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Hello, friends, and welcome to Sleep Tight Stories.
We love getting to know our listeners through your stories, messages and birthday wishes.
These shout outs are one of our ways of staying connected and saying thank you for being part of our Sleep Tight community.
We'd like to say hello to Constance and hello to Livvy who is always sending us great story ideas.
Happy birthday to Carson Gibson, may you continue to wonder about the world, from mom and dad.
Happy 6th birthday Nora.
Mom and dad love you, and hope you have a wonderful day.
Happy 7th birthday to Leon from Sydney, Australia on June 17th.
Mommy and Daddy are so proud of the funny, smart, and kind person you've become.
They love you so much and can't wait to celebrate with you.
Happy 7th birthday Josie and congratulations on finishing 1st grade.
We love you. Love Mom, Dad, and Rowan.
Happy 7th birthday to Connor on June 22nd.
You continue to amaze us with your kindness, big -brain ideas, and sense of humor.
The world is better because you're in it.
Love, Mama, Mammy, Papa, Julius, and Pinocchio.
Happy 7th Birthday to Charlie in Brooklyn from Mommy, Daddy and Beatrice.
We love you so much and are so proud of you.
Happy 8th birthday to Katey in East Norrington, Pennsylvania on June 22nd.
Mom, DeeDee and Connell love you very much. And a big happy birthday to Clark who has a birthday on June 22nd.
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Now, on to our story.
Ethan cannot wait to get back to his grandmother's to go up to the attic and see if there are any more books by his great -grandfather to read.
Ethan has a snack and heads upstairs and finds a new book on the table by his chair.
Ethan and the Tale of the Midnight Bookbinder See ya later, Bernice.
Ethan called out as he continued on his way to Grandma's house.
And thanks for the cookies!
please? You're welcome!
Bernice called back, see you tomorrow." Bernice and Ethan often walked home together after school, except on those days when his mom or dad finished work early.
But that wasn't very often.
Ethan's grandmother's house was just around the corner from Bernice's, so it didn't take him long to get there.
It was an old house, older than Bernice's, and many of the other homes in the neighborhood.
It was surrounded by a white picket fence that was a bit worn in places.
When he was really young, Ethan thought the house looked super spooky like something from a Halloween movie.
But now he thought it just had character.
His grandmother sometimes tried to scare him by saying there was a ghost that floated around the house, but Ethan wasn't scared.
Much. The front gate squeaked when he opened it and he walked up to the big front door and quickly went inside.
He really wanted to explore the attic again.
Hi grandma, it's me Ethan, your favourite grandson, he called out as he took off his sneakers.
Can I go up the attic and read, I really want to find some more books and stuff like that.
Grandma used to have a black cat, but she said he went off to explore the world last year.
Come out to the kitchen first, Ethan.
Have a snack and tell me about your day, his grandmother replied.
Ethan was in a big rush to get upstairs, but at the sound of the word snack, his stomach started grumbling, so he thought he should have something to eat.
I have some of Bernice's papa's cookies leftover and some crackers with cheese which should tide you over until dinner," his grandmother said as she set a plate on the table.
Thanks, Grandma. Can I have some milk too?" Yes, dear.
How was school today?
Did you learn anything interesting?
School certainly has changed since I was your age." It was okay, Grandma, the usual stuff.
It's almost the end of the school year so not much new.
Mostly review. I did get a chance to go to the library today, which was cool.
I went with Bernice and Gertrude.
And while they did research, I got to read some old history books.
That was fun. Bobby usually comes, but I think he had some other assignment.
Ethan paused to take a bite of cookie.
At lunchtime, our new friend Addi shared some of her lunch with me.
I couldn't share mine with her though because she's sensitive to gluten and stuff like that.
I remember you mentioning Addi before.
What kind of food did she share with you?
I love that you kids get to experience each other's lunches.
I feel like I'm traveling the world when you tell me about it." It was a quinoa salad.
It wasn't my favorite, but I appreciated her sharing it, Ethan said, before stuffing the last cracker and cheese in his mouth.
After washing it down with milk, Ethan asked, Can I go upstairs and find another book?
I don't have any homework and I really want to find something to read before mom comes to pick me up?" Ethan's grandmother laughed.
Okay, off you go then.
Be careful going up those stairs to the attic.
They're steep. Ethan climbed the steep creaky stairs to the attic, his excitement growing with each step.
