Free short stories to read before bed

Home of the Brave – A Bedtime Short Story by Thom Brodkin – Reedsy Prompts

A mom’s job is never truly finished—Elise knew this instinctively when her son was born. For at least the hundredth time, she sat next to his bed in that chair mending his quilt. There was no way of knowing, the day she bought it at a flea market, that it would become her son’s most valued possession. 

To call it a quilt stretched the definition as it was nothing more than a thousand pieces of oddly shaped swatches stitched together, layer after layer, until the whole of it was thick enough to hold in the warmth of a small boy's body as he drifted off to sleep. The person who pieced together this labor of love must have spent countless hours shaping the useless remnants into a usable blanket. Elise felt it was her duty to repair the inevitable rips as an homage to the unknown creator and as a manifestation of her adoration for the little boy who cherished it.

“I love how cool it feels when I first get into bed,” her little man observed the first night he wrapped himself in the old quilt. “But before long, it warms up, and I’m snug as a bug in a rug. Where did you get it?” 

The question was one whose answer was too mundane to inflict on a wide eyed little boy, so Elise stretched the truth just a little. “It was brought over on the Mayflower by the Pilgrims,” she answered to her son's delight. “It’s made from pieces of fabric from all over Europe and is the first blanket used by the first Americans.”

It was just a little white lie, but it was also the beginning of a cherished tradition. As stitches unraveled and as tears ripped the quilt and the little boy's heart, Elise sat by his bed and mended the heirloom. Then she would continue the "true" story of how the quilt had found its way to her son. 

“During the Revolutionary War, your quilt was captured by General Cornwallis and used to keep his legs warm on the cold winter nights.” Elise said, weaving a story as intricate as the blanket itself. “It wasn’t until the surrender at Yorktown that it was returned. ”

“Yorktown?”

“Yes, Yorktown,'' she said smiling, “George Washington took it from Cornwallis and used it during his eight years as president.”

“You mean my blanket has been to the White House?” 

“Of course it has,” Elise answered with a wink. “But not because of George Washington, silly. John Adams was the first president to live in the White House.”

“Who then, Mom? ``The little boy asked., “Who took my blanket to the White House?”

“That’s a story for later,” Elise replied, kissing her son on his forehead. “Now you get some sleep, and I’ll continue the story next time.”

Elise, unfortunately, had far too many opportunities to continue the blanket’s tale as her son was given to debilitating headaches. At first, the doctors thought he was prone to systemic migraines, but the truth was much worse. Many nights, too many, the little boy would curl up in pain, his teeth clenched in a faux smile. The headaches were excruciating, only soothed by a cold wash cloth, his mother’s gentle voice, and the telling of the quilt’s tale as he drifted off to sleep.  

There were also many a night where Elise would sit with her son as he slept, meticulously piecing back together the tears that threatened the blanket entirely, wishing there was a way she could also mend her son. The room would be completely quiet save for the sound of Elise’s song. It was something she had done since she was his age. Inadvertently yet intentionally she would let the air slip through her lips, creating a tune just for him that would live for that moment, replaced the next time by one equally beautiful and equally unique.

“As it turns out, the first time the quilt made it to the White House was just after Abraham Lincoln was elected president,” Elise said the next night, continuing the story from where they’d left off. The pain had become more frequent and more intense, requiring more chapters more often. The story's continuation, however, had the desired results, a distraction and a smile.

“Abraham Lincoln, he used my quilt, too?” her son asked, too young to doubt his mother.  

“Of course he did,” Elise responded, tickling her son just to hear him laugh. “It’s a little known fact, but Mount Rushmore was actually created to show all of the presidents who used your blanket.”  

Elise always had a basin of cold water by her side whenever she sat with her son. Very early on she learned that the coolness of the cloth would help quiet the pain in his head. It was her greatest joy to moisten the cloth keeping it cold throughout her story. The little boy’s head still throbbed, but while his mom was telling the story she would gently wipe his forehead with the cold cloth, and it was almost as if he forgot the pain for a time. If all went well, he would fall asleep listening to the tale of his blanket, as sleep was becoming his only relief from the pain.

“Did you know your blanket went to the moon?” Elise asked one day when her son seemed particularly down. “Neil Armstrong may have been the first man to set foot on the moon, but he laid out your quilt so he and Buzz Aldrin could have a picnic. ” 

The idea of two astronauts having a picnic on the moon resulted in spontaneous laughter for both mother and son. 

