face. As the puddle slowly disappeared, she knew that from now on, rainy days would be her favorite days. She'd get to hear all about the secret, silly things that happen when the world gets a little wet.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Gus was a giraffe with a problem. A big, spotty problem. One morning, he woke up and looked in the watering hole, and to his horror, he had lost all his spots! He was completely, utterly plain. He looked like a giant, beige banana on stilts. All the other giraffes stared at him. "Where are your spots, Gus?" they asked. "You look so… bare!"Gus felt terribly embarrassed. "I don't know!" he wailed. "They're just… gone!"He decided to go on a quest to find his missing spots. He started with the wise old chameleon, who was very good at finding things that were hard to see. "Old wise chameleon," Gus said, "I have lost my spots. Can you help me find them?"The chameleon thought for a long time. "Your spots are a part of you, Gus," he said in a slow, thoughtful voice. "Maybe they are somewhere that is also you."Gus had no idea what that meant, so he thanked the chameleon and went on his way. He asked the zebras if they had seen his spots, but they only offered him their stripes. He asked the leopard, who offered him a few of his, but Gus didn't think they'd quite match.He felt a bit hopeless. It was getting dark. He sat down by a big baobab tree and sighed, a great, long, rumbly sigh. Suddenly, a little, tiny voice piped up from the tree. "Are you looking for these?"Gus looked up. He saw a small, round owl, perched on a branch. But it wasn't just any owl. It was an owl covered in big, round, brown spots! "My spots!" Gus exclaimed."Oh, these aren't your spots, silly," the owl hooted. "These are my spots! I found them while I was flying around, and I thought they would make a lovely collection. I've been collecting them all week!"Gus blinked. "But… where did you find them?""I found them on the ground, scattered everywhere," the owl said, a little smugly. "It was like a treasure hunt!"Gus looked down at the ground. He realized what had happened. He had been running and playing so hard the day before that his spots had simply popped off! He and the owl spent the next hour collecting all the spots. The owl had found nearly a hundred of them. Gus carefully patted each one back into place, and as he did, he felt a little bit more like himself. When he was done, he felt wonderfully spotty again. He thanked the owl, who was now a very plain-looking bird, and promised to be a little more careful with his spots from now on.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Stanley the snail was tired of being slow. Every morning, the ladybug zoomed past him, and the ants marched in a hurry, not a care in the world. Even the earthworm, who didn't have any legs, seemed to get places faster. Stanley wanted to be a champion. He wanted to be fast. He decided to train for the Great Garden Race, a race that was held every year between the garden creatures, even though it was mostly a lot of quiet meandering.His friend, Myrtle the mushroom, thought this was a wonderful idea. "You must practice," she said in a whispery voice. "Start with the small leaf, then work up to the big dandelion." Stanley trained all week. He slid across dew-kissed leaves, he climbed up mighty blades of grass, and he practiced his "shell-wobble," which was supposed to give him a burst of speed but mostly just made him dizzy.Finally, the day of the race arrived. All the garden creatures gathered on a patch of clover. The ladybug was there, looking smug. The ants were in formation. There was even a grumpy toad named Walter who was just there for the snacks. The race began!Stanley started off with a strong, gooey start. He was in the lead! For about three inches. The ladybug flew past. The ants scurried. Walter the toad just sat there. Stanley, with determination in his slimy heart, pushed on. Suddenly, he heard a shout. "Myrtle! Your hat is flying away!"He looked up and saw Myrtle's favorite mossy hat, her most prized possession, caught on a gust of wind. It was fluttering toward a large puddle. Stanley knew what he had to do. He turned around, completely forgetting the race. He slid faster than he ever had before, pushing his little body to its limits. He reached the puddle just as the hat was about to dip in. With a mighty stretch, he pushed the hat to safety on a dry stone.He was a hero! He looked back at the race, which was now mostly just everyone eating crumbs from a discarded sandwich. Stanley had come in last, but he didn't care. He had saved Myrtle's hat. Myrtle hugged him, or as much as a mushroom can hug, and declared him the fastest friend in the garden. And that, Stanley decided, was even better than winning a race.