Welcome to Bedtime Stories for Everyone, in which nothing much happens.
You feel good, and then you fall asleep.
I'm Catherine Nicolae.
I read and write all the stories you hear when nothing much happens.
With audio engineering by Bob Widersheim.
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Now, this is where I usually tell you that I have a simple story for you.
Where not much happens to keep your mind cozily occupied while your body drops off.
But I'm gonna be honest.
I wrote a really long, involved Halloween story for you tonight.
I went a little crazy.
It's longer than the big wedding story from last year.
I think Sycamore put a spell on me.
Still, you're going to fall asleep, just listening to the sound of my voice, and resting your attention on the shape of the story.
As always, I'll tell it twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through.
If you wake later in the night, turn it back on, nestle back into it.
You'll fall right back to sleep.
Our story tonight is called The Secret Stare, and it's a story about a costume party on Halloween night at the inn.
It's also about the bonfire down by the lake, a whiskered face at the window, a mystery waiting in the library, and a reminder of what is sacred and worth your attention, and what is not.
Okay. Snuggle down, my dears.
Get as comfortable as you can.
You are exactly where you're supposed to be right now.
There's nothing else needed from you today.
Whatever you got done, it was enough.
It was plenty. Now, take a deep breath in through your nose.
And sigh from your mouth.
Do that again. Breathe in.
And out. Good. The Secret Stare.
My breath fogged the air.
As I stood outside the inn, the Halloween party was in full swing.
I stopped what I was doing to sidle closer to a window and peer in at the flickering candlelight and the guests arriving, climbing the great staircase in their costumes.
I felt the silliness, heard the laughter and chatter, and smelled good scents from the treats waiting up in the ballroom.
They washed over me like sunshine on a cold winter day, and I smiled in the dark, eager to join them.
But first, I had a job to do.
I felt into the pockets of my robe.
No, not a witch's robe, though I see how you got there.
I was playing into the stereotype a bit and making fun of it at the same time by wearing my fuzziest bathrobe, pink bunny slippers, and a head full of rollers rather than a spidery patched witch's hat.
It was honestly the most comfortable Halloween costume I'd ever worn, and I decided that every October the 31st from here on out, I'd be elevating comfort over fashion.
From my pocket, I took out a glass jar that was a third full of salt and a wooden spoon with a long handle.
I stepped away from the window and started down a stone path toward the back of the inn.
Glad the moon was full tonight.
The light felt like company as I walked.
I slunk past the inn's back porch where several carved pumpkins watched me with hollow eyes and toothy grins.
I followed the stairs down toward the lake and stopped at the fire pit.
The chairs were gone at this point in the year, put away in one of the sheds till next summer.
But that was fine. I wasn't here to stargaze or warm my feet at a fire.
I squatted down to where bonfires had burned for decades or longer, and using my wooden spoon, scooped ashes into my jar with my salt.
I screwed the top back on the jar and cleaned my spoon off in the dewy grass before tucking it back into my robe pocket.
And standing tall shook the jar to mix the ash and salt together.
I was making a simple protection spell.
It was one of the first ones I'd read from my grandmother's book when it had come to me.
Mixed salt, it said, in even part with ashes, from any sacred fire, and sprinkled them around doors and windows to keep those inside safe and at ease.
And what was sacred here at the inn?
Oh, many things. I could have taken ashes from the fireplace in the library, or from the charcoal grill where chef cooked zucchini and veggie burgers for the guests.
But my first thought had been about all the people who sat round the flames here, pleasantly worn out after a day of sun and swimming, making memories with their friends, sweethearts or children.
Wishing on shooting stars and telling stories as the moon rose.
I carried the jar around the inn, sprinkling the salt at each window sill or doorframe.
When I came to the library, a face met me at the window and I jumped.
With my hand over my heart and my breath caught in my chest, I looked up at the gray face and yellow eyes of Cinder, my cat, who, not wanting to get her paws wet in the dew, had gone into the party without me.
