Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - Chef and the Ghost Light

Episode Date: October 27, 2025

Our story tonight is called Chef and the Ghost Light, and it’s a story in which, fine, I’ll admit, something happens. The jig is up. It’s even a little spooky friends. So if that isn’t your cup of sleepy-time tea, please skip this episode and dive into one of the hundreds of others I’ve written for you. We’ll return to your regular programming next week. This is a story about Halloween Night at the Inn, as party guests dance and cavort. It’s also about lightning over the lake, whirring in the walls, a piece of Village lore rediscovered, and a lone light shining in the darkness. Subscribe to our ⁠Premium channel⁠. The first month is on us. 💙 From infant to age 5, Primrose Schools is The Leader in Early Education and Care. Learn more at ⁠PrimroseSchools.com⁠. Go to ⁠AquaTruWater.com⁠ now for 20% off your purifier using promo code NOTHINGMUCH. AquaTru even comes with a 30-day best-tasting water guarantee. We give to a different charity each week and this week we are giving to ⁠Affirmations (Ferndale)⁠, a charity close to my heart and home. Affirmations works to provide a welcoming space where all LGBTQIA+ folks can find support and unconditional acceptance, and where they can learn, grow, socialize and feel safe. ⁠NMH merch, autographed books and more!⁠ ⁠Pay it forward subscription⁠  Listen to our daytime show ⁠Stories from the Village of Nothing Much⁠.  ⁠First This, Kathryn’s guided mediation podcast.  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. Who children become is as important as what they know. That belief is at the heart of the Primrose School's balanced learning approach, which weaves character development into lessons every day. Balanced learning goes beyond academics to nurture traits that help children learn what it means to be a good friend, how to show respect for others, and why it's important to keep promises. I know firsthand how much early education shapes a life. My own preschools small classes helped me grow into a curious kind adult.

Learn more at primrose schools.com. 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 Wittershyme. We give to a different charity each week, and this week we are giving to Affirmations of Ferndale,

a charity close to my heart and to my home. Affirmations works to provide a welcoming space where all LGBTQIA-plus folks can find support and unconditional acceptance, where they can learn, grow, socialize, and feel safe. Learn more about them in our show notes. We have something special coming up. A live online, nothing much happens show, just a few days before Thanksgiving. It'll be an hour plus of stories, sound, and seasonal magic, with a few surprises,

from the village to help you slow down and savor this cozy time of year. I hope you'll join us. Follow the link in our show notes to get your ticket now. And as always, for ad-free and bonus apps, click subscribe in Spotify or Apple or go to Nothing Much Happens.com. I have a story to tell you. It's a place to rest your mind. And all that's required of you is to listen.

Like, just with one ear is enough. I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little bit slower the second time through. If you wake later in the night, don't hesitate to restart the episode. Our story tonight is called Chef and the Ghost Light. And it's a story in which, fine, I'll admit it, something happens. The jig is up. It's even a little bit spooky, friends. So if that isn't your cup of sleepy time tea, please skip this episode and dive into one of the hundreds of others I've written for you. We'll return to your regular programming next week. This is a story about Halloween night at the inn as party guests dance and cavort. It's also about lightning over the lake, worrying in the walls, a piece of village lore rediscovered, and a lone light shining in the darkness. Did you know that three out of four U.S. homes have toxic chemicals in their tabwomen?

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Go to aquatrue.com right now and get 20% off your purifier with promo code, nothing much. Aquitru even comes with a 30-day best-tasting water guarantee. That's Aquatrua-Q-T-R-U-com. Promo code, N-O-T-H-I-N-G, M-U-C-H. Take the guesswork out of pure great-tasting water. Try Aquatru today. So snuggle down. Get as comfortable as you can.

Even though our story tonight is a little spooky, I'm here to watch over and guard you. You're safe. You can relax. Take a deep breath in through your nose and sigh it out. Nice. One more inhale. And release. Good.

