The Sleepy Tale Of Love And Loyalty - The Doll's Ghost
Tonight on the premium podcast, we’ll drift off to The Doll’s Ghost by F. Marion Crawford—a tender, beautifully told tale that may surprise you with its warmth. Despite the title, this story is not frightening at all. Instead, it’s a touching and mysterious little tale about love, loss, and the quiet devotion of a child's favorite toy. Cozy up, get comfortable, and let the gentle storytelling guide you into a peaceful night’s sleep. Sweet dreams! Music in this episode is Solsken by Owen Myers via Epidemic Sound
Transcript
Good evening and welcome to Drift Off,
I'm your host Joanne and I'm so glad you're here.
Tonight we're going to hear a gently adapted version of The Doll's Ghost written by F.
Miriam Crawford.
The story will be read two times,
With the second reading a little slower to help you get sleepy.
This version is softened for bedtime,
Keeping its quiet mystery and wonder,
But with a peaceful dreamy tone.
It's the story of a beloved doll,
A little girl named Agnes,
And a small mystery that is tenderly resolved in the stillness of the night.
And don't worry,
This is not a scary story.
It's a gentle tale,
Wrapped in love,
Memory,
And a touch of magic.
So now,
Let's begin by settling in.
Take in a nice deep breath,
And as you slowly exhale,
Allow your body to melt into your bed,
Soft and supported.
Feel the weight of the day begin to lift.
With each breath,
Release any tension you may be holding,
Across your forehead,
Your jaw,
Your shoulders.
.
.
Let it all go.
Allow your arms to rest gently by your side.
Feel your legs grow heavier as they sink deeper into the mattress beneath you.
There's nothing you need to do right now.
Nothing to think about.
No place you need to be.
You are safe.
You are calm.
And you are ready to drift off into a quiet,
Peaceful sleep.
Long ago,
In the heart of old Edinburgh,
Where the winter's wind blew cold,
And the stone buildings stood tall and grand,
There was a little girl named Agnes.
She lived with her father and mother in a grand but quiet house,
With tall windows,
Worn rugs,
And the comforting scent of old books and polished wood.
Agnes was a quiet child,
Thoughtful and kind,
With large eyes full of wonder.
Her favourite companion in the whole world was her beloved doll,
Lady Blanche.
Lady Blanche was no ordinary doll.
She had porcelain cheeks as soft as rose petals,
Golden ringlets that shimmered in the candlelight,
And eyes that opened and closed with a soft click.
Agnes had cherished her from the moment she was gifted on her third birthday.
Wherever Agnes went,
Lady Blanche went too.
They took tea together in the nursery,
Wrapped in lace shawls.
They whispered secrets beneath the bed covers when the moon was high.
Agnes dressed her in fine clothes and never allowed her to sleep without a soft pillow and her tiny silver brush resting beside her.
But children grow older,
And as time passed,
Agnes began to leave her doll behind more and more.
First it was just during breakfast,
Then during lessons,
Then eventually Lady Blanche spent entire days sitting quietly on the shelf near the fireplace,
Watching the flames dance while the little girl,
Who once held her close,
Now played with books and friends.
One evening,
Agnes was invited to a family gathering across the city.
The streets were slippery with frost,
And laughter echoed through the halls of her cousin's home.
In the rush to leave,
She accidentally dropped Lady Blanche,
Who had been tucked under her arm for the journey.
The doll tumbled down the steps of the grand stone stairway and lay still on the landing.
No one noticed.
It wasn't until late that night,
Back in her own nursery,
That Agnes realized Lady Blanche was missing.
She gasped,
Her hand flying to her heart.
Papa,
She whispered,
We must go back.
Lady Blanche,
She's alone in the cold.
But her father,
Though gentle,
Only smiled sadly and shook his head.
It's far too late,
My darling.
We shall send for her in the morning.
The morning came,
But with it,
Bad news.
The household at the gathering had not found the doll.
Servants searched high and low,
Under chairs and behind curtains,
But Lady Blanche was nowhere to be seen.
Agnes was heartbroken.
She cried softly into her pillow,
Her arms aching with the emptiness of missing someone dear.
Lady Blanche,
Her sweet,
Silent companion,
Was gone.
Winter faded into spring,
And spring into summer.
Life carried on as it always does.
Agnes grew taller,
Her face wiser,
But sometimes at night,
Especially on rainy evenings,
She would glance at the empty shelf near the fireplace and feel something shift in her chest.
A quiet longing,
Like a thread left untied.
One particularly quiet evening,
Something unusual happened in the grand old house.
It began with a faint tapping.
Tap,
Tap.
Tap,
Tap.
The nursemaid,
Sitting near the fire with her mending,
Looked up.
