Hello everyone, this is Ria with a quick note.
This is a full episode preview of a story featured on Little Stories for Sleep, a bedtime podcast just for Little Stories Premium subscribers.
The episode I'm sharing with you today is part of a series I'm calling Wandering Sleep Stories.
These new stories are peaceful, calming, and perfect for that last track on a bedtime playlist.
On Little Stories for Sleep, Wandering Sleep Stories have no intro or outro, it's just the story framed by soft music.
So grab your weighted blanket, snuggle up, and fall asleep to this sweet tale.
Elvis paced back and forth from one end of the hallway runner to the other.
It shifted slightly under his feet.
There used to be a pad beneath it, but it kept getting bunched up, so at some point it was folded and placed on the top shelf of the linen closet.
Now, when the children took a running start and leapt on the runner, it sometimes slid several feet.
But the children were not there just then.
They were out. They'd been out for hours.
That was the reason for Elvis's pacing in the first place.
Elvis was an old English sheep dog with a shaggy fur coat that would get matted if not properly attended to, but that rarely happened because Elvis had the best family in the world.
He believed that wholeheartedly despite never living anywhere but this house with these people.
The youngest child brushed him every day.
She did it right after she finished brushing her own hair, which tended to get tangled up because she was a rough and tumble sort.
She liked to climb trees and wrestle with her brothers and with Elvis, of course.
So she'd brush her hair, then brush Elvis's.
A few times she'd accidentally forgotten to switch to Elvis's brush using her own hair brush for both of them.
Upon noticing her mistake, she doubled over and giggles.
Elvis thought it was funny too, although he did not laugh.
The family took excellent care of him, and Elvis took excellent care of them.
He kept a close eye on the children, making sure they had everything they needed.
Out in the world, away from home, Elvis took his job seriously.
He scanned the area for threats, storm clouds, shifty dogs, wayward cats.
If there is anything questionable, Elvis put himself between it and the children.
And so, as the sky, visible through the narrow window beside the front door, turned the color of ink, all he wanted was to put eyes on his people, admonish them a bit for their lateness, and herd them off, safe and sound, to bed.
Then, with a clear conscience, he might be able to sleep for a spell.
When his family had left, it had been mid -morning, and the sun was so harsh, Elvis had squinted as he watched their car turn the corner at the end of the block.
Now, the street lamps lit up outside.
A tiny dog, one Elvis had nicknamed the Yappy Wonder, skipped down the sidewalk with a person trailing behind.
Hmm, quiet for once, Elvis thought to himself.
But once the dog disappeared around the corner, that was it.
The street was empty.
Elvis sighed. When's the last time they were this late?
He searched his memory.
Ah yes, it was summer.
Everything was lush with color, and the air was alive with butterflies, the scent of freshly cut grass, and the calls of insistently chipper birds in the trees.
Elvis had spent the day lounging inside the fence in the backyard.
It was hard to worry about anything on such a beautiful, breezy summer day.
The people had arrived home just as the sun dipped below the horizon.
The children had run to the fence.
So happy to see him ready with explanations.
Traffic was so bad, Elvis.
We got here as soon as we could, buddy.
This time felt different.
Perhaps it was because it was the middle of winter, and even though it was just past sundown, the sky was already the kind of dark that beckoned birds to their nests and small children to their beds.
The old grandfather clock chimed from the hallway, announcing yet another hour.
Elvis wished a pair of headlights would round the corner, but instead he saw a mangy raccoon creep over to the neighbor's trashcan, left out at the curb for tomorrow's collection.
Elvis watched the raccoon scrabble at the lid of the can.
It was determined to get in there.
Elvis had always found raccoons to be fairly ridiculous creatures, with their hunched little gate and their scavenging habits.
But watching this fellow relentlessly fight to get into the canister, Elvis had to admit he was inspired, and when the lid of the bin finally flew open and the scrappy raccoon dove head first over the rim, Elvis became keenly aware of the contrast between himself and this wily animal.
Here he was with his people missing for hours, passively looking out the window, taking no action at all.
Elvis plopped down and used a hind leg to scratch his cheek.
He rolled onto his side on the wooden floor.
If the little girl were there, she'd rub his belly.
What to do? What to do?
Elvis yawned heavily.
Normally, he'd be asleep by this time, after a brisk walk around the block, after the lady pretended to brush his teeth, after the children had given him good night hugs.
Instead, he was alone in a quiet house.
Elvis forced himself to sit up.
"'I have to do something,' he decided.
Elvis went back to the window.
He watched the raccoon topple over the outside of the trash bin and stagger to its feet, clutching something in its paws.
What if they're stranded somewhere?' Elvis wondered.
I could find them. I know I could sniff them out.
If only I could get out of this house." Elvis turned away from the silent front door and went up the stairs.
He did a lap around the upper floor, peaking in the bedrooms, looking for exits.
Of course, there weren't any, and seeing the children's rooms with the stuffed animals and the fish tank and the pointy blocks Elvis narrowly avoided stepping on only made him more determined to find the people.
He patted back down the stairs.
Was it his imagination, or had the sky darkened in the minute he'd been away?
No sign of anyone on the street.
The intrepid raccoon was gone.
There was only one thing to be done.
Elvis left the front door, traveled through the dark kitchen, and arrived at the window that overlooked the back patio.
It is the only reasonable thing to do, he told himself.
Elvis positioned himself several feet away from the window and settled into a lunge.
He put everything out of his mind except the window.
It can't be that thick.
Can it? A memory came to him then of the little boy's slingshot of how he'd pull it back until it was very taut, then release it, sending something flying across the room, usually a little plastic man.
Elvis pulled himself back like the slingshot.
Bracing himself for whatever would come and heard what sounded like hurried footsteps on the front stoop.
Elvis froze in place, his heart beat a drum in his chest.
Could it be? Mmm… Then came the sound of a key turning in the lock and the creak of the front door swinging open and Elvis's name being called, Elvis?
Oh, Elvis. His tail whipped to and fro, and he took a last look at the back window, suddenly very relieved he did not go through with his scheme.
He turned and ran to greet his family.
After some minutes of happy chaos during which Elvis ran around everyone's legs several times, getting hugs and head scratches, and he ran outside in the front yard because he really all that, the children told him a story of car troubles and car fixes and closed roads.
The little girl's eyes were as big as could be as she recounted the moment that 17 enormous elk had crossed the road in front of a long line of stopped cars.
But we had to keep going, Elvis.
We had to get something special.
Just as she said that, the front door opened again, and this time all Elvis could see were the dark branches of a tree.
Something special, Elvis repeated to himself.
It was late, already past bedtime.
What was a few more minutes?
Once the tree was placed in the corner of the living room, the family laced it with a green wire There was the sound of a plug fitting into an outlet, and the children's eyes widened as the tree illuminated, dappled with hundreds of small bursts of light, and a star shining brightly from the very highest
bow of the tree. It was lovely and worth the wait, Elvis thought, basking in the tree's glow.
One by one, the children kissed their sweet dog, goodnight, and he herded them up the stairs to bed, making sure the littlest one did not trip on the way.
Finally, with his work done for the day, and the family in bed where they belonged, Elvis descended the stairs and returned to the living room.
He circled several times, then settled himself beneath the tree, and when all was calm, he fell into a peaceful sleep under the lights, inside a warm house on a cold winter night.
This has been a special full episode preview of a wandering sleep story.
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