Chef and the ghost light. In the ballroom on the second floor, revelers were dancing. Candles flickered within the hundred or so jack-a-lanterns, lining the grand central staircase, from the inn's entryway, all the way up to the attic. There was an eerie, greenish glow from my bubbling cauldron of homemade punch on the buffet table, and through the tall windows that looked down to the lake,

dark as night and reflecting a thin crescent moon, branches swayed in a rising wind. The rain had been threatening to wash out trick-or-treating all day. More than once, while I cooked, and prepared for the festivities. I'd seen a thick gray ceiling of clouds sweep over the village. And then, as if they'd somehow been frozen in place,

just stop. I don't know if you've ever seen completely still clouds. I hadn't. But that's what they appeared to be. no swirling, no shifting, and no rain. I suspect that friend of the innkeeper, the one who'd promised us a bright sunny day

for the wedding we'd hosted here a few years back, as she'd had something to do with it. Just in the last half hour, the wind had picked up. Leaves were tumbling from trees, like orange and scarlet snowflakes, and I figured we had only minutes before the rain finally fell. At least the trick-or-treaters had gotten through their neighborhood trumps before it came. I'd had a dance or two, and was just catching my breath. leaning up against a pillar near the double doors.

When a flash of something caught my eye from the hall, it was the red light on the dumbwaiter. A bit like a miniature elevator, its panel had a call button on each floor. When it was in transit, its tiny bulb glowed red. When it arrived at the floor it had been called from, it flipped to green.

I tilted my head in question, wondering who had pressed the button below. I scanned the ballroom, looking for the innkeeper, searching for her blue dress and white pinafore. We'd coordinated costumes this year. She was Alice, and I was the Cheshire Cat, or, I'd teased, the Chefshire Cat.

The theme had been her idea, and when I asked what inspired it, She said something about how she sometimes feels like she's through the looking glass and besides Sycamore wanted to be the mad catter she didn't get any argument from me I was already thinking of the cookies I could decorate

to say eat me and the bottles of cordial and fizzy juice I could tie drink-me labels to. My costume was a deep, plum chef's coat, with silky black ears atop my head, on a tail snaking from my back. I painted my nails in stripes of dark and light purple. And when I pulled my face into a wide Cheshire grin, I had false fangs glued to my canine teeth. Just for fun. It was Halloween, after all.

Alice didn't seem to be anywhere in the ballroom. So I guessed she must be the one calling the dumbwaiter. Likely she was refilling platters down in the kitchen To bring up to the buffet. But when I checked the chafing dishes and domed plates, There was still plenty of my crescent moon pies and candied crows. My fog on the lake punch was more than half full. And the mystery cauldron dip,

with backcrackers, had a backup waiting to be set out. She must not have realized that I had a stocked cooler under one of the draped tables. And it's not that I don't trust her in my kitchen, but, well, she should enjoy the party and leave the food restocking to me. I slipped out through the double doors and on to the landing, making my way down the steps, carefully in the candlelight. When I rounded the half-landing between floors, a little niche in the wall,

where the innkeeper had hung a bouquet of nightshade from a hook in the ceiling, a sort of Halloween version of mistletoe. I chuckled sidling past the couple there. In the entryway, the center table was decorated with dripping black candles and a giant centerpiece of orchids in the same midnight hue. A single day.

tarot card was peeking out from the moss at its base when I could just make out that it was the six of cups. Party-goers were everywhere, lounging on the fainting couch beside the front door, telling stories and jokes near the bowls of candy by the front office. and crowding the long hallway that led to the back of the inn. I was just inching my way through it when a green light blinked on beside the butler's pantry. What? I stepped closer to the dumbwaiter station,

trying to understand what was happening, I'd assumed whoever had pressed its call button had done it from the hoistway in the kitchen, a floor below where I stood. I looked up and down the hallway, and while I saw plenty of people, and more than one cat, they all seemed busy with conversation or games.

No one was looking at me, or the dumbwaiter. If someone here was playing a trick on me, they had a solid poker face. I reached for the gate to slide it back and see what was being sent from floor to floor. But in that moment, the green light blinked out, and the red one flashed on beside it. Come on, I said aloud.

I needed to see what was happening in my kitchen. I started toward the stairs at the end of the hall when a sudden flash of lightning cut through the night. Through the windows of the back porch, I saw it reflected in the surface of the lake. It was so bright that most of the people thronged in the hall, paused their conversations to gape. A moment later, they broke out in nervous laughter.