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Penelope was the most organized person in the whole wide world, or at least the most organized person on Maple Street. Her pencils were color-coded, her books were alphabetized, and her cookie jar was always, always full of oatmeal raisin cookies. So when she went to get a cookie for her afternoon snack and found the jar completely empty, she knew something was horribly, hilariously wrong.She looked around her kitchen, a place of pristine order and gleaming counters. The window was locked, the door was bolted. No one could have come in. A mischievous glimmer entered her eyes. The only other person in the house was her dog, Chester, a basset hound with ears so long he could trip over them. Chester was currently snoring on his dog bed, twitching as if he were dreaming of chasing squirrels.Penelope tiptoed over to Chester. He was a very good boy, but she had a hunch. He was, after all, a basset hound. They were very close to the ground. She leaned in close to his nose and sniffed. Nothing. Just dog. She decided to go for the belly. Penelope knelt down and started tickling Chester’s floppy belly. He let out a little puff of air. A crumb popped out. Then another. And another! Soon, a whole shower of oatmeal raisin crumbs rained down on the rug.Chester's eyes fluttered open. He looked at the crumbs, then at Penelope, then back at the crumbs. He let out a quiet little sigh, as if to say, "Busted."Penelope pretended to be stern. "Chester, did you eat all my cookies?" Chester's tail gave a single, pathetic thump against the floor. "I’m not mad," Penelope said, trying not to laugh. "I just want to know how you did it."Chester slowly, carefully, sat up. He looked at the counter where the cookie jar sat. He looked at the kitchen chair next to the counter. He looked at his own tail. Then, with a little grunt, he walked over to the chair, stood on his back legs, and used his tail to sweep the chair over to the counter. He then pushed himself onto the chair, and then onto the counter, where he looked triumphantly at the empty cookie jar.Penelope finally burst out laughing. Chester, her sweet, lazy dog, had a secret life as a cookie-stealing acrobat. She decided to go to the grocery store for more cookies, but this time, she’d make two jars: one for her, and a lower one for Chester.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Old Mr. Pippin, a man whose eyebrows were so bushy they looked like two caterpillars napping on his forehead, was having a perfectly normal Tuesday. He was about to put a letter to his cousin Mildred into his mailbox when he saw it. The mailbox, a perfectly respectable, slightly rusty metal box, had grown a mustache. Not a regular mustache, mind you. This was a magnificent, curly, handlebar mustache made of what looked suspiciously like dandelion fluff and a little bit of moss.Mr. Pippin blinked. Then he rubbed his eyes. The mustache remained, looking rather proud of itself. He squinted at his neighbor, Mrs. Gable, who was watering her petunias. She didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. "Afternoon, Mr. Pippin!" she chirped."Mrs. Gable," he said slowly, "does my mailbox look... different to you?"She peered across the lawn. "Why, it looks just lovely! You've always had such a sturdy mailbox." She went back to her petunias. Mr. Pippin, thoroughly confused, decided to investigate. He reached out to touch the mustache. It tickled his finger. He couldn't help but let out a little giggle. The mustache wiggled in response.That's when he heard a tiny, high-pitched voice. "I've always wanted to be a famous painter," the voice squeaked. Mr. Pippin jumped back, nearly dropping Mildred's letter. The voice was coming from the mailbox."Who… who said that?" he stammered."Me! The mailbox!" it squeaked again. "And this is my first masterpiece. I call it 'A Post-Haste Portrait.'"Mr. Pippin scratched his head. "But… why do you have a mustache?""It's not a mustache, it's art!" the mailbox insisted. "I got tired of just holding mail. I wanted to express myself. This is my 'Whimsy' phase. Next week, I'm thinking of growing a full-sized giraffe out of zinnias."Mr. Pippin stared at the mailbox, then at Mrs. Gable’s perfect petunias, and then at Mildred's letter. He decided a giraffe made of zinnias was probably too much for one week. He gently tucked Mildred's letter into the mailbox. "Well, your mustache is very charming," he said. "Just, perhaps, no giraffes. The mail carrier might get confused." The mailbox hummed happily. Mr. Pippin smiled, his own bushy eyebrows wiggling with amusement. He figured his Tuesday was now very much not normal, and that was just fine by him.