She listened,
But the sound had stopped.
She returned to her stitching.
Tap,
Tap.
Tap,
Tap,
Tap.
This time it was louder,
And clearly coming from the staircase.
She rose,
Smoothing her apron,
And tiptoed into the hall.
There she saw nothing.
The gas lamps flickered gently,
And all was still.
But from above came the soft sound of tiny feet,
Pattering across the landing.
A light step,
Too light to belong to any grown person.
When she returned to the nursery,
Agnes was fast asleep,
Her chest rising and falling peacefully.
But near the fireplace,
The shelf where Lady Blanche once sat,
Was oddly dusty,
As though something had been disturbed.
Days passed,
And the household began to notice strange little things.
A soft rustle,
When no one moved.
Footsteps on the stairs,
When the house was still.
Doors gently swinging open,
With no one behind them.
Servants murmured quietly among themselves,
Sharing stories laid at night by candlelight.
They said it was a little ghost,
Perhaps harmless,
But restless.
Something small and sad,
Searching for its place.
Agnes noticed it,
Too.
Sometimes she would wake in the night and see the flicker of movement in the corner of her eye.
A soft shape,
Just her height,
Slipping past the open door.
Once,
She swore she saw a glimmer of golden curls in the hallway,
There and then gone.
One evening,
Just before dusk,
She sat quietly in the drawing room.
The light was dim,
And the air was still.
She was holding a new book,
But not reading.
Instead,
She whispered gently into the silence,
If it's you,
Lady Blanche,
I miss you.
The fire cracked.
Then,
A moment later,
She heard it again.
Tap,
Tap,
Tap,
Tap,
Tap.
Agnes stood and followed the sound.
Down the hall,
She walked through the corridor and toward the grand staircase.
And there,
On the landing,
Stood Lady Blanche.
Her porcelain face was dusty,
One arm chipped,
And her dress torn at the hem,
But her glass eyes gleamed softly in the candlelight,
And her curls still shone like spun gold.
Agnes ran to her and scooped her into her arms.
You came home,
She whispered.
You came back.
From that moment on,
The strange noises in the house stopped.
The tapping ceased,
The whispers faded.
Lady Blanche returned to her shelf by the fire.
Her head tilted just so.
Agnes sat with her again in the evenings,
Brushing her hair,
Changing her dress.
Sometimes she would read aloud softly while the fire glowed low,
And the whole house seemed to sigh with comfort,
As if a missing thread had finally been sewn back into place.
No one quite knew how the doll had found her way back.
Some said she had wandered.
Others say the wind had carried her.
But Agnes believed what she believed.
Love,
Even the quiet love between a child and a doll,
Leaves footprints behind.
And perhaps,
When love is strong enough,
Even the littlest ghost can find its way home.
Now,
I'm going to read the story one more time,
A little more slowly this time to help you feel even sleepier and more relaxed.
There's nothing you need to do.
Just let the words wash over you,
And allow yourself to drift off peacefully.
Long ago,
In the heart of old Edinburgh,
Where the winter winds blew cold and the stone buildings stood tall and grand,
There was a little girl named Agnes.
She lived with her father and mother in a grand but quiet house with tall windows,
Worn rugs,
And the comforting scent of old books and polished wood.
Agnes was a quiet child,
Thoughtful and kind,
With large eyes full of wonder.
Her favorite companion in the whole world was her beloved doll,
Lady Blanche.
Lady Blanche was no ordinary doll.
She had porcelain cheeks as soft as rose petals,
Golden ringlets that shimmered in the candlelight,
And eyes that opened and closed with a soft click.
Agnes had cherished her from the moment she was gifted her on her third birthday.
Wherever Agnes went,
Lady Blanche went too.
They took tea together in the nursery,
Wrapped in lace shawls.
They whispered secrets beneath the bed covers when the moon was high.
Agnes dressed her in fine clothes and never allowed her to sleep without a soft pillow and her tiny silver brush resting beside her.
But children grew older,
And as time passed,
Agnes began to leave her doll behind more and more.
First,
It was during breakfast.
Then,
During lessons.
Then,
Eventually,
Lady Blanche spent entire days sitting quietly on the shelf near the fireplace,
Watching the flames dance while the little girl who once held her close now played with books and friends.
One winter evening,
Agnes was invited to a family gathering across the street.
The streets were slippery with frost,
And laughter echoed through the halls of her cousin's home.
In the rush to leave,
She accidentally dropped Lady Blanche,
Who had been tucked under her arm for the journey.
The doll tumbled down the steps of the grand stone stairway and lay still on the landing.
No one noticed.
It wasn't until late that night,
Back in her nursery,
That Agnes realized Lady Blanche was missing.
