Ghost Of The Candlelit Library (Meditation Bedtime Story)

This sleep story follows a young fox named Finn who embarks on a mysterious journey after receiving an invitation to a magical library open only on Halloween. Guided by Evelyn, a wise and ethereal owl, Finn explores the library's ancient halls and discovers an unfinished story that holds the key to restoring balance to the library.

As Finn ventures through enchanted forests and across the tranquil River of Reverie, he gathers the missing pages needed to complete the tale. Along the way, he drifts deeper into a peaceful reverie, with each step drawing him closer to his destiny.

Transcript

So just take a moment to allow your eyes to close and allow yourself to begin to relax and as you begin to comfortably fall asleep.

I don't know whether you'll drift asleep faster to the sound of my voice or whether it'll be to the spaces between my words.

And as you comfortably drift asleep I'm just going to tell this bedtime story in the background.

And on a crisp autumn evening the air is clear and still as though the world is taking a deep quiet breath.

Finn,

A young fox with fur the colour of burnt umber,

Sits by his window gazing out at the sleepy landscape beyond.

The trees are shedding their leaves and the sky is painted with hues of deep violet and indigo as if dusk itself is curling up to rest.

A candlelit lantern sways ever so slightly on his windowsill,

Casting a soft,

Gentle,

Flickering glow that dances along the wooden floor.

As Finn watches the last golden rays of sun disappear behind the hills,

A faint stirring in the air draws his attention.

The breeze is gentle,

Like a sigh carried on the wind and it brings with it the scent of damp earth and distant bonfires.

There's a peculiar stillness in the night,

Something almost expectant,

As though the world is waiting for something to happen.

His ears perk up,

Curiosity stirring inside him like a leaf caught in a breeze.

Outside his window,

Beneath the lantern's warm glow,

Something flutters.

At first it seems like a stray leaf caught in the gentle current of air,

But then Finn notices it,

A slip of parchment delicate and worn,

Its edges curling slightly as if it has travelled through time itself.

He opens the window,

Letting the cool night air brush against his fur,

And reaches for the paper.

It feels weightless in his paw,

As though it might drift away at any moment.

The parchment is old,

Perhaps even ancient,

And the ink upon it shimmers faintly in the lantern's light,

As if the words themselves are alive.

Finn squints at the flowing script,

Reading aloud to himself,

The words curling around him like a soft,

Comforting blanket.

You're invited to the Candlelit Library.

Open only on All Hallows' Eve.

Come at midnight and discover the stories lost to time.

The invitation is mysterious,

Its meaning cloaked in shadow,

Yet,

As Finn reads it,

A strange feeling settles over him,

A sense that this moment,

This night,

Was meant for him.

The cool air drifts past him again,

Gently ruffling his fur,

And the distant rustle of leaves echoes softly through the stillness.

It's as though the world itself is beckoning him,

Urging him to follow this strange path.

Finn's heart flutters with excitement and curiosity.

He's always loved stories,

The way they weave worlds out of nothing and carry him far away from the familiar,

But there's something more here,

Something deeper,

Pulling him in like the gentle tide of a quiet sea.

The candle flickers once,

Twice,

Casting long shadows across the room,

Before settling into a steady glow.

Finn feels a subtle shift in the air,

As if the night itself is preparing for something wondrous,

Something secret.

He knows,

Without knowing,

To question it,

That he must go.

The library,

Wherever it may be,

Is waiting for him,

Its doors open only for those who choose to listen.

With a soft exhale,

Finn tucks the invitation into his coat and steps outside.

The night is calm,

The ground beneath his paws cool and damp.

The lantern sways gently in the breeze,

Casting its warm light into the darkness,

As Finn sets off towards the unknown.

The moon hangs low in the sky,

A silver crescent casting long,

Sleepy shadows across the path ahead.

Finn's paws move soundlessly over the earth,

With footsteps merging with the silence of the night,

Quiet and unhurried.

The cool air caresses his fur,

Wrapping around him like a soft silken cloak as he walks deeper and deeper into the woods.

The path winds lazily through the trees,

Their branches stretching overhead as though the forest itself is pulling him in.

