This is Ria.
Welcome to Little Stories for Tiny People.
Huh, that's strange.
It almost feels breezy in my studio.
Oh, the window's open.
I must have left it open when I came in to water my cactus collection for the first time this year.
Well, I'll just... Oh dear.
A paper just flew out the window.
Oh.
I think it might have been the story I was going to tell you.
Great, what am I going to do now?
You know what?
This is fine.
This is good.
Honestly, it's better this way.
I've been needing a challenge, and... Oh, what's this?
Ah!
Oh, my story.
It's here.
It was sitting on my hard metal stool.
It did not fly out the window...
You know what?
That must have been a coupon I had for a free unicycle wash.
I can just wash my own unicycle like a normal person.
Let's get to our story before it flies out the window.
It's called See the Sights on the Sleep Sky Rail.
Take it away, Kaden.
Remember, there are no pictures.
You have to imagine them in your mind.
You can imagine them however you want.
Okay, here we go.
If you open your textbooks to page 111, you will see a portrait of the late McHenry McWoolworth, popularizer of the modern process of wool felting.
Now then, Lambden, did you hear what page Professor Crispole said to turn to.
Lambden was in the middle of wool history class, trying and failing to warm up his hoofs, which felt much like blocks of ice.
He turned to the sheep beside him Yarnley, who pulled one earmuff away from her left ear in anticipation of his answer.
Her breath escaped in little white clouds before her face.
Time stretched like felted wool strained to its limit.
Yarnley blinked, a slow motion action that seemed to require extreme effort to pull off.
As you can see in this lithograph, McWoolworth himself wore many of his wool-felted creations.
Lambden his thoughts, moving at a glacial pace, opened his mouth to tell Yarnley to turn to page 111, but Professor Crispwool, bundled in a coat and scarf that obscured everything aside from a small circle of his face, went on.
Now, if you turn to page 337, there's a fascinating pie chart detailing.
Before another page could be chosen, Lambden said, 337.
Yarnley nodded, replaced her earmuff, and flipped to the middle of her textbook.
She was one of few who did.
Most students were too busy rubbing their hoofs together, shivering and daydreaming about the beach to absorb facts about McHenry McWoolworth.
Days ago, the students had frolicked on the playground, gleefully whirling on the tire, swing and running up the slide.
Up, down the slide only, children.
Now the sky was shrouded with woolly gray clouds, the air was wet and frigidly cold, and the playground sat empty and silent, save for the seesaw teetering up and down in the blustery wind.
The school's heating system chugged valiantly along, but it was no match for the sub-freezing temperatures and raging winds that kept blowing open doors and windows at odd intervals.
I can't feel my toes.
You don't have toes.
It's a figure of speech.
The students would have wished to be sent home, except most of their homes were draftier than the school and some of them resided in barns.
Last night, I buried myself in hay, and I still couldn't feel my ears.
Lambden programmed his radio alarm clock to switch on at 618 every morning to get the latest weather report.
I'm Chip Woolingsworth, and this is Weather on the 18s.
For days, the updates were the same.
Bundle up, sheep and sheepettes.
It's gonna be a brisk one out there, and we've got wind gusts up to 35.
There was no end in sight.
But in the midst of this bone-chilling cold, Lambden felt grateful in addition to freezing.
Because each night, When the sun dropped from view, he boarded an enchanted sleep train that was reliably warm and dry and lulled him to sleep with its charming performances.
So when the final school bell rang out, he packed up his things alongside his classmates.
My mom just finished knitting me new mittens.
Oh, that's nice.
Yeah, I can't wait to wear them to bed tonight.
Headed out of the drafty school to the icy outdoors and made his way home with a heart filled with anticipation and gratitude for the peaceful night to come.
He spent the afternoon reading with a flashlight beneath a hastily constructed fort made of chairs draped with thick blankets.
At dinner he sat shivering, sipping delicious turnip stew for precisely 23 minutes until he was excused, at which time he beelined for his toothbrush.
The sooner he boarded the sleep train, the better.
He brushed his teeth for exactly two minutes and not a second more.