She gasped,
Her hand flying to her heart.
Papa,
She whispered,
We must go back.
Lady Blanche,
She's alone in the cold.
But her father,
Though gentle,
Only smiled sadly and shook his head.
It's far too late,
My darling.
We shall send for her in the morning.
The morning came,
But with it,
Bad news.
The household at the gathering had not found the doll.
Servants searched high and low,
Under chairs and behind curtains,
But Lady Blanche was nowhere to be seen.
Agnes was heartbroken.
She cried softly into her pillow,
Her arms aching with the emptiness of missing someone dear.
Lady Blanche,
Her sweet,
Silent companion,
Was gone.
Winter faded into spring,
And spring into summer.
Life carried on as it always does.
Agnes grew taller,
Her face wiser.
But sometimes at night,
Especially on rainy evenings,
She would glance at the empty shelf near the fireplace and feel something shift in her chest.
A quiet longing,
Like a thread left untied.
One particularly quiet evening,
Something unusual happened in the grand old house.
It began with a faint tapping.
Tap,
Tap,
Tap,
Tap.
The nursemaid,
Sitting near the fire with her mending,
Looked up.
She listened,
But the sound had stopped.
She returned to her stitching.
Tap,
Tap,
Tap,
Tap,
Tap.
Tap,
Tap,
Tap,
Tap,
Tap.
This time it was louder,
And clearly coming from the staircase.
She rose,
Smoothing her apron,
And tiptoed into the hall.
There she saw nothing.
The gas lamps flickered gently,
And all was still.
But from above came the soft sound of tiny feet pattering across the landing.
A light step,
Too light to belong to any grown person.
When she returned to the nursery,
Agnes was fast asleep,
Her chest rising and falling peacefully.
But near the fireplace,
The shelf where Lady Blanche once sat was oddly dusty,
As though something had been disturbed.
Days passed,
And the household began to notice strange little things.
A soft rustle when no one moved.
Footsteps on the stairs,
When the house was still.
Doors gently swinging open,
With no one behind them.
Servants murmured quietly among themselves,
Sharing stories laid at night by candlelight.
They said it was a little ghost,
Perhaps harmless,
But restless.
Something small and sad,
Searching for its place.
Agnes noticed it,
Too.
Sometimes,
She would wake in the night and see the flicker of movement in the corner of her eye.
A soft shape,
Just her height,
Slipping past the open door.
Once,
She swore she saw a glimmer of golden curls in the hallway.
There,
And then gone.
One evening,
Just before dusk,
She sat quietly in the drawing room.
The light was dim,
And the air was still.
She was holding a new book,
But not reading.
Instead,
She whispered gently into the silence,
If it's you,
Lady Blanche,
I miss you.
The fire cracked.
Then,
A moment later,
She heard it again.
Tap,
Tap.
Tap,
Tap,
Tap.
Agnes stood and followed the sound.
Down the long hall,
She walked.
Through the corridor,
And toward the grand staircase.
And there,
On the landing,
Stood Lady Blanche.
Her porcelain face was dusty,
One arm chipped,
And her dress torn at the hem.
But her glass eyes gleamed softly in the candlelight,
And her curls still shone like spun gold.
Agnes ran to her,
And scooped her into her arms.
You came home,
She whispered.
You came back.
From that moment on,
The strange noises in the house stopped.
The tapping ceased.
The whispers faded.
Lady Blanche returned to her shelf by the fire,
Her head tilted just so.
Agnes sat with her again in the evenings,
Brushing her hair,
Changing her dress.
Sometimes,
She would read aloud,
Softly,
While the fire glowed low.
And the whole house seemed to sigh with comfort,
As if a missing thread had finally been sewn back into place.
No one quite knew how the doll had found her way back.
Some said she had wandered.
Others said the wind had carried her.
But Agnes believed what she believed.
Love,
Even the quiet love between a child and a doll,
Leaves footprints behind.
And perhaps,
When love is strong enough,
Even the littlest ghost can find its way home.
And now that Lady Blanche has found her way home,
And Agnes sleeps once more with her little friend beside her,
You too can rest now.
Let your body soften.
Your mind is quiet.
Your heart is calm.
Let your body soften to the quiet comfort of this moment.
To your breath.
To the stillness.
To peace.
You are safe.
You are held.
And you can let go now,
And rest.
Sweet dreams,
My friend.
Sleep well.
5.0 (16)
Recent Reviews
Cathy
July 31, 2025
I fell asleep the first time, but finally heard this sweet story. Thank you.
Karen
July 25, 2025
I have to relisten as I fell asleep quickly! Liked the intro and early part of story,, thank you 🙏 .