The leaves,

Still clinging to the last of their autumn colours,

Rustle gently in the breeze,

A soothing sound that blends with the rhythmic pulse of Finn's steps.

It feels as though the world is slowing down,

Each movement becoming softer and more deliberate,

Like a lullaby floating through the night.

The ground beneath him is soft and damp,

With the memory of recent rain,

And the earthy scent of moss and wood fills the air,

And every now and then a leaf flutters down,

Spinning lazily in the moonlight,

Before landing soundlessly on the ground.

Finn's senses feel heightened yet relaxed,

Attuned to the quiet harmony of the night.

He breathes in deeply,

The crispness of the air filling his lungs,

And with each step he feels himself sinking deeper and deeper into the calm steady rhythm of the forest.

The trees,

Tall and ancient,

Sway so gently in the night breeze,

Their branches creaking softly,

As if they're sharing their secrets with the stars.

As Finn walks,

He can almost hear their murmurs,

Their quiet voices blending with the wind,

Speaking of times long past and mysteries held deep within their bark.

It's a comforting sound lulling him further into the stillness of the night.

The moon's light bathes everything in a soft silver glow,

Making the path ahead seem almost otherwildly.

It stretches out before him,

Winding deeper and deeper into the forest,

As though leading him towards something just beyond the reach of his imagination.

Finn follows it without hesitation,

His heart steady,

His mind calm,

As though the path is guiding him,

Not the other way round.

Every so often,

The air shifts,

Carrying with it the faint scent of distant fires,

Of wood smoke and pine,

Mingling with the rich,

Damp smell of the earth.

It's a scent that makes Finn feel grounded,

Connected to the world around him,

Yet it also stirs something deep within him,

A quiet anticipation,

A sense of being on the edge of discovery.

As he moves deeper and deeper into the woods,

The trees seem to part like the pages of a book,

Revealing more of the story with each step.

The path winds onwards,

Inviting him to relax further into its rhythm,

To let go of any lingering thoughts or worries.

Finn breathes deeply,

Allowing the tranquillity of the night to settle over him like a soft,

Warm blanket.

His pace slows,

His mind quiets,

And with every step,

With every step,

He feels himself sinking deeper and deeper into a peaceful reverie,

As though the forest itself is guiding him,

To a place where dreams and stories blend together.

And as he continues to venture deeper into the woods,

He eventually discovers the candle-lit library,

Bathed in the gentle glow of hundreds of flickering candles that line its towering walls.

Its structure is ancient,

Made of stone that seems to shimmer softly under the moonlight,

As though it holds memories of countless stories within its very foundation.

The building rises tall,

Its roof disappearing into the mist that clings to the highest branches of the surrounding trees.

The vines crawl up its sides,

Thick and tangled,

Their leaves rustling softly in the night breeze.

The warm light from the candles casts a golden hue over everything,

Making the shadows long and soft,

Stretching out lazily along the ground,

As though even they are resting.

Finn pauses at the entrance,

His heart fluttering with a quiet excitement.

There's something about the library that feels both inviting and mysterious,

As though it's waiting for him to step inside and uncover its secrets.

The air smells of aged wood and forgotten parchment,

An aroma filling Finn's senses with calm and curiosity.

He steps forward,

And as he pushes the heavy wooden door open,

It groans softly,

As though waking from a long slumber.

The warm light from the candles spills out,

Enveloping him in its comforting glow,

And for a moment,

He feels as if he's stepping into a different world altogether,

A world where time moves slower,

Where the air itself hums with the quiet presence of stories waiting to be told.

Inside,

The library is vast,

Far larger than it had appeared from the outside.

Shelves upon shelves of books spiral upward,

Vanishing into the dim light above.

The ceiling,

High and arched,

Is adorned with soft,

Glowing lanterns,

Swaying gently,

Casting a rhythmic pattern of light and shadow over the room.

The floorboards beneath Finn's paws creak softly.

The sounds of pages being turned,

Echoing from the shelves,

And everywhere there's a sense of calm.

The air is filled with dust and history,

A scent that speaks of books long forgotten,

Their pages yellowed with time.