At his dresser, he selected his thickest fleece pajamas.
Hold on.
The sleep train will be toasty warm.
I don't want to be sweating.
He refolded them and selected a set of practical mid-weight flannel pajamas.
He pushed the dresser drawer shut and turned to see his bedroom looking normal and fine.
He made his way to his bed, reached out a hoof towards his pillow, and shivered.
This was not the continuous.
There is no escape from the constant cold type of shivering he'd been doing all day.
No.
This was an acute onset, I am suddenly an ice cube, kind of shiver.
Then he heard it, the whistling wind.
Lambden turned just in time to see a paper whisked into the air and out his bedroom window.
His open bedroom window.
Huh?
Lambden strode over and slammed it shut.
Through the glass, he watched the paper spiral out of sight and disappear into the dark.
Must have been a page of my homework, he thought.
Wait, I know this window is closed.
He whirled around.
Someone's been here.
Lambden's mind went to the sleep crew, the team that ran his beloved sleep train, the team that had unusual business practices.
But everything was in its place.
His bed was made, with the blanket folded.
His pillow looked puffed up and inviting.
The action figures he kept on the shelf were all accounted for.
Hang on.
I didn't make my bed this morning.
There was only one sheep who would make his bed and fluff his pillow.
Mom must have tidied up and opened the window to let in some fresh air.
She's always doing stuff like that.
He shivered again, and it reminded him he had somewhere to be.
Somewhere warm.
Lambden went to his bed. peeled back his pillow, and there was his gleaming button.
He stretched out a hoof and pressed the button.
A great, swirling cloud streamed upwards.
Good evening, Martine.
Those are fetching ear warmers you have on.
The first thing Lambden noticed was as he rounded the bend in the train tunnel into which he'd fallen, was that it was freezing.
Can't wait for my blanket.
The next thing he noticed was the sweaters.
Every sleepy animal in the line snaking away from a set of stairs attached to the old-fashioned train waiting on the tracks was wearing a sweater over pajamas.
The only exception was a porcupine who, for obvious reasons, must have had a difficult time wearing anything at all.
And now, as Lambden joined the line, there was another exception.
Him.
Welcome aboard, Cliff.
Did you happen to get that sweater at Fleece and Fur on Main?
I did, yes.
I tell every gopher, they use quality materials they really do, and they manufacture everything right.
That's nice, Cliff.
Watch your step.
Even the towering moose wore a bright red cardigan buttoned to the collar.
Why all the sweaters?
Lambden wondered as he approached the head of the line.
What's going on?
Welcome aboard, Lambden.
You are looking very serious about your sleep tonight, especially with that furrowed brow of yours.
But Lambton, dear, the moose said, blinking rapidly, why ever aren't you wearing a sweater?
She peered down at him with a look of concern, almost alarm, as if his sweaterless state presented a kind of insurmountable obstacle.
I didn't know I had to.
But didn't you get the memo?
Lambden squinted.
The mem- Lambden.
It is imperative that you read any and all memoranda issued from our office.
Today it's a sweater.
Tomorrow it could be an oxygen tank.
Now hold on.
I didn't even receive a... He was cut off by a chime.
Step aboard, please, Lambton.
We do have a schedule to keep.
I'll have Martlebees scrounge up a spare sweater from the storage car.
The moose nudged him forward.
There you are.
And he stumbled up the stairs.
It was as he crossed the threshold into the sleep train cabin that he realized why he'd missed the all-important memo.
It had been the memo, not a page from his homework, that had sailed out his bedroom window.
A window that had been opened, not by his mother, but by a sleep crew employee.
The train was half full.
Lambden could have taken a seat wherever he wanted.
Only, he didn't want to.
It was freezing.
No wonder I was supposed to bring a sweater.
He gripped his arms around himself in a hug and shivered.
His practical mid-weight pajamas did nothing.
The cold air seemed to stream right through them.
Excuse me. said a large pig behind him.
The pig shuffled forward, knocking Lambden so that he half fell into a seat.
He nodded at the sweatered cat in the next seat.
The heating system must be on the fritz.
Oh, it is, the cat said.