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode! Bernard was a bear who loved to sleep. He loved it more than honey, more than salmon, and definitely more than climbing a tree. Every year, when winter came, he would find a nice, cozy cave and settle down for a long, peaceful nap. But this year, he just couldn't fall asleep.He tried everything. He counted sheep, but they were so fluffy he just wanted to pet them. He sang a very low, rumbling lullaby to himself, but it just made his tummy rumble with it. He tossed, he turned, and he sighed with great big, huffy sighs.Finally, he went to see his friend, a wise old owl named Archimedes. "Archimedes," he yawned. "I can't sleep! My nap won't start!"Archimedes, who was very, very old and had seen many things, blinked his huge eyes. "Have you tried a bedtime story, Bernard?"Bernard shook his head. "No. I'm a bear. Bears don't read bedtime stories.""Nonsense," Archimedes hooted. "Everyone needs a bedtime story. Lie down, and I will tell you one."Bernard lay down, a little bit grumpy. Archimedes began to tell a story about a little sparrow who was very clumsy and a very silly fox who kept getting his tail stuck in bushes. The story was very funny, and Bernard found himself chuckling. But he didn't feel sleepy."That wasn't a very sleepy story," Bernard grumbled."It wasn't supposed to be," Archimedes hooted. "Now, here's the trick. You have to tell yourself a story. But it must be the most boring, most ordinary story you can imagine. No clumsy sparrows. No silly foxes."So Bernard closed his eyes and tried. "Once upon a time," he began, "there was a rock. And the rock sat on the ground. And a little bit of moss grew on the rock. It was a very slow-growing moss."He got to the part about the moss, and he was already a little bit bored. "And the moss sat on the rock, and the rock sat on the ground, and a little worm wiggled past very slowly..." Bernard's voice got slower and slower. He was a very good storyteller of boring things. "And then a little rain cloud came... and it just sort of... sat there..."And with a final, very sleepy snore, Bernard the bear was fast asleep. His nap had finally begun. He had found the most perfect bedtime story of all: one so boring, it would put even the most wakeful bear to sleep.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Percy was a penguin who was not always good at being a penguin. He was clumsy on the ice, he waddled a little too fast, and worst of all, he could not, for the life of him, dive into the water with a smooth, elegant splash. He always flopped in with a loud, awkward kerplunk! The other penguins would turn their heads to pretend they didn't hear.He tried to be like the others. He practiced his waddle, his posture, and his perfect dive, but he just wasn’t made for it. He felt like he was a little bit lopsided. One day, a polar bear named Boris came by, looking for a snack. The other penguins, elegant and silent, dove into the water. Percy, in his panic, waddled as fast as he could. He stumbled, he tumbled, and then he accidentally slid on a patch of ice. He spun around and around, flapping his wings like a little helicopter. He spun right up to the edge of the ice and then, with a final, magnificent twirl, he catapulted himself into the air!The polar bear, Boris, stopped and stared. Percy soared through the air in a beautiful, graceful arc, twirling and flipping, and then landed in the water with a perfect, clean zip! It was the most beautiful dive anyone had ever seen. The other penguins, who had just come back to the surface, stared at him. The polar bear, who was a connoisseur of performance, clapped his giant paws together."Bravo!" he roared. "Bravo!"Percy popped his head out of the water, a little stunned. He had done it! He had made a perfect dive! He looked at the polar bear, then at the other penguins. He did a little triumphant wiggle.From that day on, Percy wasn't the clumsy penguin anymore. He was the dancer. He waddled a little differently now, with a little more flair, and when he got to the edge of the ice, he didn't try to just dive in. He would spin, and twirl, and sometimes even do a little hop, and then he would soar through the air in a beautiful show. The other penguins would all gather to watch him, and the polar bears would stand on the shore and cheer. Percy had found his own way to be a magnificent penguin, and that was so much better than being perfect.