I hissed her name as I came down from the fright.
Cinder. And she meowed at me through the glass.
Beside her, a second cat, this one black as night, appeared.
Sycamore, who lived in the inn and had become fast friends with Cinder, meowed as well.
Their breath fogged against the glass, and Cinder leaned forward and left a noseprint on it.
It reminded me of the sigils carved into the doorframe at my shop.
Spells hewn into the wood.
This was Cinder's spell, calling me into the house.
I decided to work smarter and sprinkled the rest of the black salt into my hand.
I opened my palm and called on the evening breeze to carry it all around the inn.
I closed my eyes and felt the wind whirling around me.
The lopped beers of my bunny slippers were buffeted in it, and soon my palm was empty and the night calm and quiet again.
Well, that's one thing done, I said to myself as I turned toward the front of the old house.
Renewing protection and prosperity spells were something all of us in the village circle did regularly.
But tonight I had another chore on my list, though it was still a bit of a mystery to me, shrouded even from my keen sight.
There was a puzzle here at the inn that needed me and Cinder, who met me as I came through the door.
The entry of the inn was absolutely stunning, especially to a witch on Halloween.
A hundred small pumpkins marked each step of the grand central staircase, and the old crystal chandelier was wrapped in grey cobwebs.
From somewhere far off, a bone -rattling jazz band played, and the place teemed with flickering candlelight and the scent of caramel.
I stood for a moment, taking it all in, looking up through the stairs and breathing in the air of the old house.
This was sacred to me too.
It was something I thought of often, a part of how I lived and made decisions, reminding myself what mattered to me, what was worth working or fighting for, and what were the things that didn't deserve my precious energy.
Places like this were worth it.
They filled my cup, as did, of course, the people I found here.
I looked around for the innkeeper, my eyes sweeping over guests as they mingled and climbed the stairs.
There were plenty of spooky folk out tonight, and plenty more just dressed as such.
I saw a few sisters from my circle, and I saw the baker from the shop downtown, and laughed as I realized that seeing her out of her apron felt wrong in some way.
She wore an elaborate gown and elf ears that suited her very well indeed.
I scooted past the man who owned the bicycle shop, dressed in an old -fashioned baseball uniform.
His front was dusted with dirt, like he'd just slid into home base, and in one hand he held a drink, and with the other a worn mitt.
A masked pirate with a saber dressed all in black took me by the arm, and I recognized our newest witch.
She guided me past the staircase and into the hall.
Cinder says, you have a mystery to solve?
She whispered. Blammermouth, I said as I frowned down at the cat.
A stay -puffed marshmallow squeezed past us, and I giggled as I recognized Chef under the disguise.
Thought you'd go as a pickle this year?
Nah, two on the nose.
I contain multitudes, they said, as they moved past us.
Just then, a woman turned a corner down the hall, and something in my awareness hiccuped.
She wore a pale, old -fashioned dress with full sleeves and a dark apron.
Her hair was pinned up at the back of her head, and though I recognized her, she was the innkeeper.
I also didn't. There was a haze around her.
I brought my hands up in front of my face, as if I were holding an old -fashioned spyglass, peering through them.
I rotated my hands till she came into focus, and I saw that the mist was a dreamy purple spangled with stars like the night sky.
She was carrying my mystery.
I leaned over to the masked pirate, and asked her to ask Sycamore to herd the innkeeper into the library, as you wish.
She tilted her head, her eyes closed under the mask, and though I listened intently, I couldn't tune into her frequency.
But Sycamore, who'd been wandering by the front door, obviously could.
He turned toward us, and tilted his head as well, then sloped toward the innkeeper, and rubbed his cheek against her ankle.
She bent down to pet him, but he inched away.
She reached again, taking a step forward, and he took one back.
This way, step by step, he ushered her down the hall, and into the library.
We stepped in after them, and closed the door with a quiet snap.
At the sound, the innkeeper looked up at us, a puzzled smile on her face.
Cinder sat at her feet, and purred in a calm, reassuring way.
