The Sleepy Teddy Bear in the Attic - A Cozy Bedtime Story for Adults - Rest: Sleepy Bedtime Stories

Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:01):
Good evening, and welcome to rest, your sanctuary for peaceful
sleep and relaxation. Whether you're escaping daily stresses or seeking
a nightly companion, you're in the right place. My name
is Jessica, and i'll be your host this evening. Before

(00:27):
we begin, why don't you turn off your screens and
turn down your volume. Now that's done, let's unwind and
help you ease into a blessed rest. They say that

(00:56):
somewhere in every old house there's a room remembers a
room where the air smells of lavender and rain, where
moonlight drifts across dusty floorboards, and where stories sleep quietly
waiting to be found again. Tonight. If you listen closely,

(01:20):
you might hear one of those stories waking. It begins
with a creek, a sigh, a soft wush of wind
through the eaves, and on a wooden shelf, in the
hush of an attic, a small bear does some remembering.

(01:42):
His name is Barley. Once he was the bravest companion
a little boy could ever have. Now he waits patient
as only a teddy bear can be, among music boxes,
broken kites, and forgotten adventures. But the night has a

(02:06):
way of changing things if you've noticed. Because sometimes when
the rain whispers against the roof just right, even the
quietest hearts can be found again. So settle in, let
the world around you grow soft and still breathe in deep.

(02:32):
The story of Sir Bari the Brave is about to begin,
and it starts, as all good stories do, with a
little bit of love that never truly faded. In a

(02:52):
quiet attic, I sit on a shelf waiting. My name
is Bali, and I'm a teddy bear. My fur is
a little worn in places, my seams a touch looser
than they once were, but my heart that's still full.

(03:15):
Years ago, I belonged to a boy named Frank. We
went everywhere together, under the bed, across the garden, into
the wild land of pillows, where monsters and kings lived
side by side. Frank had a way of holding me

(03:37):
so close that the world felt safe. His laughter would
rumble in his chest right through me, like a little
drum beat. But one day Frank grew up. He grew taller,
and his voice became lower. I remember the day well.

(04:00):
He gave me one last squeeze, whispered thank you, Balley,
and placed me gently in a box The box was
lined with a soft blanket, one that still smells faintly
of lavender. A small thank you note, tied with a

(04:22):
neat ribbon, rests beside me. Now I stay in the attic.
The air up here is quiet and still, except for
the little noises houses make when they're thinking. Creek, sigh, creek.

(04:43):
Sometimes the wind sings through the eaves, a long, soft whoosh,
like it's telling me stories from far away. The attic
is filled with forgotten thing, a ballerina music box with
a key that still turns but plays a tune that wobbles,

(05:09):
a kite with a torn ribbon that flutters even when
there's no breeze, and a stack of picture books with
spines so cracked they sound like pop when opened. I
don't mind the company. I don't mind the waiting. Teddy

(05:32):
bears are good at waiting. We're made for it. At night,
I watch the moonlight move slowly across the attic floor,
from the far wall to the boxes stacked near the window.
I hum very softly, the lullaby Frank used to sing

(05:56):
to me, though my ums sound more like the rustle
of cloth and the faint tap of thread inside me.
Outside rain falls in a gentle curtain, patter, pat, patter pat.

(06:16):
The roof keeps most of it out, though a little
drip sometimes lands in a tin bucket in the corner. Clink, clink, clink.
Rainy nights are my favorite. They make the attic smell
like wood and dust and something old but kind. The

(06:42):
sound wraps around me like the blanket I'm tucked in.
I remember the feeling of muddy puddles splashing on my
legs when Frank ran through the garden. I remember being
dropped right into a plate of spaghetti, which left a

(07:04):
faint orange mark on my left arm. I remember the
warmth of being tucked under his arm at night, the
rise and fall of his breathing, the steady thump thump
of his heart as I drifted into my own kind

(07:25):
of sleep. Now my days are slower. I listen, I watch,
I think. Sometimes. I imagine that if I hum the
lullaby just right, it might float down through the floorboards

(07:46):
and reach Frank wherever he is. I wonder if he
would stop what he's doing and remember me. This evening,
the rain is heavier, the wind blows harder through the eaves,
and the ballerina music box sways a little where it sits.

(08:10):
The blanket around me smells more strongly of lavender when
the air is damp. I peer out from the edge
of the box, my button eyes catching a stripe of moonlight.
It makes my fur shine. For just a moment, I imagine

(08:31):
I'm sitting on the edge of a great stage, and
the moon is my spotlight, and Frank is in the audience.
He smiles at me, waves says I missed you, Barley.
The thought makes me warmer inside. Pip and Benny, the

(08:56):
mice who live behind an old trunk, some times come
out at night. I can hear their tiny feet scritch scritch,
and the way they nibble on something crunchy. They never
touch me, but they sit nearby, as if they know

(09:18):
I like the company. Tonight, I hear them whispering in little,
squeaky voices, though I can't make out the words. I
hum a little louder. The rain answers me patter, pat pat, clink, whush.