Finn has a feeling of drifting,

Deeply and comfortably.

Finn has a feeling of drifting,

Deeply and comfortably,

Into the most pleasant reverie,

As if the library is lulling him into a quiet dream.

Each step he takes is met with the softest muffled thud of his paws on the carpet,

Lining the centre of the floor,

Guiding him deeper and deeper into the heart of the library.

And the books here are old,

Many of their spines are cracked and faded,

But there's something alive about them,

As though they're breathing,

Waiting for someone to come and awaken the stories within.

Finn can feel it,

The weight of untold tales resting gently in the air,

As if the library itself is alive.

Not in words,

But in soft creaks of wood,

In the gentle flicker of candlelight,

Inviting him to lose himself in the vast sea of stories that stretch endlessly before him.

There's a warmth here,

A quiet comfort that fills Finn with a sense of belonging,

As though this place has been waiting for him patiently for years.

He moves deeper and deeper into the library,

His steps slow and deliberate,

And as he walks he can feel the stories,

Their presence all around him.

The stillness is so complete,

That it almost feels as if the world outside has disappeared entirely.

The flicker of candles,

Creating a rhythmic dance of light and shadows.

And then he notices from somewhere,

Between the towering shelves,

A sound breaks the quiet,

A soft melodic hum,

Rising and falling gently,

Like a breeze playing through the leaves of a distant forest.

The sound is faint at first,

Barely more than a suggestion of music,

But as he walks,

So the sound grows stronger.

He follows the sound,

Until he reaches a corner of the library where the light is dimmer,

More intimate.

And the shelves are packed even more tightly with books,

Their spines worn and frayed from centuries of use.

And standing in the soft glow of a single lantern is a figure,

An owl,

Her feathers the colour of silver moonlight.

Perched on a low wooden table,

Her eyes closed as she hums softly to herself,

Her wings folded neatly at her sides,

Her tips glinting faintly in the candlelight,

Her body seeming to glow with a soft ethereal light.

And Finn watches her in silence for a moment,

Captivated by the gentle rhythmic quality of her hum,

The way it fills the air with a sense of calm that makes him want to sit down and listen forever.

There's something ancient about her,

Something wise and timeless,

As though she has seen countless stories come and go,

And carries them all within her.

Without opening her eyes,

The owl speaks,

Her voice soft and soothing like a lullaby.

I've been waiting for you,

Finn.

Her words surprise him,

But they also feel right,

As though this meeting was always meant to happen.

You know my name,

Finn asks.

Stepping closer,

His voice quiet in the stillness of the library.

The owl slowly opens her eyes,

They glow with a soft golden light,

Reflecting the flickering flames of the candles around them.

Of course,

This is the candle-lit library,

And I'm its guardian,

Evelyn.

There is kindness in her gaze,

A warmth that makes Finn feel instantly at ease.

He steps closer,

His curiosity growing.

The library,

It's unlike anything I've ever seen,

It feels alive.

Evelyn smiles gently,

Her feathers ruffling slightly.

It is alive in its own way.

Every story here holds a piece of life,

A fragment of a world once imagined.

And this library?

It's been waiting for someone to complete a story that was left unfinished long ago.

Finn's heart skips a beat.

An unfinished story?

Evelyn nods slowly,

Her gaze never leaving his.

Yes,

A story that was never completed and without an ending.

The balance of the library has been disturbed.

The story is trapped,

Suspended in time,

Waiting for someone,

Like you,

To bring it to its conclusion.

Finn feels a deep sense of purpose stirring within him,

A quiet but powerful urge to help.

How do I finish it?

The owl's eyes soften,

Her voice becoming quieter,

Almost a murmur.

You'll find the way,

The library will guide you,

As will I.

As will I,

But for now,

Rest,

Let the stories around you calm your heart.

The journey ahead requires both patience and courage.

Finn feels a warmth spread through his chest.

He looks around the library once more,

At the endless shelves of books waiting to be discovered.

The air thick with possibility,

With stories untold and yet at the same time,

It feels like the safest,

Most restful place in the world.