I think I've come to grant you a Halloween wish, I said, with a chuckle in my voice.
Is there some mystery about the house, or...
My eyes roved over her face, and I was struck with a sudden knowing that my talents sometimes gifted me.
The other innkeeper?
I asked, with awe in my voice.
I had a vague memory of hearing that before this place had fallen into disrepair.
Before the decades when it had sat empty, there had been another who watched over the guests, and walked the halls.
She smiled broadly, and reached for my hands.
Yes, can you tell me anything about her?
I feel like she's my sister, from another century.
As she spoke, I let my mind quiet, and my senses sharpen.
There was a reason we were in this room, the library, where I'd looked in earlier, and seen Cinder and Sycamore looking out.
I focused on my breath, coming and going.
I listened to the sounds in the room, and felt for an answer.
In a flash, I was drawn to the old fireplace mantle, and I ran my hands over the marble.
Looking for, I knew not what.
I was about to give up, when I felt something under a bracket on the side of the mantle.
I ducked down, and squinted at it, and the others, cats and all, looked with me.
Is that, I asked, a keyhole, said the pirate witch.
The innkeeper fumbled her keychain from her pocket, and looked for one that matched the slot.
Now I, I don't think I have a key for that.
I know where all these go, already.
From over her shoulder came an arm, swathed in silky black material, and clutched in the fingers, was an old rusty key.
The innkeeper and I turned, both of us, with mouths agape, to look at the newest witch.
What? Where? I started.
She smiled and said, the crows gave it to me, a few weeks ago.
I thought it was just a trinket, they found, but I've kept it in my pocket, in case it was more than that.
And now I think it is.
With a gulp, the innkeeper took it, and fitted it into the hole.
It took both hands to turn, but when she did, a piece of paneling beside the bookcase slid open, and a dark hallway appeared from behind it.
We could make out the bottom step of a staircase, that ascended to somewhere unknown.
The lights in the room flickered, and I felt the house itself sighing contentedly, as its last unknown space was finally unlocked.
We edged up to the secret doorway, my pink bunny slippers beside the sensible shoes of the innkeeper, the black boots of the pirate, and the grey and midnight paws of the cats.
Sycamore lifted his face to sniff the air.
I could smell old paper, and with another flash of understanding, I knew that, among many other treasures in this hidden space, we would find something that the other innkeeper had left for safekeeping.
Maybe even knowing that when the time was right, the panel would slide back, and the trove would be found.
As the band played above us, I conjured a candle from my pocket, lit it from my fingertip, and handed it to the innkeeper.
Her face lit with the glow of excitement and adventure, and we stepped onto the secret stair.
The secret stair. My breath fogged the air as I stood outside the inn.
The Halloween party was in full swing, and I stopped what I was doing to sidle closer to a window, and peer in at the flickering candlelight and the guests arriving, climbing the great staircase in their costumes.
I could feel the silliness, hear the laughter and chatter, smell good sense from the treats waiting up in the ballroom.
It washed over me like sunshine on a cold day, and I smiled in the dark, eager to join them.
But first, I had a job to do.
I felt into the pockets of my robe.
No, not a witch's robe, though I can see how you got there.
I was playing into the stereotype a bit and making fun of it at the same time by wearing my fuzziest bathrobe, pink bunny slippers, and a head full of rollers rather than a spidery patched witch's hat.
It was honestly the most comfortable Halloween costume I'd ever worn, and I decided that every October the 31st from here on out, I'd be elevating comfort over fashion.
From my pocket, I took a glass jar that was a third full of salt and a wooden spoon with a long handle.
I stepped away from the window and started down a stone path toward the back of the inn.
Glad the moon was near full tonight.
The light felt like company as I walked.
I slunk past the inn's back porch where several carved pumpkins watched me with hollow eyes and toothy grins.
I followed the stairs down toward the lake and stopped at the fire pit.
The chairs were gone at this point in the year, put away in one of the sheds until next summer, but that was fine.