And as I rounded the corner and started down the kitchen stairs, a boom of thunder struck, chasing me down to the bottom like I was escaping an explosion in an action movie. I'd left most of the lights on down here, anticipating the need to fill fresh platters and fetch more punch ingredients from the fridge. But someone had turned them off. There was only one left on,

the one over the staff table, where we ate our meals together. It was an old pendant light, with a pretty jade green glass. shade. The innkeeper told me she'd found it in a box down here when she started renovating. It made a soft circle of light around the table, and when I went to bed each night, it was the light I left on. I'd even joked before that it was like the tradition in theaters, where they always leave a single bulb lit on stage

to burn through the night, a ghost light, they called it. Just then, I heard the mechanical whir of the dumbwaiter through the wall. As I turned to look, the green light snapped on. Rain spattered against the window panes, and branches swayed in the wind, throwing moving shadows across the walls. I approached the gate of the dumbwaiter and reached for the knobs.

My hands weren't shaking, but my breath was a little fast. Feeling in the air was the same as the scent of ozone when lightning strikes. I wasn't afraid. I was excited. The doors opened deep. easily. And at first I thought it was empty, that this was just a prank, and probably Alice and the mad catter were watching me from a corner, stifling their giggles. But then I saw a gleam of white at the back, and reached in for it. It was a card, an old one, more yellow than white.

Worn at the edges, the ink faded. I took it over to the table to read it under the light. In handwriting that reminded me of my grandparents, I read the words at the time. top. Original, Village Inn, Pickles. My mouth fell open as I scanned through the listed ingredients and method. The recipe was different from mine, not by a huge margin, but enough.

to make me wonder how these would taste. Suddenly, my mind filled with new dishes I could serve beside these pickles. A whole dinner dedicated to this original recipe. It made me wonder if there were more cards like these somewhere. If whoever had sent this one, might offer up more. I smiled broadly as I tucked the precious card into the front pocket of my chef's jacket and climbed the stairs to rejoin the party.

Chef and the ghostlight in the ballroom on the second floor revelers were dancing candles flickered within the hundred or so jackalantons lining the grand central staircase from the inn's entryway all the way up to the attic.

There was an eerie, greenish glow from my bubbling cauldron of homemade punch on the buffet table. And through the tall windows that looked down to the lake, dark as night, and reflecting a thin crescent moon. Branches swayed in a rising wind.

The rain had been threatening to wash out trick or treating all day. More than once, while I cook. and prepared for the festivities. I'd seen a thick, gray ceiling of clouds sweep over the village. And then, as if they'd somehow been frozen in place, just stop.

I don't know if you've ever seen completely still clouds I hadn't but that's what they appeared to be no swirling no shifting and no rain I suspected

that friend of the innkeeper the one who'd promised us a bright sunny day for the wedding we'd hosted here a few years back had something to do with that. Just in the last half hour, the wind had picked up. leaves were tumbling from the trees like orange and scarlet snowflakes and I figured we had only minutes before the rain finally fell

at least the trick-or-treaters had gotten through their neighborhood tramps before it came. I'd had a dance or two and was just catching my breath, leaning up against a pillar near the double doors. When a flash of something caught my eye from

the hall. It was the red light on the dumbwaiter. A bit like a miniature elevator. Its panel had a call button on each floor. When it was in transit, a tiny bulb glowed red. When it arrived at the floor it had been called from, it flipped to green. I tilted my head in question, wondering who had pressed the button below. I scanned the ballroom, looking for the innkeeper. searching for her blue dress and white pinafore. We'd coordinated costumes this year. She was Alice, and I was the Cheshire Cat.

Or, I'd teased, the Shefshire Cat. the theme had been her idea and when I asked what inspired it she said something about how she sometimes feels like she's through the looking glass and besides Sycamore wanted to be the mad catter She didn't get any argument for me.