The shelves around them seem to stretch endlessly,

A forest of towering bookcases filled with volumes untouched for centuries.

The faint scent of old parchment and leather fills Finn's nose.

As they walk,

The soft glow of the candles create long,

Fluid shadows dancing along the floor,

Seeming to match the rhythm of Finn's own steps.

Evelyn moves gracefully beside him.

Her presence is calm and steady.

How did the story get lost?

Finn asks.

The story was never completed because its author disappeared before it could be finished.

It's a story like no other,

Woven with magic and dreams.

And without its ending the balance of the library is unsettled.

Stories need to be told,

They need their endings,

Or they become restless,

Wandering like dreams that never wake.

Am I supposed to finish it?

He asks.

Evelyn turns her gaze back to him.

Yes,

But you won't be alone.

They continue walking along the edge of the shelves.

At the centre of the library,

Where the shelves part and the ceiling seems to stretch impossibly high,

Finn sees a grand,

Spiralling staircase.

It winds upwards,

Its steps carved from dark,

Polished wood,

Each one reflecting the soft glow of the candles.

The staircase seems to go on forever,

Disappearing into the shadows above.

Evelyn and Finn begin to ascend the staircase.

As they ascend,

The air grows softer,

Warmer.

The candlelight becomes more diffuse,

Seeming to almost blur the edges of the room,

Until it feels like they're no longer in the library at all,

But somewhere between worlds,

In a place where the boundary between dreams and reality has softened.

The stairs beneath Finn's paws feel less solid,

Almost as though they're made of clouds.

He feels himself sinking deeper and deeper to the gentle rhythm of the ascent.

At the top of the staircase,

They find a door,

Carved from a pale,

Shimmering wood,

Glowing with its own inner light.

Evelyn and Finn step through this door.

Evelyn explains that this is the portal of dreams.

Beyond this door,

The boundaries between stories and dreams blur.

It's a place where endings are found,

Where lost pages return.

As they step through that door,

The world shifts around them.

Finn notices that his steps feel more like walking on silk than soil.

Before him,

He sees a vast forest,

Of ancient trees with twisted trunks,

Rising high into a misty air.

Each tree is a guardian of untold stories.

The silver mist seems to cling to the roots of the trees,

Weaving its way between the trees.

The leaves overhead glowing faintly,

Their light pulsing gently,

As if they're breathing.

As Finn watches those leaves,

He notices one of the glowing leaves detach from a tree,

And flutter so gracefully to the ground,

Carried by an almost unseen breeze.

As it lands,

It shimmers faintly.

And Finn notices the ghostly outline of words on the leaf.

The forest seems to murmur with a quiet energy.

Finn finds his ears catch snippets of stories,

Fragments of memories,

Half-finished thoughts,

All carried on the mist like echoes of something once known.

Each step he takes sinks him deeper and deeper into the experience.

He finds his body relaxing more,

His muscles unwinding.

Absorbed in the dreamlike atmosphere.

And as they move deeper and deeper into the forest,

The branches intertwining overhead.

Finn's eyes are drawn to the leaves again.

Watching as another leaf drifts lazily to the ground,

He picks it up.

And as he does,

The leaf dissolves into a fine shimmering dust.

And for a brief moment,

He sees the shape of a story,

A young traveller lost in the woods,

Searching for a way home.

But before Finn can grasp the full meaning,

The dust vanishes and the story slips away,

Leaving only a lingering memory.

Evelyn speaks softly.

These are the tales that were forgotten.

Stories that were left behind,

Their endings never written.

They wander here,

In the forest of forgotten tales,

Waiting for someone to bring them back to life.

After what feels like hours,

Finn and Evelyn arrive at the edge of the forest,

Where the trees give way to a wide,

Slow-moving river.

The water seems so still that it mirrors the sky above,

The moon and stars shimmering on its surface.

The river stretches out before them,

Silent and calm.

The air is different by the river,

Carrying a gentle cool breeze,

Tickling through Finn's fur.

The ground beneath his paws is now cool and damp with the moisture of the river.

He feels a sense of deep calm wash over him.