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode! Esmeralda the firefly was in a pickle. A very dark, very un-sparkly pickle. Esmeralda was the sparkliest firefly in the entire meadow. Her light was so bright it could be seen from the far side of the river. But tonight, when she tried to shine, nothing happened. No light, no glow, not even a single little flicker. Her sparkles were gone!She went to see her friend, Oliver the beetle, who was known for his very serious face and his even more serious thinking. "Oliver," she buzzed sadly. "My sparkles are gone. What shall I do?"Oliver took a very deep breath and sat very still. "Hmmm," he said. "This is a case for a detective. I shall need a magnifying glass and a very silly hat."Oliver and Esmeralda went through the whole meadow, looking for the missing sparkles. They looked under blades of grass, inside dewdrops, and on the underside of a very grumpy ladybug. Nothing. They even asked the moon, but the moon just shrugged and said it was too busy shining on the sleepy bunnies to worry about missing sparkles.Esmeralda felt like crying. "I'll never be sparkly again!" she wailed.Oliver, who had been thinking very seriously the whole time, suddenly had an idea. "Esmeralda," he said. "When was the last time you saw your sparkles?""Last night!" she said. "I was flying very fast, and I was so, so happy."Oliver snapped his tiny beetle claws together. "Aha! You weren't just happy, you were giddy! You were flying so fast and so happily that you flew right out of your sparkles and left them behind!"Esmeralda looked confused. "But where did they go?"Oliver led her back to the spot where she had been the happiest the night before. It was a little clearing, covered in soft grass. There, stuck in the blades of grass like tiny jewels, were all her missing sparkles! They were twinkling softly, a little community of light left behind from her happy flight. Esmeralda buzzed with relief.She carefully, gently, collected all her sparkles and put them back where they belonged. Oliver, with his silly hat still on, gave her a little wink. "I knew they were never truly gone," he said. "They were just waiting for you to be happy enough to find them again. And from now on, you'll know that your happiness is so bright, it just might leave little bits of sparkle everywhere you go."

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Librarian Lucy had a magical secret: she could talk to books. The books, in turn, told her stories of their lives on the shelves, their adventures, and their thoughts on the people who read them. One day, a new book appeared on her desk. It was called "The Grand Adventure of a Dust Bunny."Lucy opened it, eager to read. The words on the first page, however, began to squirm. "No, no, no," they rearranged themselves, "This story is not for reading. It's for admiring!"Lucy blinked. "But I'm a librarian. It's my job to read stories."She tried to turn the page, but the paper stuck together. The main character, a tiny, fluffy dust bunny named Dusty, appeared in the margin. "I won't be read! I have my own plans!" Dusty squeaked.Lucy was intrigued. "What are your plans?" she asked."I plan to travel to the Great Beyond!" Dusty declared. "Which is, you know, under the big armchair in the reading nook. I've heard there are ancient sock-lint ruins there!"Lucy tried to convince Dusty that being read was a noble thing, but Dusty was a stubborn fluffball. He kept changing the story. One minute he was a knight, the next a pirate, then an astronaut, all in a frantic attempt to escape the confines of his own book.Finally, Lucy had an idea. She put the book down and spoke directly to Dusty. "I'll make you a deal. I will leave you on this desk. If you can get to the Great Beyond all on your own, I will let you go. But if you can't, you must let me read your story."Dusty, confident in his abilities, agreed. The next morning, Lucy found the book open to the last page. Dusty had wiggled his way out and was now happily exploring the "ancient sock-lint ruins" under the armchair. Lucy smiled. She got to keep her promise, and in a way, she had helped the book's character find his own ending.