Sorry, were you talking to yourself?
I was, but please go on.
I guess you didn't get the memo, the cat said, glancing at Lambden's sweaterless torso.
I didn't have the chance to see it.
Well, they said to bring a sweater.
Went on about how studies have shown animals sleep better in colder temperatures.
Sounds about right.
Then in tiny little letters at the bottom it said the maintenance team is hard at work debugging the heating system.
I don't know what kind of bugs they are.
Uh-huh.
Lambden had been freezing for days on end.
He had hidden under blankets at home.
During the walks to school, his face had gone so numb it did not regain feeling until second period.
No, he thought, rising from his seat, his teeth chattering.
I will not do this.
Then he did something he had never done before.
He headed for the exit.
Guest, hello.
We'll be leaving from the station momentarily.
And remember, seeing one's own breath is a gift we should all.
Lambden tried the door and to his great surprise, it swung open, revealing the stairs leading to the now-empty station platform.
He said... skipped down to the platform, even did an awkward twirl.
He was free.
And freezing.
But he was free.
The train's wheels turned, and it gained speed, rolling away from him.
He watched it vanish around a curve.
Oh dear, what have I done?
For a long moment, he was frozen in place because he had no idea what to do.
He had never returned to his bedroom from the sleep train tunnel.
Think.
There's gotta be a way.
There's gotta be a... This is the way.
Come now, everyone.
We're almost there.
Lambden stiffened at the approaching sound of an exuberant voice coupled with clackety heels.
A uniformed ostrich came into view, with about two dozen pajama-clad animals in tow.
Sleep train regulars, like Delilah the rabbit, clutching her mist machine with both paws.
Others A tortoise, a poodle, a prairie dog.
Lambden recognized them all.
The ostrich led the group over to Lambden, looked him up and down and said Looks like you beat us here.
I love punctuality.
Like my Grammy always said, the early ostrich gets the whole termite hill.
Now, she said, turning to address the assembled animals.
I'm glad to see at least one of you read the memo.
Just look at his practical mid-weight pajamas.
She's talking about me, Lambden thought.
She thinks I read her memo.
She thinks I'm supposed to be here.
He racked his brain to come up with a question that might result in him learning what exactly was going on and, at the same time, might not reveal.
He had no idea what was going on.
But before he could say anything at all, a small shuttle zipped around the bend and came to an abrupt stop on the train tracks.
Doors are opening.
Its doors swished open and the ostrich ushered the group aboard.
Lambden hung back, uncertain.
Once everyone was inside, the ostrich stretched her head through the doors.
Let's go, Mr. Punctual.
Launch is in two minutes.
I promise it's safe and warm and... Well, it's not every night you get to board the Sleep Sky Rail.
Lambden barely heard the word skyrail.
He was focused on the word warm.
Doors are closing.
He leapt aboard just as the doors swished shut.
The shuttle zoomed off down the tunnel.
It brought them to an outdoor train platform, on the other side of which an empty gondola car sat waiting for passengers.
The towering moose stood at the ready.
With such a small group, the line moved quickly.
Lambdin, you are looking serious about your sleep tonight.
And just look at those practical midway pajamas.
They are positively made for this occasion.
Lambden had many questions for the moose.
How are you here if I just saw you at the sleep train?
Where am I?
And where is this sky rail taking me?
Which memo blew out my window earlier today?
But he knew he'd get lackluster answers.
And anyway...
There was no time.
Lambden, dear, we are launching in a mere 43 seconds.
And he was still shivering.
He boarded the gondola and found a seat next to an anteater.
Hello.
Howdy.
It was warm inside the Skyrail gondola car.
Mercifully warm.
Lambden felt the tension seep out of his shoulders as he nestled into his seat.
A squirrel sat on his other side and settled in with a hardcover book The cabin filled quickly.
There were only twelve seats.
Half the passengers loaded into the next car.
Martleby appeared, his paws piled with blankets.
Fuzzy, weighted, or cozy crocheted wool.
Weighted, please.
Crocheted wool, thank you kindly.
Wool, please, thank you.