“Is Buzz Lightyear named after Buzz Aldrin?” he asked his mom, as both continued to laugh.

“As a matter of fact he was,” Elise replied with a smile. “If you must know, Buzz Aldrin presented your quilt to Buzz Lightyear as a gift which means your blanket has been…”

“To infinity and beyond!” 

“Exactly,” Elise confirmed as she refreshed his cloth and placed it back on his head.

Day after day she would take her boy to doctors and then specialists and eventually to the hospital. Then, night after night, she would sit by his bed and tell the story of the quilt. Elise did everything she could to stretch out the story, and as each new adventure was passed from mother to son so too was hope, in the only way she knew how.  

The night that she finished the story was, in so many ways, just like most of the other nights. Elise was home in her favorite chair next to her son’s bed. Her breathing was labored and her voice unsteady. “And then I stopped by a flea market on my way home from the store and there it was, your beautiful, wonderful blanket. I knew you must have it, so I scooped it up, paid the nice woman, and brought it home to you.”

Tears filled Elise’s eyes as she sewed the last stitch on the old quilt. Holding it up, she remembered the first time her son covered himself with the blanket. I love how cool it feels when I first get into bed.

“It’s finally fixed. It’s perfect.” Elise said out loud, tears continuing to flow. “I love how cool it feels, too.” 

Summoning every bit of her strength, she lay the beloved blanket on the empty bed in front of her. 

Being a mom is a job that is never truly finished, at least she had hoped so. With nothing else left to do for her son, she sat back in the chair and silently sobbed. 

Beyond Words – A Kids Short Story by Matt Francis – Reedsy Prompts

A bell chimes above her as Katy pushes open the old wooden door that leads into Silo’s Books and Curios. She had finally found the small, almost invisible, shop tucked in between a craft store to its right and a health food store to its left. It would have been easy to walk by had you not been expressly looking for it, as Katy had been. 

Ding, Ding.

Katy looks up at the sound, surprised to see not a brass shopkeeper’s bell, but two silver bells that look as though they have just been cut from Santa’s sleigh. The crystal-clear ringing of the bells hangs in the stale air of the otherwise quiet shop long after she shuts the door and cautiously steps within. The lights are dim and the walls are covered from floor to ceiling with tall, rickety shelves. And every inch of every shelf is stuffed, corner to corner, with books! Old books, new books, soft and hard-cover books, picture books, and old boring-looking books. Books, books, books, as far as the eye can see, more books than she has ever seen before. 

In Katy’s house, where she lives with her mom and dad, all of her parents’ books are kept in a very special glass case, and she is not, under any circumstance, to touch them. Her mom says they are precious and to be treated with respect and that she can read them when she is older. Her dad calls them expensive and not for little girls and their grubby, sticky hands.     

But these books aren’t behind any glass. They are just sitting here, waiting to be held, to be touched, to be read. Katy looks around the shop suspiciously, curious that no one else seems to be here. After a moment, and moving very carefully, she makes her way to the bookshelf closest to her, raises her hand very slowly, and stretches her fingers towards the books. 

“Fancy an adventure, do you?” a voice says mysteriously from somewhere in the darkness behind her. Katy pulls her hand back and spins around, looking horrified as a tall, slender, and bearded man makes his way out of the shadows in the corner of the bookshop. He appears to be very old.

“I’m…I’m very sorry,” Katy stammers, as she takes a step backwards, away from the tall man, whom she assumes is Silo, the name on the sign above the door. At least she hopes it is. She bumps into the shelf behind her, and an old, expensive-looking book tumbles from its home and lands heavily at her feet. “I shouldn’t have tried.…” 

She stops talking as she looks up at the old man and he stares back at her, and for a moment she considers running to the door. Just then the old man tilts his head back and laughs, loudly and heartily. There is something special about him, but Katy isn’t sure what it is. Before she has a chance to say anything else, Silo takes two long strides towards her and bends down to pick up the book. He flips it over and inspects its cover as he stands back up straight. 

“The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, eh?” he asks, smiling again, “fancy a ride down the Mississippi, do you?” He holds the old book out to Katy, but she doesn’t take it; in fact, she is scared to be even close to it. 

“I shouldn’t,” she says, looking up at the old man cautiously. “It looks expensive.” 