I wasn't here to stargaze or warm my feet at a fire.
I squatted down to where bonfires had burned for decades or longer and used my wooden spoon to scoop ashes into my jar with my salt.
I screwed the top back on the jar and cleaned my spoon off in the dewy grass before tucking it back into my robe pocket and standing tall.
I shook the jar to mix the ash and salt together.
I was making a simple protection spell.
It was one of the first ones I'd read from my grandmother's book when it had come to me.
Mix salt, it said, and even part with ashes from any sacred fire and sprinkle around doors and windows to keep those inside safe and at ease.
It was sacred here at the inn, many things.
I could have taken ashes from the fireplace in the library or from the charcoal grill where Chef cooked zucchini and veggie burgers for the guests.
But my first thought had been about all the people who sat round the flames here, pleasantly worn out after a day of sun and swimming, making memories with their friends, sweethearts, or children, wishing on shooting stars and telling stories as the moon rose.
I carried the jar around the inn, sprinkling the salt at each window cell or door frame.
When I came to the library, a face met me at the window and I jumped.
With my hand over my heart and my breath caught in my chest, I looked up at the gray face and yellow eyes of Cinder, my cat, who, not wanting to get her paws wet in the dew, had gone into the party without me.
I hissed her name as I came down from the fright.
Cinder, and she meowed at me through the glass.
Beside her, a second cat, this one black as night, appeared.
Sycamore, who lived at the inn and had become fast friends with Cinder, meowed as well.
Their breath fogged against the glass, and Cinder leaned forward and left a nose print on it.
It reminded me of the sigils carved into the door frame at my shop.
Spells hewn into the wood.
This was Cinder's spell, calling me into the house.
I decided to work smarter and sprinkled the rest of the black salt into my hand.
I opened my palm and called on the evening breeze to carry the salt all around the inn.
I closed my eyes and felt the wind whipping, whirling around me.
The lobears of my bunny slippers were buffeted in it, and soon my palm was empty and the night calm and quiet again.
Well, that's one thing done, I said to myself as I turned toward the front of the old house.
Renewing protection and prosperity spells were something all of us in the village circle did regularly.
But tonight I had another chore on my list.
Though it was still a bit of a mystery to me, shrouded even from my keen sight.
There was a puzzle here at the inn that needed me and Cinder, who met me at the door as I came through.
The entry of the inn was absolutely stunning, especially to a witch on Halloween.
A hundred small pumpkins marked each step of the grand central staircase.
And the old crystal chandelier was wrapped in gray cobwebs.
From somewhere far off, a bone -rattling jazz band played.
And the place teemed with flickering candlelight and the scent of caramel.
I stood for a moment, taking it all in, looking up through the stairs and breathing in the air of this old house.
This was sacred to me too.
It was something I thought of often, a part of how I lived and made decisions.
Reminding myself of what mattered to me, what was worth working or fighting for, and which were the things that didn't deserve my precious energy.
Places like this were worth it, filled my cup, as did, of course, the people I found here.
I looked around for the innkeeper, my eyes sweeping over guests as they mingled and climbed the stairs.
There were plenty of spooky folk out tonight, and plenty more, just dressed as such.
I saw a few sisters from my circle.
I saw the baker from the shop downtown, and laughed as I realized that seeing her out of her apron felt wrong in some way.
She wore an elaborate gown and elf ears that suited her very well indeed.
I scooted past the man who owned the bicycle shop, dressed in an old -fashioned baseball uniform.
His front was dusted with red dirt, like he'd just slid into home base, and in one hand he held a drink and the other a worn mitt.
A masked pirate with a saber, dressed all in black, took me by the arm, and I recognized our newest witch.
She guided me past the staircase and into the hall.
Cinder says, you have a mystery to solve?
She whispered. Plaid her mouth, I said, as I frowned down at the cat.
A stay -puffed marshmallow squeezed past us, and I giggled as I recognized Chef under the disguise.
I thought you'd go as a pickle this year, I said.