The skyrail gondola eased forward, then upward slowly.
On its roof was a clamp that gripped a steel cable held up by towers at points in the distance.
The cable moved, carrying the gondola along with it.
Delilah, seated across the car, fired up her mist machine, sending a floral fragrance through the cabin.
It had all happened so fast One minute, he'd recklessly escaped the sleep train.
The next, he was aboard an entirely different vehicle.
The moose seated in the other gondola car spoke through the speakers mounted in the corners, imploring them to relax.
Drink up that dazzling starlit sky.
And to take in the incredible sights.
And they were incredible.
The skyrail took them up a good two hundred feet off the ground.
Above them was the moonless night sky.
Below, the warm lights of houses and villages.
After days of frigid cold, Lambden was so warm and at ease, he barely noticed the first performance.
Owls came swooping out of the night, carrying buckets, the handles between their beaks.
We hope you enjoy this one-of-a-kind show from the pirouetting pufferfish.
I must be sleepier than I thought, Lambden murmured, yawning.
Pretty sure those are owls.
But the pufferfish soon revealed themselves leaping out of the buckets and twirling in the air before splashing back down.
Whoa.
I don't understand how this is happening.
One frantic ferret couldn't handle it.
The water in those buckets could freeze to ice.
This is a completely impractical performance.
But most of the passengers, Lambden included, snuggled beneath their blankets and let themselves be lulled by the strange performance.
The owl swooped in wide arcs between the two suspended gondola cars.
The pufferfish leaped over and over in time with serene music, until the skyrail began moving once more and the music, The skyrail gondola darkened as it left the performance behind and the squirrel to Lambden's left flicked on a portable reading light.
It ruffled the feathers of a nearby cockatoo.
Would you turn that off?
We're trying to relax.
But the squirrel was indignant.
I cannot fall asleep without my book, and I cannot read my book without my light.
Lambden ignored it.
He focused instead on the coziness of his seat and the beauty of the world outside the car.
Through the enormous windows he could see the rolling countryside far below and stars winking in the distance.
Guess, hello.
I'm certain you are reaching new heights of drowsiness.
But I urge you to pinch yourself awake for the resplendent, the bioluminescent, the lullaby-singing lacewings.
The anteater to Lambden's right sat up straighter in his seat.
The squirrel read her book with the aid of her reading light.
Lambden stared out the window.
The passengers... heard the lacewings before they saw them.
Wow.
They're talented.
You might be wondering, at this point, what lacewings are, exactly.
So was the frantic ferret.
What are these things?
What can we expect them to do?
At this, the anteater to Lambden's right sat up even straighter.
Lacewings are winged insects of the family Chrysopidae known for their excellent management of garden pests.
Also known for being... malodorous.
What does that mean?
It means stinky.
But they're outside, the anteater went on, so we likely won't get a whiff.
Well, that's a relief.
Outside the Skyrail car, a sparkling swarm of lacewings flew in formation, creating a shimmery, wave-like image as they circled in the air between the suspended cars.
Yawns went up throughout the cabin, and the passengers sank into their seats, their eyelids heavy.
The ferret, for his part, was still displeased.
What are you, some kind of expert?
In fact, I am, the anteater said, puffing up a bit.
I'm an entomologist by training.
Now then, these specimens here glow in the dark, which is highly unusual, and as a rule, lacewings do not sing.
So this is clearly a case of... The anteater's lecture was interrupted by the frantic ferret.
What are they doing?
We're being surrounded!
At the ferret's outburst, the passengers popped awake one by one and stared out the window.
Huh.
Lambden, too, sat up and took notice.
The lacewings appeared to abandon their performance altogether and began attaching themselves to the windows of the gondola car.
The speakers crackled to life, further startling the now wide-awake passengers.
A guest?
Hello?
Isn't that lovely?
Our dear lace wings want to say hello up close to those passengers in the first car.
All planned, of course.
A completely planned little interlude that we know you'll enjoy.
No one paid the towering moose any mind.
The animals were too focused on the blanket of lace.
Wings plastered on every square inch of the gondola's windows, blotting out the stars, the sky, the villages below everything.
