Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - All Hallows' Eve at the Inn (Encore)

Episode Date: October 22, 2026

Our story tonight is called All Hallows’ Eve at the Inn, and it’s the third in our special Halloween series this year. It’s about the Innkeeper and her trusty sidekick Sycamore as they ready the Inn for guests on a dark October eve. It’s also about carved pumpkins that line the great staircase, a blurry face in an old photo, a bubbling cauldron of punch in the ballroom, a costume purchased from the thrift store, and a forgotten tradition brought back to life. → Nature's Sunshine | Try Nature’s Sunshine and experience the difference with supplements that are better for you and the planet. Go to naturessunshine.com today and use the code NOTHINGMUCH for 20% off your first order, plus free shipping. → Quince | Make your bed your favorite place to be this season with Quince. Download the Quince app for app-exclusive offers, or go to https://quince.com . Get free shipping on your order and 365-day returns. Now available in Canada and the UK, too. And when Quince asks where you heard about them, let them know it was Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep. Subscribe to our ⁠⁠⁠Premium channel⁠⁠⁠. The first month is on us. 💙 Join the Village of Nothing Much App! Order Kathryn’s new book On the Street Where You Live NMH Merch, Autographed Books and More! Listen to our daytime show, Stories from the Village of Nothing Much Sit Meditation with Kathryn Follow us on Instagram Visit Nothing Much Happens for more Village fun! Sign up for our Newsletter here to be in the know! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Get more Nothing Much Happens with bonus episodes, extra long stories, and ad-free listening, all while supporting the show you love. Subscribe now. Welcome to Bedtime Stories for Everyone, in which nothing much happens. You feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Catherine Nikolai.

I write and read, All the stories you hear on Nothing Much Happens. Audio Engineering is by Bob Wittersheim. We are bringing you an encore episode tonight, meaning that this story originally aired at some point in the past. It could have been recorded with different equipment in a different location. And since I'm a person and not a computer,

I sometimes sound just slightly different, but the stories are always soothing and family-friendly, and our wishes for you are always deep rest and sweet dreams. Now, we need just enough entertainment, engagement, stuff happening, to keep your mind gently focused. not too much, so that you end up staying awake, but enough that you don't wander into aimless thought. And I have that for you.

All you have to do is listen. I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through. If you wake later in the night and start to feel the engines in your mind revving back up. Just turn on an episode. You'll drop right back off.

Sometimes just thinking through the details of a story or even a pleasant memory. We'll do the same. Our story tonight is called All Hallows Eve at the Inn. And it's the third in our special Halloween series this year. It's about the innkeeper. and her trusty sidekick, Sycamore, as they ready the inn for guests on a dark October Eve. It's also about carved pumpkins that line the great staircase, a blurry face in an old photo,

a bubbling cauldron of punch in the ballroom, a costume purchased from a thrift store, and a forgotten tradition brought back to life. When I'm choosing something for my wellness routine, I like to look beyond the packaging. Words like green sound reassuring, but I want to know what a company actually does. Otherwise, it's just greenwashing and environmentally friendly impression without much to support it. At Nature's Sunshine, they back up their approach with sustainably sourced ingredients and 100% solar-powered manufacturing. I take their Power Beats formula. It's nitrate-rich Tibetan beetroot, perfect for enhancing stamina, endurance, and recovery.

And I was already a beet lover, but couldn't really get them into my diet enough. And now they are consistently a part of my day. Try Nature Sunshine and experience the difference with supplements that are better for you and for the planet. Go to NatureSonshine.com today and use the code Nothing Much for 20% off your first order plus free shipping. That's code Nothing Much. for 20% off your first order at naturesonshine.com. There's a particular pleasure in getting your bed ready for autumn, adding another layer, pulling the quilt up,

making a place where you can settle in for a bedtime story. Quince is sponsoring this episode, and their bedding is made for that kind of comfort. Now, we just switched from their premium lightweight down alternative comforter to the regular weight version, since we need a bit more warmth in bed. And I already owned both of them well before Quince became a sponsor

because I honestly love their products and have for a long time. We also have their organic cotton bedding, which gets softer each time I wash it. Make your bed your favorite place to be this season with Quince. Download the Quince app for app exclusive offers or go to Quince.com slash nothing much. Get free shipping on your order

and 365-day returns. Now available in Canada and the UK too. And when Quince asks you where you heard about them, let them know it was nothing much happens. It's the best way to support the show. Okay, lights out. It's time to snuggle down into your sheets and get as comfortable as you can.

