The Christmas Message - A Neworld Sleep Story

This Sleep Story is set in the fictional world Stephanie Poppins created in her novel 'Tales of the Neworld'. Let her soothing voice ease you off into a calm, relaxing sleep as you listen to the tale of the little boy, who tried so hard to please his father at Christmas, that he didn't realize it would take the help of a friendly robin to get him out of the mess he made...

Transcript

Hello,

This is SD Hudson.

Welcome to my new world parables.

These parables have been created to complement my novels,

Which take place in an alternate dimension.

Filled with anthropomorphic people who possess an intellect equal to humans,

The new world is a place of unparalleled beauty,

Where only the most honorable and valiant live.

With a propensity to kindness,

They spend their days whittling,

Weaving,

Or best of all foraging in the woodland copses.

Now it was a long time ago when this story took place,

And the old world was not as poisonous as it is now.

So the wise ones sent some folk to visit,

That they might create a bond between the two worlds,

And so learn from each other.

As it happened,

The old world learned very little,

But the new world learned much.

And when they returned,

The wise one decreed,

A book of parables be written,

That the new world might benefit from the things his acolytes had seen.

This parable is the second in that book.

It is about a boy who loved his father so much,

He decided to face his fears,

No matter what the consequences.

There was once a young boy who lived in a large house on the edge of a small town.

He was the only son of a rather well-to-do gentleman,

And as such considerably more privileged than others his age.

But although he was very bright,

And possessed many things others did not,

At times he was very lonely,

As his father was always busy,

And his mother long since dead.

There was one good thing about spending so much time alone,

However.

It meant he could teach himself to do just about everything a boy would need to do in order to satisfy his wild imagination.

For this boy was what is commonly known as a dreamer,

And the things he did were driven by a need to fulfil such dreams.

Had his father been around when he did them,

He probably would have gotten into a lot of trouble.

For people tend not to go around cutting things up that don't belong to them,

Do they?

Or playing with things they really have no business playing with.

But this boy was free to do exactly as he pleased for the majority of the time,

And so he did just that.

So it happened one cold afternoon in December,

When the pathway to his treehouse was buried in a carpet of snow so thick it was impossible to dig through.

The boy decided it was time to do the one thing he had been putting off for as long as he could remember.

Christmas was coming,

And soon his father would be back with a promise of a gift more wonderful than the boy had ever received before.

Although deep in his heart he felt there could be no greater gift than spending time together,

But nevertheless he wanted to do something just as great in return.

Unfortunately there was little catch.

In order to do the one thing that would eclipse all others,

He would have to brave the cold dark cellars that ran underneath the house.

He was rightfully terrified of course,

But knew if he managed this,

It would mean more to his father than any other gift he could possibly offer.

So putting on his bravest face,

He made his way to the furthest corner of the house and the heavily bolted wooden door.

It was quiet in the little corridor.

Being so far away from the rest of the house,

It was very quiet indeed.

But curiosity had now gotten the better of him and he wasn't about to be put off with his usual imaginings.

So placing the thick metal ring deep into the jaws of the gardener's old bolt cutters,

The young boy closed his eyes and pressed down as hard as he could.

Snap!

Yes,

He exclaimed,

Surprised at his own strength,

And releasing the shackle from the clutches of the heavy padlock,

He slid back the blackened rod,

Lifted the latch,

And shoved the wooden cellar door as hard as he could.

The large black doorway spat out a cloud of dust in disgust at being so rudely disturbed,

And he coughed as he dragged the back of his hand across his face to clear his eyes.

It was so dark inside,

He could see no further than the first vault.

Constructed of blocks the colour of russet red running up and over the highly arched ceiling in uniform,

It was a most imposing sight,

The entrance to a place long since forgotten.

If there are going to be ghosts anywhere,

They'll be in here,

He said to himself,

Yanking at his thick turtle neck.

They like the cold and the damp.

But he stepped in nevertheless,

And the darkness engulfed him.

I should have got the torch,

But that would mean a trip upstairs and a return to the lessons he should,

By all rights,

Still be in.

No,

He would have to go without.

After all,

There was a tiny light up ahead,

Even if it was at the end of the tunnel.

This is for father,

Remember,

Stop wasting your time and get on with it,

He said to himself.

But try as he might,

The young boy just could not rid himself of the fear tugging the back of his dusty grey trousers.

He reminded himself of the conversation he had overheard all those months ago,

The one following the rogue arrow he had shot from his new bow,

That very same bow his father had gifted him only days before.

With one fatal shot he had pierced through the side of his father's best birdhouse,

Splitting the wood in two.

The master loves that birdhouse,

Cook had said.

One of his greatest pleasures,

That is,

Watching the birds come and go,

What a shame.

His own father made it for him and all,

When he was nothing more than a nipper.

Never mind,

Matron had pressed.

The little one was just playing,

As all little ones do,

The master wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

It'll be mended soon enough,

I'm sure.

Well who's going to tell him?

That's what I want to know,

Because it ain't going to be me.

I'll be the one telling him.

Don't you worry about that,

Matron had insisted.

Now I'd best be getting on and you'd best stop making trouble where there's none to be had.

And turning on her heels,

She added,

And don't forget the lad's supper now.

Put an extra kipper on for him,

Will you?

He's looking a bit peaky as of late.

Matron had always had the boy's welfare high on her list of priorities,

Especially since his last bout.

She could help him now,

But no.