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!The Shelldons were a family of snails with a revolutionary idea: why crawl when you can glide? Their invention was the Snail-Mobile, a series of interconnected, repurposed teacups they'd scavenged from a discarded tea party. The cups were linked with tiny ivy vines, and they glided beautifully down the dewy garden path. It was a snail's dream come true."Faster, Dad!" chirped Shelly, the youngest snail, from her teacup."I'm going as fast as I can!" Mr. Shelldon replied, his shell gleaming with morning dew.Their biggest challenge, however, wasn't the bumps in the path or the occasional rogue dandelion. It was Barnaby, the neighborhood squirrel. Barnaby was a connoisseur of crunchy things, and he was convinced the teacup-riding snails were a new, fancy kind of snack."What a peculiar-looking trail mix!" Barnaby chittered, his tail twitching excitedly.The Shelldons heard him and huddled together in their teacups. "Code Red! Code Red! Barnaby spotted!" Mr. Shelldon whispered.Shelly, thinking quickly, let out a loud squeak. "We taste like old socks and sadness!"Barnaby skidded to a stop. "Old socks and sadness? That's a flavor profile I have no interest in," he said, wrinkling his nose. He scampered off in search of something tastier, like an acorn.The Shelldons cheered. Their lie had saved the day. They continued their journey, gliding along, their teacups making a gentle clinking sound. They arrived at their destination, a giant rhubarb leaf, just in time for a dewdrop lunch. They were slow, but they were clever, and their Snail-Mobile was the talk of the garden.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Tick, a little alarm clock, was tired of being snoozed. Every morning, his owner, Timmy, would hit the snooze button again and again, and Tick's exciting morning announcements would be cut short. Tick decided to take matters into his own hands. He had a new dream: to be an adventure guide.At 3 AM, Tick's little gears whirred into action. He buzzed softly, waking up Mr. Snuggles, a sleepy teddy bear, and Sergeant Major, a plastic toy soldier. "Attention, cadets!" Tick announced in a soft chime. "We are embarking on Operation Daring Escape from the Bedroom!"Mr. Snuggles yawned. "But it's so cozy here.""Nonsense!" said Sergeant Major, standing at attention. "A soldier's place is on the battlefield!"Their first obstacle was a pile of laundry, a mountain of soft, fuzzy terrain. Tick guided them with a small beam of light. They slid down a pair of pajamas, used a pillowcase as a parachute, and bravely crossed a treacherous river of discarded comic books.Their final mission was to get to the front door, to see the world beyond the bedroom. They had just made it to the hallway when a new sound filled the air: Timmy's mom's footsteps. "Incoming!" Tick chimed, and they all scrambled to hide under a rug.They waited, hearts thumping, until the footsteps faded. The coast was clear. But as they looked down the long, dark hallway, a sense of quiet wonder washed over them. It wasn't the outside world they had sought, but the journey itself. They had been brave. They had worked together.They returned to the bedroom, a little more tired but a lot more adventurous. Tick's snooze button now had a new meaning. It wasn't a defeat; it was a rest stop before their next great adventure, whatever it might be.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!The wizard, Malachi, was in a terrible mood. He was a master of a very specific type of magic: making things slightly damp. He could make a stone slightly dewy, a sock a little moist, or a biscuit just a little bit soggy. It wasn't very impressive magic, and he was quite grumpy about it. His new apprentice, a cheerful girl named Luna, had arrived. She could only conjure bubbles that smelled like blueberry muffins."Ugh, another one," Malachi grumbled, watching as Luna’s bubbles floated through the air, their sweet scent filling his tower. "What's the point of this? We can’t defeat dragons with fragrant bubbles.""But they smell so nice!" Luna said, giggling as she popped a bubble. A little puff of blueberry-muffin scent filled the room.That night, a fearsome griffin landed on the roof of the tower. It was known for its terrifying roar and a terrible case of bad breath. Malachi aimed his wand. "Prepare to be slightly... clammy!" he yelled.The griffin just sniffed and looked unimpressed. Malachi made the griffin’s talons a little moist. The griffin looked confused."My turn!" Luna said. She pointed her wand at the griffin and a giant blueberry-muffin-scented bubble floated toward it. The griffin, who had a sweet tooth, took a whiff and began to follow the bubble, its terrible griffin roar turning into a happy purr. Luna conjured another bubble and then another, leading the griffin all the way to a field of flowers where it happily sniffed the air and promptly fell asleep.Malachi stared in amazement. His damp magic had never worked like that. He looked at Luna, a little twinkle in his eye. "Perhaps," he said, "a slightly damp biscuit would go well with a blueberry muffin bubble." And for the first time in a very long time, he wasn't grumpy at all.