Let your whole body drop heavy into the sheets. and relax your jaw. If you tend to clench, after we take our deep breaths, place the tip of your tongue at the spot where your upper teeth meet the gums on the inside. Sometimes I kind of suction my tongue there

into the roof of my mouth, and it puts my jaw in a position where I really can't cleanse. Take a deep breath in through your nose. Let it out your mouth. Nice. One more. Breathe in and out.

Good. All Hallows Eve at the inn. Sycamore was very excited. He sat on the check-in desk. Beside the giant book our guest sign when they arrive. His tail thumped and played on the desktop. and his black ears twitched back and forth. We'd met in this very room the year before.

He'd been found by a friend of mine. She'd spotted him in the branches of the tall sycamore tree in the side yard, here at the inn, and when she'd niggered at him from the ground, he'd climbed down into her arms. She'd transferred him into mine. And since then, we'd been the best of friends. I didn't know how he would be as a hotel cat. Would he like the constant coming and going of guests?

Footsteps in the halls. Chef and our maid and me all moving from floor to floor. Some cats run at the first sound of a human and hide under beds. And I worried he would be the same. But he seems to have been born to be an assistant innkeeper. He loves greeting folks as they arrive, herding them from the front door, past the great staircase in the hall,

and into the front office. If you stretch out on the porch swing, he'll curl up in your lap, need a bit of company while you read in the library. He's happy to sit beside you and purr. He knows every nook and cranny of this great old house and is as good and welcoming an ambassador as I could hope for. And now, as the afternoon waned,

and it was nearly time for even more guests to arrive. He was eager to play his part. Many years ago, before I was innkeeper here, there was another innkeeper. She oversaw the house's first turn at hospitality. It had originally been a wealthy family's home, then a school, then had sat empty for a time, until she opened. its doors to guess when she was ready to pass the torch to someone else. No one stepped into her shoes, and again the house was empty. Then one fateful day, I came bicycling down the overgrown drive, with no intention of doing anything more than circling past the front door and going back to the road, but I felt pulled to peer into the cobwebbed windows, to walk through the old gardens

and down to the lake. This place was like a book I couldn't put down. Soon I found myself with the keys in my hand, venturing into the dark halls with the flashlight, wanting to reclaim every cupboard, along with restoring the inn, bringing the ballroom back to life, and even rehabilitating the dumbwaiter in the hall. We were returning another tradition to this old place. For years, the original innkeeper had thrown a giant party every Halloween night and invited the whole village to come this year, in less than an hour, in fact, our guests would arrive for this new, old celebration. I came around the desk and leaned down to plant a kiss on Sycamore's head. Let's light the candles in the pumpkins. He leapt down beside me and meowed excitedly.

As we came out into the hall, we'd gone all out for this. Giant spiderwebs stretched up the great staircase. All the way to the third floor, and on each step was a carved pumpkin. Ghostly gauze was draped. over mirrors and chandeliers. The stairs were delightfully creaky as we climbed. And I smiled, thinking that the house was playing its part in the spectacle. I'd first thought of putting real candles in the pumpkins. I wanted them to flicker and smoke just a bit for the authenticity. But, chef, ever the more logical of us, pointed out that all it would take was a misplaced shoe on the stairs to send a flaming pumpkin down into the hall. And then the fire department would have to be called, while I liked the image of that flying, grinning gourd, very headless horsemen. my guest they had a point.

But now, as we turned the landing at the second floor and made our way puffing slightly up the last flight, I realized hand lighting all those candles would have taken the whole night. Chef had found some battery-operated lights and kindly charged and situated each one and gave me a remote. I took it from my pocket

as we stood at the very top of the stairs and looked down through the gloomy webbed flights and into the dark hall sycamore poked his head through the railings and I could feel his tail curl around my ankle. I pushed the button on the remote, and the whole space lit up with a flickering orange glow that was spooky, yet beckoning. I hoped it would be irresistible to our party guests tonight,

drawing them up to the ballroom, where chefs punch cauldron, be bubbling and smoking, and the band playing, enticing them to reach for a partner, and join the dance macabre. Now, into our costumes, Siki, not much time left. And we hustled down the hall to our room, Sycamore had considered several costume options. He'd considered going as a jaguar, slinking through the crowds, as a big, powerful cat. But, you know, in his mind, that was already who he was. So he wouldn't have even needed a costume, which isn't that fun. I'd suggested he'd go as Velcro, since he's black and sticks to stuff.