The afternoon sunlight streamed through the small round window, casting a warm glow across the room full of books and stories.
He made his way to his favorite reading spot by the window, but before settling down, he noticed something new on the small table beside his chair.
A thin, hand -bound book sat there that hadn't been there the last time he had been here.
The cover was faded blue and written across the front in his great grandfather William's careful handwriting were the words, the mystery of the midnight book binder, a true story from our town.
Grandma must have found this and left it for me, Ethan thought carefully picking up the book.
It felt different from the family stories he'd read before, older somehow and more mysterious.
He opened the cover and saw Williams' familiar introduction written in NeatScript.
It was just a bit hard to read because it was written in the way old people used to write.
This is a story I pieced together over many years from conversations with neighbors and my own observations.
It happened right here in our town when I was a young man, and I believe it shows how one person's love for something precious can touch an entire community.
Some mysteries are worth solving, not to expose secrets, but to honor quiet acts of kindness, W.
Thompson. Ethan settled into his chair.
The book balanced carefully in his lap.
As he turned to the first page, he immediately felt at ease as he began to read.
It was the autumn of 1923 William's story began and I had been running the family store for about two years.
Business was steady and I was beginning to feel like I truly belonged in this town that had welcomed me with nothing but a suitcase and a handful of coins.
The mystery began on a Tuesday morning when Mrs. Henderson came into the store with the strangest expression on her face, half puzzled, half delighted.
William, she said, setting a small children's book on my counter.
Have you ever seen anything like this?
The book was The Tale of Peter Rabbit and it looked absolutely perfect.
The cover was a rich blue cloth with gold lettering, that almost glowed in the morning light.
The pages were crisp and white and the binding was so expertly done that it could have come straight from a fine bookshop in the city.
It's beautiful, Mrs. Henderson, I told her.
Did you order it from somewhere special?
That's just it, William.
This is the same book that my little Tommy tore nearly in half last month.
The pages were falling out, the cover was stained with jam, and I was ready to throw it away.
But yesterday morning, I found it sitting on my front porch looking exactly like this.
I examined the book more closely.
There wasn't a single sign of damage.
Not a torn page. Not a stain.
Not even a bent corner.
Someone must have replaced it, I suggested.
But who? And how did they know Tommy had damaged this exact book?
Besides, she added, opening to the first page, look here.
Inside the front cover, in Tommy's wobbly handwriting, were the words, Tommy Henderson, age 5.
It was definitely the same book.
At the time, I thought it was simply a kind neighbor who had somehow managed to repair Mrs. Henderson's book.
Unusual, certainly, but not impossible.
I had no idea that this was only the beginning of what would become our town's most wonderful mystery.
As Ethan read these opening lines, he found himself leaning forward in his chair, amazed by the puzzle that had unfolded in his own neighborhood nearly a century ago.
Over the next few weeks, William's story continued.
More people began arriving at the store with similar tales.
Each story was more remarkable than the last. Old Mr. Peterson brought in a leather -bound journal that had belonged to his late wife.
The spine had been completely separated from the pages, and water damage from a leaky roof had warped most of the cover.
Yet there it was on his doorstep one morning, perfectly restored with a new leather spine that matched the original so well you couldn't tell where the repair had been made.
40 years of Mai Martha's recipes and household notes, he told me, his voice shaking slightly.
I thought they were lost forever.
Now look, it's more beautiful than when she first started writing in it !" Young Sarah Miller, who was studying to be a teacher, found her collection of children's books completely restored after they'd been damaged in a kitchen fire.
Not only were the scorch marks gone, but each book had been carefully cleaned and rebound.
Some even had small decorative elements added.
tiny pressed flowers between certain pages, or delicate border designs drawn in the margins.
The pattern was always the same.
Damaged books would disappear from porches or windowsills overnight, only to reappear within a few days transformed.
No one ever saw who was taking them or returning them, no notes were left, no payment was requested.
My curiosity got the better of me.
I started keeping a list of every restored book that people mentioned, trying to find some pattern.
Were certain types of books chosen?
Was there a schedule to the repairs?
I even began staying up late, watching from my store window, hoping to catch a glimpse of our mysterious book doctor.
One particularly dark October night I thought I saw a figure moving between the houses on Maple Street carrying what looked like a small bundle.
