Hello, everyone. This is Rhea with a quick note.
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Now on to the show.
This is Rhea. Welcome to Little Stories for Tiny People.
Usually, I record my stories beginning at 2 .11 in the afternoon when the sun is high in the sky and the air is warm.
But right now, it is midnight and here I am in my tiny studio.
You see, I was awakened by coyotes outside my window.
It is difficult to get back to sleep once you've been awakened by coyotes.
And eventually, after trying all of my usual strategies, doing cartwheels, baking cranberry muffins, dusting all of my 37 clocks, I accepted the fact that I was up.
So I decided to make myself as useful as possible by telling you a story.
It's called Climb Aboard, The Sleep Tractor.
Let's hear it. Take it away, Mason, Jackson, and Finley.
Remember, there are no pictures.
You have to imagine the pictures in your mind.
You can imagine them however you want.
Okay, here we go. Landon was smack in the middle of a sleep cycle when he startled awake to a strange sound.
It was coming from outside the window of his bedroom but he wasn't aware of that.
Not yet. He simply blinked open his eyes in the dark.
Gradually, he understood that something or someone was outside.
He heaved himself up from his bed and clomped to the window.
The sky was a deep navy blue.
The moon was a faint glow behind a cloud.
And there were three creatures in the tree outside.
But as soon as Landon's eyes began to focus, the creatures launched themselves off the branch and flew away.
Were those chickens?
Landon chuckled to himself.
I must be seeing things.
He muttered with a yawn.
Chickens don't land in trees, do they?
And they certainly don't wear suspenders.
Landon returned to bed, determined to fall back to sleep.
But he never did. It could be nearly impossible to get back to sleep once you're forced out of bed.
The silver lining to it all was that he saw the sunrise through the window.
Landon's stomach was uneasy at breakfast, so he only ate a few bites of his oatmeal with carrot shavings.
By lunchtime at school, he was starving and his disrupted sleep was catching up to him.
His head felt heavy as he shoveled alfalfa patties into his mouth.
His stomach went from being desperately empty to uncomfortably full.
When the bell rang, he dragged himself to class.
Lunch was bad enough, but then the class celebrated a birthday for Yarnetta and Yarnessa, twin sheep who tended to finish each other's sentences.
We brought candied turnips to share with everyone.
The candied turnips were so sugary, they sent a jolt of energy to Landon's head midway through his final class as Ms.
Lumsworth walked the class through the process of selecting the correct knitting needle for a woolen project.
Can anyone tell me one of the primary considerations too well to consider when selecting knitting needles?
Anyone, anyone. Landon crashed.
One minute he was listening to Wulsena take a wild guess.
Is the weather a consideration?
The next he was sound asleep with his cheek smushed against his desk.
He drifted into a dream, featuring the chickens that couldn't possibly have been perched in his tree wearing suspenders.
Remember to do page 371 in knitting secrets revealed, the chicken said inexplicably.
Then they all started clucking at once.
It was the strangest clucking he'd ever heard.
It almost sounded like Landon lifted his head and saw he was the last sheep in the classroom.
The school bell was ringing and it sounded nothing like chickens.
Do you need to see the nurse, dear?
Ms. Lumsworth asked, her eyes filled with concern.
Landon recalled the last time he'd been sent to the nurse.
The office smelled like moth balls and nurse Yarnley kept her radio on the polka station.
Uh, no thanks. Landon grabbed his things and rushed out before Ms.
Lumsworth could protest.
The sky was a bright blue and the trees were painted with autumn colors.
There was a pleasant chill in the air, but Landon was exhausted and he focused on not tripping as he walked.
At home, he somehow scrawled enough words on his work to consider it done.
Good enough. Dinner was alphabet soup and Landon mustered all his strength to prevent his head from falling into his bowl.
And he was dimly aware of a fly buzzing around him.
Huh? He swatted at it.
Was it his imagination or did that fly swoop down into his soup?
He swatted again, then went back to eating.
But when he looked at his bowl, he did a double take.
The alphabet pasta spelled out words.
You are getting very sleepy.
Landon turned to his words in my soup.
But by the time his sister leaned over, the letters had drifted apart.
Share Landon, are you okay, dear?
You look, well, you look ill.
He was not ill. He was getting very sleepy.
Later, as Landon brushed his teeth, he chided himself.
There were no words in my soup.
And whatever woke me up this morning was definitely not.
Landon dropped his toothbrush and it clattered to the floor.
Cautiously, he clumped from the bathroom to his bedroom.
There, beside his bed, were three frantic eyed chickens wearing denim jeans held up by bright blue suspenders.
Ah, what are you doing here?
Landon said, but there was only one explanation for this.
And for the fact that his day had gone off track from the first moment he woke up that morning.
And for the fact that these chickens were standing in his room wearing ridiculous outfits and staring at him with wild eyes.
Besides, he'd met these particular chickens before.
They worked for the sleep crew.
The company that ran the magical sleep train that took him on relaxing nighttime journeys.
And for some reason, they wanted him to be sleep deprived.
You woke me up early this morning, he said, stifling another yawn.
The biggest chicken spoke to the others.
Do not answer him. He's trying to trick us, but he figured us out.
And somehow, you rearranged the letters in my soup.
That wasn't us. That was Freddy.
Freddy? Shh, stop telling him things.
I forgot. Who is Freddy?
Do not answer. He's a fly.
A fly! Landon slapped his forehead with a hoof.
Would anyone like to explain why the sleep crew wants me to be extra tired?
Hmm? Your account has been flagged.
Flagged. Landon sensed the beginnings of a headache.
The largest chicken nudged the smallest, who withdrew a notebook from beneath a wing.
You've been flagged, the smaller chicken said, reading from her notebook, as a button hesitator.
The chicken snapped the notebook shut.
Hey, let me see that, Landon said, stepping forward, but the chickens formed a wall.
It's confidential. That means you can't look at it.
A button hesitator?
You mean, I take too long to press my button?
The chickens nodded enthusiastically.
He's slow with the button, but not with the thinking.
We were told to exhaust you.
Exhaustion reduces button hesitation, according to our studies.
Landon had often hesitated before pressing the button under his pillow, because so often, it took him not to his favorite, the sleep train, but to something else entirely.
He staggered to his pillow and peeled it back.
There was his button, shiny, gleaming.
Where will it take me?
He asked, turning to the chickens.
He could hear the tiredness in his own voice.
He had little fight left in him.
He's already convinced he'll go where we sent him.
He'll board the sleep tractor, just as we planned.
As we planned. Landon thought he'd misheard.
A sleep tractor? How could that ever be relaxing?
But he was so sleepy, he just wanted to recline in a comfortable seat, no matter where it was.
With a yawn, Landon reached out a hoof and pressed his button.
A great, swirling cloud streamed upwards.
The last thing Landon saw were the chickens, beaming, so pleased.
Their plan had worked like a charm.
There is so much more to this story.
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And thank you, as always, for listening in.