I'd been picking some of his fur off my collar when I'd made the suggestion. But he'd just turned away from me and sighed. In the end, Chef found him a sort of onesy with a glow-in-the-dark paint that made him look like a kitty skeleton. And when we'd tried it on and flicked off the lights, He'd watched himself prowling in front of the mirror and purred. I helped him into it now, rubbing his ears as I snapped it up the back.

I thought about all the silly fun we had together. How had I ever lived without him? Then I turned to my closet and took out a vintage dress, an apron. I'd found at the resale shop. I didn't know the name of the other innkeeper. Didn't know how old she was when she started or stopped. But I felt a kinship with her. Just like I'd dressed as my heroes

when I'd gone out trick-or-treating when I was young, I was dressing as her for the party tonight. It was strange, actually. We'd found lots of pictures of the house at various times in its life, but we'd never found a single shot of her. There was one. We'd found in the back of a closet, but her face was a blur. She must have been moving too fast for the shutter to catch her.

I could relate. It seemed I was always needed somewhere in the inn. Still, I'd based this costume on that blurry image, a pale dress with full cuffs, and a dark apron. Just like me, she'd worn sensible flat shoes. That would make going up and down the stairs possible and speedy. And though I couldn't tell in the photo, I'd guessed she'd tucked her hair. up in a neat bun, so I twisted my own locks into place and secured them with bobby pins. Sycamore lay glowing in front of the full-size mirror in the dim light, and I stepped in front of it.

I felt the air fade from my lungs. I don't know why. In some ways, I was dressing up as myself, but in the mirror I saw a different version of me, a woman who had known even more of the secrets of this old house. And it felt like saying a word that had been on the tip of your tongue for years. A bell rang over my door, and I jumped startling myself out of whatever sort of daydream this was. and looked down at skeletal sycamore. That's chef, letting us know that guests are arriving, sigh.

Let's be good hosts. I peered at myself in the mirror one more time and said as I turned to the door, or good ghosts, all hallows Eve at the inn. Sycamore was very excited. He sat on the check-in desk beside the giant book, our guest sign when they arrive.

His tail thumped and played on the desktop, and his black ears twitched back and forth. We'd met in this very room the year before. He'd been found by a friend of mine, She'd spotted him in the branches of the tall sycamore tree in the side yard, here at the inn, when she'd nickered at him from the ground. He'd climbed down into her arms. She'd transferred him into mine, and since then, we'd been the best of friends.

I didn't know how he would be as a hotel cat. Would he like the constant coming and going of guests, footsteps in the halls, chef, an armate, and me, all moving from floor to floor. Some cats run at the first sound of a human and hide under beds. And I worried he would be the same, but he seems to have been born to be an assistant innkeeper. He loves greeting folks as they arrive,

herding them from the front door, past the great staircase in the hall, and into the front office. If you stretch out on the porch swing, he'll curl up in your life, lap, need a bit of company while you read in the library. He's happy to sit beside you and purr. He knows every nook and cranny of this great old house and is as good and welcoming an ambassador as I could hope for. And now, as the afternoon waned, and it was nearly time.

for even more guests to arrive, he was eager to play his part many years ago. Before I was the innkeeper here, there was another innkeeper. She oversaw the house's first turn at hospitality. It had originally been a wealthy family's home. Then a school, then had sat empty for a time, until she opened its doors to guess, when she was ready to pass the torch to someone else. No one stepped into her shoes, and again the house was empty. Then one fateful day, I came bicycling down the overgrown,

own drive, with no intention of doing anything more than circling past the front door and going back to the road. But I felt pulled to peer into the cobwebbed windows, to walk through the old gardens, and down to the lake. This place was like a book. I couldn't. put down, and soon I found myself with the keys in my hand, venturing into the dark halls with the flashlight, wanting to reclaim every cupboard, along with restoring the inn, bringing the ballroom back to life, and even rehabilitating the dumb waiter in the hall. we were returning another tradition to this old place. For years, the original innkeeper had thrown a giant party every Halloween night

and invited the whole village to come this year. In less than an hour, in fact, our guests would arrive for this new, old celebration. I came around the desk and leaned down to plant a kiss on Sycamore's head. Let's light the candles in the pumpkins. He leapt down beside me and meowed excitedly as we came out into the hall.