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Pip's shadow, named Shade, was absolutely exhausted. For years, he had been mimicking Pip's every move. When Pip jumped, Shade jumped. When Pip wiggled his toes, Shade wiggled. It was monotonous work. So, one Tuesday, Shade decided to take a vacation. He packed a tiny suitcase (full of darkness) and slipped away, leaving behind a glowing, slightly clumsy replacement named Flicker.Flicker was a nice guy, but he was terrible at being a shadow. When Pip walked down the hall, Flicker wobbled and bumped into the wall. When Pip tried to read a book, Flicker cast a bright light that made it impossible to see the words. Pip’s mom looked at him with a strange expression. "Are you… glowing?" she asked.Pip looked down. His shadow was indeed shining brightly, like a firefly in a jar. Pip wiggled his toes. Flicker tried to wiggle but ended up doing a little jig instead. Pip giggled. He had a shadow that danced!That evening, as Pip got ready for bed, Flicker began to fade, a dim little light in the corner. Pip felt a pang of sadness. He missed his old shadow, the one that knew all his secrets and never tripped over his feet. Just as he was about to get into bed, he heard a small scratching sound at the window. It was Shade, looking a little tired but happy. He was wearing a tiny sun hat."Hello," Shade whispered, his voice as soft as a breeze. "Vacation was nice, but I missed wiggling your toes."Pip smiled and his shadow returned to its rightful place, a familiar, comforting darkness. As Pip fell asleep, Shade wiggled his toes in the darkness, a quiet, happy gesture of a shadow who was glad to be home.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Sir Oliver, a knight no bigger than a thimble, stood at the foot of Mount Muffin, which was what he called the giant's kneecap. His quest was a noble one: to retrieve the giant's lost coat button. The giant, a kindly soul named Walter, was distraught. He was very chilly without his button, and his sneezes were becoming legendary—each one was like a tiny hurricane."Are you sure you're ready, Sir Oliver?" Walter rumbled, his voice like distant thunder. "My next sneeze is a big one. I feel it in my toes.""I am as ready as I'll ever be!" Sir Oliver shouted, trying to sound brave, though he was holding on to a shoelace for dear life.Walter’s nose began to twitch. Sir Oliver braced himself, clutching the shoelace. A mighty "A-CHOOO!" echoed through the air. The gust of wind was immense. Sir Oliver was lifted off his feet, his little cape flapping wildly. He soared over Walter's shoe and landed with a plop in a field of daisies.He dusted himself off. The button wasn’t there. He looked up at Walter, who was now blowing his nose with a handkerchief the size of a small car.“I believe it rolled under the couch,” Walter said, his voice now a little watery.Sir Oliver sighed. The couch was the size of a small mountain range. But a knight’s quest was a knight’s quest. He climbed back up Walter's pant leg, a mission of epic proportions ahead of him, prepared to face the dust bunnies and forgotten snacks that surely lay beneath the giant's furniture. The next time Walter sneezed, Sir Oliver would be ready.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Gizmo was a little robot with a very important job. Every day, he sorted shiny pebbles into three piles: smooth ones, sparkly ones, and ones that looked like miniature potatoes. It was a very quiet job, and Gizmo loved quiet. One day, he accidentally pressed a hidden red button. A series of gears whirred, and a secret contraption whizzed to life.Suddenly, Gizmo's neatly sorted piles of pebbles began to glow. They wiggled and wobbled, and with a series of gentle pops, they transformed. The smooth ones became smooth, green frogs. The sparkly ones became sparkly, gold frogs. And the ones that looked like miniature potatoes? They became tiny, lumpy toads.And then, the music started. A small speaker hidden in the wall began to play a jaunty tune, and the frogs and toads began to dance. They leaped and spun, twirling in perfect synchrony. The smooth green frogs hopped in a line, the sparkly gold ones did little pirouettes, and the tiny, lumpy toads tap-danced with