(09:42):
The attic joins in like it's part of a sleepy orchestra.
The night stretches on. I feel the wooden shelf beneath me,
solid and familiar. I shift a little in my black.
Though teddy bears don't move much, we're better at stillness

(10:06):
than most. My eyes are fixed on the moonlight, following
it as it slides across the dusty floorboards. Somewhere far
below adore clicks, footsteps very faint. My ears perk. Though

(10:27):
they're only soft cloths, they can still hear. The sound
fades again, and I am alone with the rain. I
don't know how long I've been in this attic, because
time is different for teddy bears. We measure it in
hugs and lullabies, in the way moonlight changes through the seasons.

(10:54):
And so I wait, wrapped in lavender scented worm ump,
listening to the house breathe and the wind sing. Maybe
one day Frank will climb the ladder and open the box.
But even if he doesn't, I'll be here. That's what

(11:17):
teddy bears do best. Outside, the rain slows to a whisper, Tap, tap, hush.
I hum once more, and the attic feels almost like
it's humming back. The moonlight fades, and I let the

(11:43):
dark settle around me like a soft, deep quilt. Tomorrow
I will wait again, and that's all right. Then creak
the attic door opens, light dances up the wall, footsteps

(12:06):
pad across the floor, soft as a whisper. She appears
in the beam, a little girl with curly hair tumbling
over her shoulders, wearing fuzzy socks patterned with sleepy moons.
She holds the flashlight with both hands. It's glow, warm

(12:29):
and golden in the dim Hello, anyone up there, she
calls out. Her voice is small. She shines the light
over the music box, the kite, the books, and then
it stops on me. Oh, she breathes. She steps closer,

(12:57):
kneels by my box, and brushes away a curl of
dust from the lid. The flashlight makes her eyes glimmer. Gently,
she lifts me out, her hands warm against my worn fur.
I'm heavier than she expected, I can tell by the

(13:20):
little oof sound she makes, but she doesn't mind. You're soft,
she whispers, and you smell like my daddy's sweater. I'm
pressed against her chest, close enough to hear the quick
beat of her heart. Would you like to come downstairs

(13:44):
for tea? She asks? I don't answer, teddy bears never do,
but she smiles anyway, as if I'd nodded. We leave
the attic together. The flashlight sways in her hand, and
the shadows sway too. The stairs creak, creak, creak under

(14:12):
her careful steps. Down in the hallway, the rain song
is louder, a hush whosh against the windows. In the kitchen,
the air is warmer. She sets me on a chair
and bustles about, pulling cups from a low cupboard and

(14:37):
arranging them on the table. One cup for her, one
cup for me. She fills them with invisible tea, the
pretend steam curling like soft ribbons. She sits across from me,
legs swinging. This is cammer mile, she says, seriously, pouring

(15:03):
more into my cup. It helps you sleep. Grandma drinks
it every night. I listen, I watch the lamplight turns
her hair to gold. I think you've been here a
long time up in the attic, I mean, she says,

(15:26):
after a while. I didn't see you last time I visited.
It's true I've been here longer than she's been alive,
longer than she can imagine. But I don't mind her
not knowing. Teddy bears keep their stories tucked close, like

(15:49):
secret treasures, she tells me hers. Instead, she talks about
her cat named Whistle, who always tries to sleep in
the clean laundry. About the school play where she forgot
one of her lines but remembered to bow anyway, About

(16:11):
how she couldn't sleep tonight because the rain was too noisy.
Between her words, I hear the clock ticking, the rain
slipping down the windows, the wind sighing against the house.
When our cups are empty, she carries me to the

(16:34):
living room. She tucks me beside her on the couch
under a thick knitted blanket. The blanket smells faintly of
soap and sunshine. Do you miss someone, she asks suddenly.
I don't answer, but she studies my button eyes for

(16:57):
a moment, as if she already knows. I miss my
dad sometimes, she says, softly, he works far away. I
understand Once I belonged to a boy named Frank. The

(17:18):
rain hushes for a moment, like it's listening too. She
rests her head against my side. Anyway, my name's Chloe.
Maybe you can sit with me tonight, she murmurs, just
until I fall asleep. She pulls the blanket over both

(17:42):
of us. The lamp clicks off. Darkness settles in, but
it's not lonely. I can hear her breathing slow, feel
her warmth beside me. The house is quiet, except for
the faint whoosh of the wind outside and the tick

(18:06):
tick tick of the clock. I think about Frank, about
how he might like knowing that I'm here keeping someone
else company on a rainy night. I think about how
teddy bears are good at waiting, but they're even better

(18:29):
at staying. Chloe shifts in her sleep, her hand resting
on my pow. I stay very still. I listen to
the wind sing, I watch the moonlight creep across the floor.