We'd gone all out for this. Giant spider webs stretched up the staircase, all the way to the third floor, and on each step was a carved pumpkin, ghostly gauze, was draped over mirrors and chandeliers. The stairs were delightfully creaky as we climbed. And I smiled, thinking that the house was playing its part in the spectacle. I'd first thought of putting real candles in the pumpkins.

I wanted them to flicker and smoke just a bit for the authenticity. But chef, ever the more logical of us, pointed out that all it would take was a misplaced shoe on the stairs to send a flaming pumpkin down into the hall. And then the fire department would have to be called. while I liked the image of that flying, grinning gourd, very headless horsemen. I guessed they had a point, and now as we turned the landing at the second floor, and made our way puffing slightly, up the last flight, I realized hand, and lighting all those candles would have taken the whole night.

Chef had found some battery-operated lights and kindly charged and situated each one and given me a remote. I took it from my pocket as we stood at the very top of the stairs. and looked down through the gloomy, webbed flights, and into the dark hall. Sycamore poked his head through the railings, and I could feel his tail curled around my ankle. I pushed the button on the remote, and the whole space lit up with a flickering orange glow that was spooking. yet beckoning. I hoped it would be irresistible to our party guests tonight, drawing them up to the ballroom, where chefs punch cauldron would be bubbling and smoking and the band playing, enticing

them to reach for a partner and join the dance macabre. Now, into our costume Sicky. Not much time left, and we hustled down the hall to our room. Sycamore had considered several costume options. He'd considered going as a jaguar. slinking through the crowds as a big and powerful cat. But, you know, in his mind, that was already who he was. So he wouldn't have even needed a costume, which isn't that fun. I'd suggested he could go as Velcro. Since he's black and sticks to stuff,

I'd been picking some of his fur off my collar when I'd made that suggestion. But he'd just turned away and sighed. In the end, chef found him a sort of onesy with glow in the dark paint that made him look like a kiddie skeleton. And when we tried it on and flicked off the lights, he'd watched himself prowling in front of the mirror and purred.

I helped him into it now, rubbing his ears. As I snapped it up the back, I thought about all the silly fun we had together. How had I ever lived without him? Then I turned to my closet and took out a vintage dress, an apron I'd found at the resale shop. I didn't know the name of the other innkeeper. didn't know how old she was when she started or stopped, but I felt a kinship with her, and just like I'd dressed as my heroes. When I went out trick-or-treating when I was young,

I was dressing as her for the party tonight. It was strange, actually. We'd found lots of pictures. of the house at various times in its life. But we'd never found a single shot of her. There was one I'd found in the back of a closet, but her face was a blur. She must have been moving too fast for the shutter to catch her. I could relate. It seemed I was always, needed somewhere in the inn. Still, I'd based this costume on that blurry image, a pale dress with full cuffs and a dark apron. Like me, she'd worn sensible,

flat shoes. That would make going up and down the stairs possible and speedy. And though I couldn't tell in the photo, I'd guessed she'd tucked her hair up in a neat bun. So I twisted my own locks into place and secured them with bobby pins. Sycamore lay glowing and front of of the full-sized mirror in the dim light. And as I stepped in front of it, I felt the air fade from my lungs. I don't know why. In some ways, I was dressing up as myself. But in the mirror, I saw a different version of me, a woman who had known, even, even more of the secrets of this old house. And it felt like saying a word

that had been on the tip of your tongue for years. A bell rang over my door, and I jumped startling myself out of whatever sort of daydream this was. I laughed and looked down at skeletal sycamore. That's chef, letting us know that guests are arriving, sigh. Let's be good hosts. I peered at myself in the mirror one more time and said as I turned to the door, or good ghosts, sweet dreams.