If it was the last thing he did,

He wanted to show his father he was old enough and strong enough to put things right on his own.

A little bit of dark wasn't going to stop him.

So with a rush of adrenaline and a burst of pride,

The boy faced the way ahead,

Determined to reach the old storage room where the remnants of his father's birdhouse were waiting for him.

He could just see his father's face when he presented him with a new,

Fixed version.

How impressed he would be with his son for being so brave and thoughtful.

Then all would be right again and he would,

In his eyes,

Be deserving once more of the love his father had.

It was no more than an hour later and all was silent.

The grip on the young boy's throat was now so tight he could barely breathe.

He looked up at the large stone vent.

It had been bright,

But he had used up all its brightness in looking for the bird box now held close to his chest.

With a click of the latch,

He had become trapped in the dark and now he had nothing more than an old wooden carcass to keep him company.

You coming in for a cuppa before you leave?

It was Matron.

She was speaking to the gardener outside.

It's freezing out there and you've not got any gloves on.

Matron!

There was no way she would be able to hear the boy from there.

Matron!

Oh,

Are we all right?

Replied the gardener,

Eager to begin his long journey home which we would now have to take on foot.

Okie dokie,

Matron replied.

Here,

You ain't seen the little one around,

Have you?

He's been very quiet this last hour and that's not like him at all.

No,

It's far too cold out here for his asthma.

I'd have bid him in if I'd have seen him,

Said the gardener.

He must be in there somewhere.

Try the dinner gong.

If he misses that,

You know you've got trouble.

Will do.

Have a good night then,

She replied as she shut the door and with it,

The last chance for the young boy to be heard.

His breathing was becoming more and more laboured now.

He would certainly have another attack if he wasn't careful.

This is it.

This is where I'll die,

He said to himself,

And I'll never get a chance to see father again.

He slumped back against the damp bricks,

Preparing for his untimely demise.

There was no one around to help him now,

No one that is,

Until a friendly red robin hopped through the gap in the large stone vent to say hello.

He stared at the boy and the boy stared back,

And without so much as a whistle or a chirp,

He settled himself into the broken bird box where he stayed until the young boy's chest relaxed into a calm rhythm once more.

The boy wasn't sure what time it was when he awoke.

It was certainly still dark and much colder than he remembered it being,

But now there was something different in the air,

A feeling of hope,

Although he wasn't quite certain why.

Matron,

He called out again,

But nobody answered.

He listened carefully.

The robin had gone,

And yet he wasn't as frightened as he was before.

Perhaps he had spent so long in the dark there was nothing more to fear,

Or perhaps it was the moon.

Yes,

Yes,

He could see the moon,

That was it.

He could always rely on the moon.

He stood up,

Slowly,

Carefully.

They'll come looking soon enough,

Won't they?

He said to himself,

But as quickly as his fear had gone,

It returned.

He was alone.

The robin had gone,

And now the dark winter clouds were about to cover up his one remaining ally.

Help,

He cried,

His voice so weak nobody would be able to hear it.

Nobody but the robin,

That is.

You're back,

He whispered,

His voice weak,

His mouth drier still.

You can't get me out of here,

Though,

Can you?

But he was wrong,

For all of a sudden a flash of light beamed in through the vent,

And there was his father huddled up against the stone,

Knee deep in the thick snow,

A desperate look in his eyes.

There you are!

The boy could hardly believe it,

He had been saved by no more than a little red robin.

What on earth are you doing in there?

His father exclaimed,

But before his son had time to answer,

Or indeed burst into tears,

He added,

It's okay,

Son,

I'm here now.

Just hold on,

I'm coming.

And after what seemed like an age,

But was actually only minutes,

The heavy wooden cellar door opened once more,

Flooding the dark tunnel with everything that makes a home a home,

Warm light,

The smell of winter cooking,

And his father's strong arms.

And when at last the panic had died down and the many apologies been made,

They settled together in the lobby,

Where they ate enough toasted marshmallows and drank enough hot milk,

They were full to bursting.

And looking into the golden flames licking each wall of the huge fireplace,

His father said,

I am proud of you,

My son.

You faced the unknown,

Even though you were uncertain as to where it would lead.

And you did that for me.

He picked up the old bird box,

And the flames caught a tear in his eye.

I'm sorry,

Father,

I wanted it to be a surprise,

Said the boy.

It's certainly that,

His father smiled.

But you know,

My son,

There is no greater gift than the one you have given me this day.

The gift of sacrifice,

For you knew you would be afraid,

Yet you took a chance regardless.

And that means more to me than anything you could have fixed and made right again.

We will mend this box together.

And now,

Now I shall present you with my gift.

And reaching into his old leather bag,

He pulled out a strange looking bundle and sat it on the boy's lap.

This,

He said,

Is something very special.

Something for you and me alone.

And as the fabric fell back to reveal two large eyes and a pair of velvet ears,

From behind which protruded two shiny white horns,

The boy knew such a brilliant glow could belong to none other than a person from the place he had been told about ever since he could remember.

This was someone from the new world,

And it had come to live with them.

Merry Christmas,

Son,

Said his father.

And taking up his old pipe from the broad mantelpiece,

He added,

And an exciting new year ahead for the both of us.

The end.

Reviews

I’ve ‘listened’ to this story probably 10-20 times so far and I have no idea what it’s about as within 2/3 minutes I’m back into REM sleep 💤. Yay. Thank you for those extra hours of nod Stephanie 🙏🏼🙏🏼❤️