(18:51):
A voice calls up, warm and low, Chloe, are you
up here, sweet pea? It's Grandma. She peeks, and her
smile softens when she sees us. Her hair is silver now,
and there are new lines near her eyes. But I

(19:15):
remember her. I remember her hands tying ribbons around boxes.
I remember the sound of her humming. There you are,
she says, Your dad's running late, rains are slowing the roads.
That's okay, Chloe says. Grandma's gaze falls on me. She

(19:43):
steps closer, brushing a bit of dust from my ear.
How did you find him? She asks? You know him?
Chloe's eyes are wide, of course, Grandma's says, smiling. Your
father used to carry him everywhere. Wow, Chloe breathes, looking

(20:09):
at me like I'm important. His name's Bari, Grandma says.
Chloe nods, wants serious as anything. She unwraps her scarf
from her own neck and winds it around me instead.
Then you're Sir Barley the Brave, she announces. Grandma chuckles softly.

(20:39):
Time for breakfast, you two. They set the table together.
The rain patters against the windows, tap tap tap like
tiny fingers. Chloe pulls out a chair for me, placing
a small cookie on a plate and a teacup in

(21:02):
front of me. The teacup is empty, but that's all right.
We eat well. Chloe and Grandma eat toast jam warm oatmeal.
When the plates are cleared, Chloe scoops me into her

(21:24):
arms and carries me upstairs. She sits me on her
bed and tells me all about the long car ride
to Grandma's house yesterday, about her new pajamas with blue stars,
and the thunder outside that went rumble rumble through the night.

(21:47):
Then we build a pillow fort. The cushions are soft
from years of use. A blanket drapes over two chairs,
and when we crawl inside, it becomes a sailing ship.
We shout ahoy into the cushions and make the waves

(22:09):
go whosh whosh with our hands. A little later it's
a rocket. We count down from ten, and when we
reach zero, the pillows shudder as if we've launched right
past the clouds. And then it's a castle, with Chloe

(22:33):
sitting tall as a queen and me at her side,
Sir Barley the Brave. We listen to the rain tapping
the window, clip clip clip, and we whisper stories to
the dark corners of the fort. We play all day,

(22:59):
except when Grandma brings in bowls of spaghetti for lunch.
Chloe twirls hers around her fork and I watch, feeling
somehow full myself. Before bed, Chloe pulls back the quilt
and tucks me under the covers beside her. The blanket

(23:22):
smells of sunshine and lavender from some long ago summer.
Just for tonight, she promises, resting her head close to mine.
The rain hushes against the glass. Her breathing grows slow.

(23:45):
I feel warm again, full of stories, full of being needed,
and I close my eyes. Morning comes in slow and golden.
I'm still half dreaming when I hear footsteps in the hall,

(24:07):
heavier than Grandma's, quicker too. The door creaks, and there
he is Frank. Only he's not the boy I remember.
He's taller now, his voice deeper, his hair a little

(24:28):
messy from the wind outside. For a moment, it feels
like a miracle seeing him all grown up. He smiles
when he spots me in Chloe's arms. Dad, Chloe wriggles
out from under the blanket and runs to him. He

(24:51):
scoops her up and spins her once before setting her
down again. You've got homework to work on today, he
tells her, brushing a curl from her forehead. All day
I'm afraid. Chloe nods, but doesn't look sad. Instead, she

(25:14):
picks me up carefully, like I'm made of something fragile.
I found BALI hey, old friend. Frank smiles at me.
Grandma says he's special. She tells her father, Can I
visit him again tonight? Frank's eyes rest on me for

(25:37):
a long moment. Then his hand reaches out, warm and steady,
to smooth the fur on my leg. Barlie is very special,
he says, softly. My name still fits. Chloe lifts me

(25:58):
high enough to kiss me my forehead before carrying me upstairs.
The attic smells the same. She sets me down on
a shelf that faces the small round window. I'll come
back after dinner, she promises. I don't mind waiting. Teddy

(26:22):
bears are good at that. The day stretches long and quiet.
Light shifts from gold to silver as clouds gather again.
I hear the patter pat pat of rain against the glass.
The attic is still, except for the occasional sigh of

(26:47):
the wind slipping through the eaves, like a secret being
told just for me. Evening comes with the creak of
the attic stairs. Chloe appears, her socks mismatched, this time
one yellow, one blue, and her hair a little frizzier

(27:11):
from the day. I told you i'd be back, she says,
sliding me into her arms. Her hug is warm, just
like blankets fresh from the dryer. We sit cross legged
on the attic floor, and she tells me about dinner,