“Pshhh,” Silo exclaims as he pushes the book into her hands. “Books are for reading, young lady, not for coddling. I implore you, please, take a look.” Before she can protest any further, he walks away towards the old cash register at the back of the shop, leaving her with the Twain classic clutched tightly to her chest. When he reaches the counter, he turns around and looks back at her. 

“Open it up; you may be surprised by what you see.” He smiles slightly, and Katy sees a small twinkle in his eye before he bends over the counter and begins to scribble on some papers. She watches him for a second longer before returning her attention to the book still clasped in her small hands. Very carefully, she opens it at random, somewhere in the middle. What she sees next makes her gasp in surprise. 

In the middle of the page, where Katy expects to see words, and sentences, and paragraphs, there is instead something that looks like a cross between a picture frame and a small, rectangular television set. At first she thinks it is a picture, but when she looks more closely she sees that it is moving. She can see a large river and after a moment two young boys on a small wooden raft paddling along the shoreline. She moves her face so close to the page her nose is almost touching it as she watches the small raft bounce along in the current. The boys on the raft turn and wave, smiling widely at her. 

“You could join them, if you like,” Silo says quietly from across the room. Katy looks up from the book and sees that the old man is looking at her again, a smile on his face. The twinkle in his eye is still there.

“What do you mean?” Katy asks, glancing between Silo and the book, watching the boys continue to make their way down the great Mississippi. 

“I mean, you could dive right in,” he says, “take part in their grand adventure. It has only just begun.” 

She says nothing for a minute as she continues to stare into the book, watching the boys she holds in her hands make grand plans for their day. After a minute, she looks back up towards the counter. 

“I can’t swim,” she says shyly, as she carefully closes the book. “I’d be too scared to try.” 

“Well, that’s all right,” the old man exclaims as he bounds out from behind the register. He rushes past Katy towards a bookshelf on the other side of the shop. He pauses there, one hand on his hip and the other on his chin as he looks up and down the rows of books. 

“AHA!” he cries and reaches high above his head and snatches another book from its home. He hurries over to her holding the book out in front of him. “Have you ever wanted to explore the cosmos?” 

“The what?” Katy asks incredulously, looking up at him with a questioning expression.

“The cosmos,” he repeats, “Space!” He stoops down and holds out the book. It is the most chewed up, dog-eared, poorly treated book Katy has ever seen, but she is able to read the cover, faded though it is. 

“A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Eagle,” she reads, looking up at Silo as she carefully pronounces the author’s name. 

“Madeleine, yes, perfect.” He flips the book open and once again Katy sees, instead of words, a small frame with something inside of it. She peers carefully inside and sees three young children, two boys and a girl, standing at the edge of a forest in the dark, appearing to be scared but also relieved as they look out at a large house just past the trees. As Katy watches, the young girl turns and gives her and the old man a small nod and a little smile before returning her attention to her friends. The two boys don’t seem to notice them. 

“You could tag along if you like. Meg, Charles, and Calvin are travelling the galaxy, trying to save their father. I’m sure they would be happy to have you.” 

Katy watches the page for another moment as the three children leave the forest and head towards the large house. Then she turns and looks up at the old man again. 

“I can’t go to space,” she says, looking nervous. “I haven’t brought a coat with me. I would be so cold.” She wraps her arms around her shoulders, as if she could already feel the freezing, desolate vacuum of space all around her. 

“Not a worry, not a worry!” Silo says, and the old book snaps closed in his hands, causing dust to fly up in the air between him and Katy. He places the book on top of a pile of others, sitting atop a very wobbly, spindly-looking table. He then begins to turn on the spot as he surveys the shop, hand once again on his chin, fingers weaving delicately through his beard as he does. After a moment he crouches down and pulls a book from the lowest shelf.

“Now here is one that may be just a little bit warmer if that’s what you’re looking for,” he says with a wink, as he hands the leather-bound book to her. 

Katy takes the book carefully from his outstretched hands and looks down at the cover. It is very old but in remarkably good condition. It is black, with large, gold embossed letters on the front. 

“The Jungle Book,” she reads, running her finger over the name, feeling the gold beneath her fingers. “It’s beautiful.” 

“Just wait until you get inside,” Silo replies, grinning at her out of the corner of his mouth. 