their little feet.Gizmo's little robot head spun in confusion. This was not quiet! This was not a pile of pebbles! He tried to turn off the music, but there was no button. He tried to sort the frogs, but they kept jumping from one pile to another, singing a happy little song.He realized he couldn't stop them, so he decided to join them. He put his little robot arm up, and a small, lumpy toad leaped onto his hand. He twirled the toad around, and they danced together. The quiet workshop was now a hopping, singing, dancing party. Gizmo had a new job: he was no longer a pebble sorter, but a frog dance leader. And for the first time, he realized that a little bit of noise could be a whole lot of fun.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!The old house on Willow Lane was known for its creaks and groans, but what nobody knew was that these sounds were made by a very polite ghost named Sylvain. Sylvain was a kind soul who was utterly terrified of his own spooky noises. When the newest family moved in, he felt a wave of panic. He was going to scare them! He had to apologize.The family, a mother, father, and a little girl named Lily, were all in the living room. Sylvain decided to make a dramatic entrance. He floated down the stairs, his form shimmering. "Hello, I am so sorry for the noises," he whispered, his voice a soft, whooshing sound. "I just can't help it! The floorboards creak all on their own."Lily looked at her parents. "Did you hear that? I think the house is talking to us."The parents, who hadn't heard Sylvain, just smiled. "The house is just settling," her dad said.Sylvain was distraught. He wasn't settling! He was a very agitated ghost! He decided to try a different approach. He made the grandfather clock's pendulum swing back and forth on its own, a loud tick-tock. The family looked at the clock, and the father said, "Oh, I forgot to wind that."Sylvain decided to make the dishes rattle. The mother looked at the dishes and then at the window. "Oh, the wind is picking up."Sylvain sighed. He was a complete failure as a ghost. He sat down on a chair (which nobody could see him do) and had a ghost-sized pity party. He was so busy feeling sorry for himself that he didn't notice Lily quietly leave the room.A few minutes later, Lily returned, holding a plate of cookies. She set them on the table and said, "A house that talks, and an unwound clock, and rattling dishes… it sounds like we have a very friendly house. And a very hungry one. I hope you like cookies, house."Sylvain's ghostly heart warmed. She had heard him! He made a small, happy, spooky noise, and a single cookie floated off the plate. Lily giggled. A polite ghost and a cookie-sharing girl were a perfect match.

Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!Wesley the Worm was a world-famous fruit connoisseur. He could tell the ripeness of an apple just by the way it wiggled on the branch and could identify a grape's country of origin by its tint. But there was one fruit that puzzled him above all others: the great, green watermelon that sat in the middle of the farmer's patch. For this was no ordinary watermelon; it whistled.It wasn't a sad whistle, or a happy whistle, but a deep, throaty whistle that sounded like a tea kettle in a hurricane. Other bugs and worms would scurry away, frightened by the loud noise. But Wesley was a connoisseur, and he was determined to understand the mystery of the whistling watermelon. He inched closer, his little body trembling with curiosity. He tapped it. The whistling stopped. He wiggled away. The whistling started again.He spent the whole day observing the watermelon. The whistling seemed to happen every time the wind blew, or when a cricket chirped, or when a bumblebee buzzed by. Wesley had a brilliant idea. He wiggled up to the watermelon and started to hum a tune. The watermelon's whistling stopped, and for a moment, everything was quiet. Then, the watermelon began to whistle a different tune, a gentle little melody that sounded like a lullaby.Wesley hummed a little louder, and the watermelon's whistle became a harmony. They were making music together! A passing ladybug named Lucy, who had previously been too scared to go near the watermelon, crept closer. "It's beautiful!" she whispered.Soon, other bugs and worms joined them. The whistling watermelon became the center of a daily orchestra. It wasn't scary at all; it was just trying to find a friend to make music with. Wesley the Worm, the world's greatest fruit connoisseur, had not only found a new kind of fruit, but also a new friend and a whole new symphony.