(27:35):
how Grandma made mashed potatoes that looked like little clouds,
and how Frank laughed when she dropped her fork. She
leans close to whisper, I think Grandma wants me to
stay another night. She places me in the center of

(27:57):
a small circle she's made out of her books. This
is our reading thought, she declares. She reads aloud in
a soft, careful voice, turning the pages slowly so I
can see the pictures. I don't say anything, but she

(28:18):
seems to know I'm listening. The rain outside grows heavier,
tap tap, tap, becoming drum, drum, drum. Somewhere far away,
thunder rolls like a sleepy giant. Turning over in bed,

(28:42):
Chloe leans against me, and together we watch the attic
shadows dance on the walls. Later, she fetches the flashlight again.
We crawl under a blanket draped over two chairs and
and pretend it's a rocket ship. She counts down three, two,

(29:08):
one and makes a wash sound as we lift off.
In our imaginations, the stars are close enough to touch.
By the time Grandma calls up the stairs, Chloe is
yawning between sentences. She tucks me under her arm, carries

(29:32):
me to her room, and slides with me beneath the covers.
Her breathing slows, soft and steady. The rain keeps tapping
at the window. A watery lullaby just for us. The

(29:53):
next morning, sunlight spills across the room like honey. Chloe
blinks awake and smiles at me. First thing. Good morning,
Sir Barley. She says she has to go downstairs for
breakfast and homework, but before she leaves, she smooths my

(30:18):
fur See you tonight, And she does that night, and
the next and the next after that. Every visit is
its own small adventure. A tea party with sugar cube mountains,

(30:39):
a blanket rolled into a snake for us to tame,
a made up song about pirates who love cookies. She
talks to me about school and friends and the way
the rain smells different here than at home. I listen,

(31:00):
I always listen. The days come and go light to dark,
dark to light. Chloe keeps her promises, and I keep mine.
I wait, Teddy bears are very very good at that.

(31:24):
It has been a week since Chloe first found me
in the attic. One week of thoughts and stories and
rain songs against the window, one week of laughter and fun,
and now she has to go. She sits cross legged

(31:47):
on the floor. Her suitcase is open beside her. I
don't need anyone to tell me. This is goodbye. I
have to go back to the city for school, she says, softly,
brushing the dust from my ear. I already know. I

(32:10):
even know the name of her favorite teacher, the one
who draws funny pictures on the board. I know her
best friends too, Maya and Sam, because she's told me
every story she could remember. She hugs me tight. Her

(32:32):
cheek is warm against my fur. See you next time,
sir Ballei, she whispers. Her sweater is wooly and it
tickles my nose. Then she does something I don't expect.
She opens the box, the same one where I'd been

(32:54):
sleeping before she found me, and sets me inside. The
cardboard smells of attic air and old summers, but she
doesn't leave me alone. From her pocket, she pulls a
tiny folded paper. When she opens it, I see the

(33:16):
little drawing she made our pillow fought with the crooked
blanket walls and the scarf flag waving at the top.
She places it beside me like a treasure map. And this,
she says, slipping in around crinkly wrapped cookie, just in

(33:41):
case you get hungry. I want to tell her. I
never get hungry, but I like that she thought of it.
She tucks the blanket around me, pats my paw, and smiles.
You'll be okay, won't you. I will come back soon. Okay. Yes,

(34:06):
I've been a teddy bear a long time. I know
about waiting. Frank comes by to say goodbye. I promise
you'll play with Chloe again soon, he says. Then there
is the thump, thump, thump of his footsteps. Before he

(34:31):
is gone. The attic is quiet again. It makes me
notice every little sound, the faint drip drop of the
rain on the roof, the low creak of beams in
the wind, the tiny sigh of dust settling. For a while,

(34:57):
I watched the strip of light at the edge of
the box. It shifts and narrows until it fades to
the gentle dark. I know so well. I remember the
way the blanket thought smelled faintly of cocoa and lavender,

(35:20):
The way Chloe's voice curled around words when she read
to me, the sound of her small feet running across
the hallway, Pat, pat, pat, before she burst into the
attic with some new idea. It's different this time. Before Chloe,

(35:47):
I waited without knowing what I was waiting for. I
drifted in the stillness, counting dust motes and listening to
the far away home of the house. Now I know
what's out there, I know the warmth of being held.

(36:12):
I remember the adventure of turning pillows into ships and castles.
So I wait patiently, because teddy bears are good at that.
And now I'm not just waiting for someone. I'm waiting

(36:35):
for her. She'll come back, I'm sure of it. Until then,
I have a thought to dream about, a cookie to
keep me company, and a drawing to remind me that
I am not forgotten, not anymore. The attic comes, the

(37:02):
rain shushes across the roof, and I close my eyes.

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The Sleepy Teddy Bear in the Attic - A Cozy Bedtime Story for Adults

Episode Transcript

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