Moving very slowly and being careful to touch only the edges of the pages, Katy opens the book. At first she can’t see much of anything at all, just a dense forest, tree after tree covered with a thick blanket of green leaves and vines. Slowly but surely, however, the jungle starts to thin and before long she can see a clearing ahead. There is a stream with a fallen tree lying across it. Suddenly, a young boy, wearing only a small loincloth around his waist (Katy averts her eyes for a second before remembering it’s a book) hops onto the log and begins to walk across it, holding his arms out for balance. Right behind him, a large bear follows. He doesn’t look like he is chasing the boy, but just following along. Taking up the rear a large, black panther prowls nearby, looking as if it is just out for a leisurely stroll. 

“It certainly is beautiful,” Katy remarks to Silo, who is still standing beside her, high above her shoulder, as he also peers into the book. He says nothing, but points down at the page, smiling. As Katy looks back she sees a giant python winding its way down a tree towards the three friends. It turns its head slowly to look at Katy and the old man before flicking its tongue at them. Katy snaps the book shut. 

“Snakes?! I can’t stand snakes!” she says, pushing the book quickly back into Silo’s hands. “I could never go on an adventure in a jungle!” 

“I see,” Silo replies, with no hint of disappointment on his face. He takes the book she has just thrust on him, carefully walks back to the shelf, and gently squeezes it into its home. Then he turns back to her and smiles once again. 

“Then, my dear, the question is: What kind of adventure would you like to go on?” 

Katy looks back at Silo for a minute, unsure of what to say. She gazes around the bookshop, books as far as her eyes can see. Adventures, mysteries, love and romance. They are all at her fingertips, but yet…. 

“I want to have my own adventure!” she exclaims, thrusting her hands high above her head. “My own adventure that takes me places that I never thought I could go, to see things I never thought I could see. Full of surprises and magic.” She spins in a circle, but then suddenly stops and stares at Silo again before adding, “But no snakes.” 

Silo looks at her carefully, so carefully in fact it seems as though he is trying to look right through her. 

“Sir, are you okay…” Katy asks, sounding concerned, afraid that she has upset the old shopkeep, but just then Silo’s magical grin returns as he spins on his heel and walks back to the wooden counter where his cash register sits. He ducks out of sight, and as Katy approaches the counter she can hear him rummaging behind it. Before she can say anything, he reappears, wearing the same magical smile upon his lined face. 

“Well, I think I’ve found it,” he says, the twinkle in his eye shining brighter than ever. 

“Found what?” Katy asks, searching his face for an answer. She finds none, but Silo doesn’t keep her waiting long. 

“The perfect book for you,” he replies, and from behind his back he reveals a small, white book. It looks neither old nor new. It’s perfect. He places it close to his heart for a moment and then without another word holds it out for Katy to take. After a second’s hesitation, she reaches up and slips it delicately from his fingers.

She looks down at the small book and finds there is nothing on the cover. No picture or any writing adorns it. She flips it over and discovers that the back is just as blank as the front. Then, very slowly she opens the book to the middle. To her surprise, the page is completely empty. She flips from page to page and finds them all without a mark. 

“It’s completely empty,” Katy says, trying not to sound disappointed. “There’s no adventure in here at all.” 

“Well, of course not, dear,” Silo says, his face breaking into a wide smile as he gazes down at her, his long beard twitching with delight. He reaches into his breast pocket and pulls something out, but before Katy can see what it is he stretches out his long arms and holds the mysterious object in front of her. It is a pure gold fountain pen, with her name engraved on its side. The name she had never told him. 

“You haven’t written it yet.”

Read the book: “Tales for sleep. Soothing meditative bedtime stories. Short bedtime stories to help you fall asleep quickly. Fairy tale therapy»

Secret of fairy tales

Short (about 5 minutes ) soothing bedtime stories relax , improve mood, relieve tension, set you up for a calm and sound sleep .

The child finds himself in a cozy and safe fairy-tale world, he is comfortable and calm. He relaxes and falls asleep faster. Himself child is the main character of every fairy tale .

Fairy tales are intended for all children to relieve stress (clubs, educational games, computer games, cartoons) , as well as for anxious and sleep-deprived children.

What is the use

1) The child relaxes and falls asleep faster

2) The nervous system unloads , anxiety decreases

3) A positive experience of falling asleep is accumulated and a sleep ritual is formed

Child psychologist

(child psychologist, vice-president of the International Professional Guild of Play Psychologists. Developer and author of psychological transformational games).

"... love, kindness, calmness lives in fairy tales for sleeping ..."