As though the river itself was inviting him to rest,

To let go of all worries and drift into its gentle current.

This is the River of Reverie,

Evelyn says.

It holds the flow of stories that never end,

A continuous current of thoughts and dreams that drift without conclusion.

You must cross the river,

But do so with an open heart,

Allowing your thoughts to drift freely like the water.

Finn gazes at the river,

Its surface reflecting the sky.

He feels a gentle pull of the water,

Not a physical force,

But a quiet invitation asking him to let go,

Relax and trust the flow of the river.

At the riverbank,

He notices a small wooden boat.

He steps into the boat,

His movements slow and deliberate.

As he pushes off from the shore.

And the boat moves slowly,

Almost imperceptibly.

The river is so still.

The boat rocks so gently,

Lulling him deeper and deeper into relaxation.

He finds his mind quietening,

His body sinking into relaxation,

Into the boat's soft embrace.

His thoughts becoming light and airy like clouds drifting by.

The edges of his consciousness blurring with the world around him.

And that boat continues to drift gently to the far shore.

And on the far side,

He continues to search.

And he finds a hidden alcove,

Tucked away between ancient trees.

Towering trees,

Covered in vines thick with ivy and delicate flowers.

A golden glow seems to spill from in this location,

Casting soft patterns of light across the ground.

And the space seems so intimate,

Lit with a soft golden glow.

And in the centre of this space,

Is a smooth weathered stone pedestal,

With a single book.

It's cover worn with age.

The book seems to hum with a faint ancient power,

As if it's been waiting here for centuries.

With each step he takes towards that book,

He feels increasingly peaceful and calm.

And the second he touches the book,

He feels an instant connection,

A gentle warmth spreading through him,

As though the book recognises him and welcomes him.

He carefully opens the book,

Begins to turn the pages,

And while he turns the pages,

He can feel the lost words.

He can feel the lost story.

He closes his eyes,

Breathes deeply,

And lets his mind relax.

He allows his thoughts to drift like leaves on a stream.

And as he does,

The story under his fingertips begins to take shape.

Words start to flow from him,

Not from his mind,

But from somewhere deeper,

As though he's drawing them through that river.

And onto the pages here,

Where he's bringing them back to life.

And the pages begin to fill with the missing writing.

Finn's paws move gently across those pages,

But the story itself is guiding his paws and writing itself under his paws.

He doesn't rush,

He takes his time.

He lets each word,

Each thought,

He lets each word,

Each sentence,

Fall into place,

Like the pieces of a puzzle finding their home.

Until the story is complete and the last page is filled,

And he feels a deep sense of peace settle over him.

He closes the book and heads out of this alcove.

He meets back up with Evelyn and heads back to the candle-lit library.

And on his journey back to the library,

He feels lighter as if a great weight has been lifted from him.

He feels a deeper sense of inner peace and calm,

Of understanding of the world around him,

Of the stories people tell and live by.

And the point in their stories that different people are at,

As they continue their own journeys.

And back in the library,

Evelyn confirms that Finn has completed his task.

That completing the story has restored balance to the library.

The lost voices have found their way home.

There is no longer a ghost hanging over the library.

The stories are now complete.

The library now has its voice back.

Evelyn thanks Finn for his help.

Before beginning to shimmer,

Until she's more light than owl.

I'll leave you now,

She says.

The library is at peace.

She fades into the warm candlelight.

Her presence drifting away like a soft dream.

Finn leaves the library.

He can see how clear the sky looks,

The stars twinkling so softly.

The moon casting its silver light over the world.

The forest quiet and calm as if everything has happened.

The forest quiet and calm as if everything has settled down into a deep and restful sleep.

He finds his way back home.

Settles down at home before going to bed,

Where he drifts and floats so peacefully,

So relaxed asleep.

Into slumberland.

Reviews

Agree with other reviewers! I also didn’t get to the end! 🦊🌳🙏

I haven’t yet made it to the end but love the story so far. I appreciate that you commence the story right away and how your voice and narration is so “sleepy” and relaxing. Thank you!☺️ 🙏

Thank you I only heard the beginning. 💜🙏💜😴✨✨✨✨✨