I was already thinking of the cookies I could decorate to say eat me and the bottles of cordial and fizzy juice I could tie drink me labels to. My costume was a deep, plum chef's coat with silky black ears atop my head and a tail snaking from my back I'd painted my nails in stripes of dark and light purple and when I pulled my face into a wide Cheshire grin

I had false fangs glued to my canine teeth just for fun it was Halloween after all Alice didn't seem to be anywhere in the ballroom so I guessed she must be the one

calling the dumbwaiter Likely she was refilling platters down in the kitchen to bring up to the buffet. But when I checked the chafing dishes and domed plates, there were still plenty of my crescent moon pies and candied crows. My fog on the lake punch was more than half-fall, and the mystery cauldron dip with bat-crackers

had a backup already waiting to be set out. She must not have realized that I had a stocked cooler under one of the draped tables. And it's not that I don't trust her in my kitchen, but, well, she should enjoy the party and leave the food restocking to me. I slipped out through the double doors and onto the landing

making my way down the steps carefully in the candlelight when I rounded the half-landing between floors a little niche in the wall where the innkeeper had hung a bouquet of nightshay from a hook in the ceiling

as a sort of Halloween version of mistletoe. I chuckled, sideline past the couple there. In the entryway, the center table was decorated with dripping black candles and a giant centerpiece of orchids in the same midnight hue.

A single tarot card was peeking out from the moss at its base and I could just make out that it was the six of cups. Party-goers were everywhere, lounging on the fainting couch beside the front door, telling stories and jokes near the bowls of candy by the office, and crowding the long hallway that led to the back of the inn.

I was just inching my way through it when a green light blinked on beside the butler's pantry. What? I stepped closer to the dumbwaiter station trying to understand what was happening. I'd assumed whoever had pressed its call button, had done it from the hoistway in the kitchen,

a floor below where I stood. I looked up and down the hallway, and while I saw plenty of people and more than one cat, They all seemed busy with conversation or games. No one was looking at me or the dumbwaiter. If someone here was playing a trick on me, they had a solid poker face. I reached for the gate. to slide it back and see what was being sent from floor to floor.

But in that moment, the green light blinked out, and the red one flashed on beside it. come on i said aloud i needed to see what was happening in my kitchen i started toward the stairs at the end of the hall when a sudden flash of lightning cut through the night through the windows of the back porch I saw it reflect in the surface of the lake it was so bright that most of the people thronged in the hall paused their conversations to gape

a moment later they broke out in nervous laughter and as I rounded the corner and started down the kitchen stairs a boom of thunder struck chasing me down to the bottom like I was escaping an explosion in an action movie.

I'd left most of the lights on down here, anticipating the need to fill fresh platters and fetch more punch ingredients from the fridge. But someone had turned them off There was only one light on, the one over the staff table, where we ate our meals together. It was an old pendant light with a pretty jade green glass shade. The innkeeper told me she found it in a box.

down here when she started renovating. It made a soft circle of light around the table. And when I went to bed each night, it was the light I left on. I'd even joked before. that it was like the tradition in theatres, where they always leave a single bulb lit on stage to burn through the night,

a ghost light, they call it. Just then, I heard the mechanical whirer of the dumbwaiter through the wall. As I turned to look, the green light snapped on. Rain spattered across the window panes, and branches swayed in the wind, throwing moving shadows across the walls. I approached the gate

of the dumbwaiter and reached for the knobs. My hands weren't shaking, but my breath was a little fast. The feeling in the air was the same as the scent of ozone when lightning strikes I wasn't afraid

I was excited The doors opened easily And at first I thought it was empty But this was just a prank And probably Alice and the mad catter or watching me from a corner

stifling their giggles. But then I saw a gleam of white at the back and reached for it. It was a card, an old one, more yellow than white, worn at the edges, the ink faded. I took it over to the table to read it under the light.

In handwriting that reminded me of my grandparents, I read the words at the top. original Village Inn Pickles My mouth fell open as I scanned through the listed ingredients and method the recipe was different from mine not by a huge margin

But enough to make me wonder how these would taste. Suddenly, my mind, filled with new dishes, I could serve beside these pickles, a whole dinner dedicated to this original recipe. It made me wonder if they'd be able to this original recipe. if there were more cards like these somewhere. If whoever had sent this one to me might offer up more.

I smiled broadly as I tucked the precious card into the front pocket of my chef's jacket. and climbed the stairs to rejoin the party. Sweet dreams.