But by the time I had grabbed my coat and stepped outside, whoever it was had vanished.
The repairs themselves were clearly the work of someone with real skill.
I had learned a bit about bookbinding from my father, who had once worked in a print shop, and I could tell you that these weren't amateur attempts.
Whoever was doing this work had proper tools, quality materials and years of experience.
I began asking subtle questions around town.
Had anyone seen unusual activity at night?
Did anyone know of someone with bookbinding skills?
But I was careful not to sound like I was trying to solve the mystery in order to stop it.
The whole town had grown fond of our midnight guardian, and no one wanted the magic to end.
The mystery deepened when I realized that the restored books weren't just repaired, they were improved.
Weak bindings were reinforced, faded text was somehow refreshed, and torn illustrations were seamlessly mended.
It was as if each book was being given a second chance at life.
Ethan paused in his reading, trying to imagine the quiet streets of his town, nearly a hundred years ago, and wondering what it would have been like witness such mysterious kindness.
The solution to our mystery came on a cold November night, when I had stayed particularly late at the store working on inventory.
A thick fog had rolled in from the river, muffling all sound and making the familiar streets look strange and dreamlike.
I was just about to lock up when I saw her, A slight figure, moving carefully through the fog, carrying a small leather satchel and what appeared to be several books wrapped in cloth.
She moved with purpose but quietly, pausing at each house as if checking for something specific.
Rather than call out, I followed at a distance, my curiosity finally overcoming my caution.
She made her way to the Chen's family bakery where she settled on the covered back porch. By the light of a small lamp I watched her unwrap her tools.
Alts, needles, thread, small pots of glue and pieces of cloth in various colors.
It was Sarah Chen the Baker's 16 year old daughter.
I had seen her in the store many times, usually buying flour or sugar for her family's business.
But she was always quiet, polite and quick to leave. Now I watched her work with the concentration of a master craftsman, carefully separating the pages of a damaged book and preparing to rebind it.
I approached slowly, not wanting to startle her.
Sarah, I whispered.
She looked up, her eyes wide with surprise and something that might have been fear.
Mr. Thompson, IโI wasn't doing anything wrong, was I?
Nothing wrong at all, I assured her quickly.
I've been wondering who our town's book angel was.
How did you learn to do this?
Sarah's story came out in quiet bursts as she continued working.
She had taught herself bookbinding by reading every manual she could find in the small town library.
Her family didn't have money for many books, but she loved them so much that it made her sad whenever she saw broken or thrown away books.
I can't bear to see Books suffering, she explained, her skilled hands never stopping their careful work.
They hold so many stories, so many important things.
When people lose them, part of their life gets lost too.
She had been buying supplies with money saved from helping her parents in the bakery, working only at night so no one would feel obligated to pay her or make a fuss.
From that night forward, I became Sarah's silent partner.
I began quietly supplying her with better materials and collecting damaged books at my store for her to repair.
Her identity remained our secret, but her work continued to bring wonder to our town.
Years later, when the town finally built a proper library, Sarah became our first librarian.
Many of the books she saved during those midnight hours are still being checked out by new generations of readers, carrying her quiet gift forward through time.
Ethan closed the book gently and sat quietly for a moment.
He looked around at all the books surrounding him in the attic, books that had been collected and cared for over decades.
How many of them had their own stories of being saved or restored?
The smell of something delicious cooking downstairs drifted up to the attic.
Onions and garlic and something that made his mouth water.
His grandmother must have started dinner.
Ethan's stomach gave a little rumble reminding him that he'd only had cookies and crackers for his snack.
"'Ethan,' his grandmother called from downstairs, "'your mother's here to pick you up.' He carefully placed William's story back on the small table and made his way downstairs.
His grandmother was stirring something that smelled amazing in a big pot on the stove.
Did you find something interesting up there?
she asked with a knowing smile.
I read about Sarah Chen the midnight book binder Ethan said was she really a real person.
Oh yes very real. She was still the librarian when I was young.
Such a kind woman. His grandmother paused her stirring.
You know, some of those books upstairs were actually repaired by Sarah herself, all those years ago.
Really? Ethan said with a surprised look.
Ethan, sweetheart, his mother called from the front door.
Ready to go home? Coming mom.
I have a new story to share with you on the drive home.
And that is the end of our story.
Good night. Sleep tight.
you