What's going on?
I am mildly alarmed by this.
I mean, I am wildly alarmed by this.
The only animal that did not seem to notice this turn of events was the squirrel beside Lambden, who continued to read her hardcover book with the help of her portable reading light.
Ah!
The anteater groaned, taking notice.
It's that reading light.
Lacewings are attracted to artificial light, especially on a moonless night.
Such as this one.
Oh, I'm learning so much today.
But when the nearby cockatoo reached over to switch off the light, the squirrel was indignant.
I simply cannot sleep without my book.
She gripped her book and reading light as if they were weapons she might soon brandish.
Meantime, the towering moose got wind of the situation.
Turn out.
The light, I repeat, turn out the light.
Somebody do something, cried the ferret frantically.
Lambden, who until now had expected the squirrel to realize that shooing away thousands of bugs was more important than her book, finally understood he'd have to do something.
He grabbed the squirrel's blanket and tossed it over her, the book, and the light.
For a moment, everyone held their breath.
Then the ferret shouted, The light is coming through the crocheted wall!
Which was 100% true.
The squirrel's blanket was much too porous to block the reading light.
The lacewings did not move from their positions on the windows.
We need something opaque, the anteater said gruffly.
Lambden glanced around.
It seemed that every passenger had chosen a crocheted wool blanket, except for him.
He'd chosen his usual favorite, a cozy, weighted blanket that was perfectly opaque.
Lambden did not want to give up his blanket.
He had daydreamed of this blanket all day at school.
He was nestled so warmly beneath it, and yet he had to give up his blanket, or else no one in the Skyrails gondola car would get a wink of sleep.
Lambden grasped his lovely blanket and draped it over the squirrel, who did not seem to mind so long as she had her precious book and reading light within.
The gondola car was plunged into darkness, with the light suddenly shielded from view and the lace wings still blocking the night sky.
Slowly, one by one at first, then all at once, the lace wings dropped away from the glass and fell back into their wave-like rippling dance.
Whoa.
The darkness gave way to a brilliantly starry night sky.
Calming music once more filtered through the speakers, and the passengers around Lambden began nodding off.
He wondered whether he would ever fall asleep, given that he no longer had a blanket.
After all, this night had been one of firsts.
First time leaving the sleep train.
First time boarding the sleep skyrail.
Perhaps it would be the first time...
He'd fail to drift to sleep on one of his nightly outings.
If only I had a blanket, he thought doubtfully.
Just as the thought came to him, he felt something drape over him.
Lambden opened an eye to see the anteater spreading his crocheted blanket over the both of them.
Thank you.
Don't mention it.
They were both only half covered, but it was enough.
Guess, hello?
Wasn't that just invigorating?
Studies do show that sleep quality is best after... Lambden settled, warm in his seat.
If there was a third performance, he had no idea what it involved.
His mind quieted.
I'm Chip Willingsworth, and this is Weather on the 18s.
Lamden awakened slowly, in no rush to face yet another frigid walk to school.
Rise and shine, sheep and sheepettes.
It's gonna be a gorgeous, sunny day with temperatures in the upper 40s.
That's right.
You can toss your parkas out the window and grab a sweater, because it's gonna be a warm one.
40s. warm.
Lambden bolted upright in bed.
It was dark, but there was a whisper of light at the tree line and the chill had gone from his bedroom.
Now a quick word from our sponsor, Soccer Pair Najiffy.
Lambden clicked off the radio and bounded from bed.
At his dresser, He selected a practical mid-weight sweater.
Then he ran downstairs to greet the day.
I hope you loved this story.
Little Stories for Tiny People is written, performed, and produced by me, Rhea Pector.
My in-house tech director, Peter Kay, runs my website and puts my stories on the internet for all of you to enjoy.
To unlock the full Little Stories library and to access Little Stories for Sleep.
You can join or gift a subscription to Little Stories Premium by visiting littlestoriespremiumcom.
Thank you to Caden for the super important reminder message at the beginning.
And thank you to the premium subscribers who supplied sound effects used in this story.
Thank you to And thank you, as always, for listening in.