Nah, too on the nose.
I contained multitudes, they said back, as they moved past us.
Just then, a woman turned a corner down the hall, and something in my awareness hiccuped.
She wore a pale, old -fashioned dress, with full sleeves and a dark caperon.
Her hair was pinned up at the back of her head.
And though I recognized her, she was the innkeeper.
I also didn't. There was a haze around her.
I brought my hands up in front of my face, as if I were holding an old -fashioned spyglass.
Peering through them, I rotated my hands till she came into focus.
And I saw that the mist was a dreamy purple, spangled with stars, like the night sky.
She was carrying my mystery.
I leaned over to the masked pirate, and asked her to ask Sycamore to herd the innkeeper into the library.
As you wish, she tilted her head, her eyes closed under the mask.
And though I listened intently, I couldn't tune into her frequency.
But Sycamore, who'd been wandering by the front door, obviously could.
He turned toward us, and tilted his head as well, then sloped toward the innkeeper, and rubbed his cheek against her ankle.
She bent down to pet him, but he inched away.
She reached again, taking a step forward, and he took one back.
And this way, step by step, he ushered her down the hall and into the library.
We stepped in after them, and closed the door with a quiet snap.
At the sound, the innkeeper looked up at us, a puzzled smile on her face.
Cinder sat at her feet, and purred, in a calm, reassuring way.
I think I've come to grant you a Halloween wish, I said, with a chuckle in my voice.
Is there some mystery about the house?
Or... my eyes roved over her face, and I was struck with the sudden knowing that my talents sometimes gifted me.
The other innkeeper, I asked, with awe in my voice.
I had a vague memory of hearing that before this place had fallen into disrepair, before the decades when it had sat empty.
There had been another who watched over the guests, and walked the halls.
She smiled broadly, and reached for my hands.
Yes! Can you tell me anything about her?
I feel like she's my sister, from another century.
As she spoke, I let my mind quiet, and my senses sharpen.
There was a reason we were in this room, the library, where I'd looked in earlier, and seen Cinder and Sycamore looking out.
I focused on my breath, coming and going, listened to the sounds in the room, and just felt for an answer.
In a flash, I was drawn to the old fireplace mantel, and I ran my hands over the marble, looking for my knew -not -what.
I was about to give up when I felt something under a bracket at the side of the mantel.
I ducked down and squinted at it, and the others, cats and all, looked with me.
Is that, I asked, a keyhole, said the pirate witch.
The innkeeper fumbled her key -chain from her pocket, and looked for one that matched the slot.
Oh, no, I don't think I have a key for that.
I know where all these go, already.
From over her shoulder came an arm, swathed in silky black material, and clutched in the fingers was an old rusty key.
The innkeeper and I turned, both of us with our mouths agape, to look at the newest witch.
What? Where? I started.
She smiled and said, the crows gave it to me, a few weeks ago.
I thought it was just a trinket they found, but I've kept it in my pocket, in case it was something more than that.
And now I think it is.
With a gulp, the innkeeper took it, and fitted it into the hole.
It took both hands to turn, but when she did, a piece of paneling beside the bookcase slid open, and a dark hallway appeared from behind it.
We could make out the bottom step of a staircase that ascended to somewhere unknown.
The lights in the room flickered, and I felt the house itself sighing contentedly as its last unknown space was finally unlocked.
We edged up to the secret doorway, my pink bunny slippers beside the sensible shoes of the innkeeper.
The black boots of the pirate, on the grey and midnight paws of the cats.
Sycamore lifted his face to sniff the air.
I could smell old paper, and with another flash of understanding, I knew that among many other treasures in this hidden space, we would find something that the other innkeeper had left here for safekeeping.
Maybe even knowing that when the time was right, the panel would be slid back, and the trove would be found.
As the band played above us, I conjured a candle from my pocket, lit it from my fingertip and handed it over to the innkeeper.
Her face lit with the glow of excitement and adventure, and we stepped onto the secret stair.
Sweet dreams.
