Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - Sycamore & the Gravestones, Part 2

Episode Date: October 26, 2023

Our story tonight is called Sycamore and The Gravestones Part 2, and it is a story about a tall tree at the edge of the Inn and the secret it holds in one of its dark knots. It’s also about cornstalks and strings of purple and orange lights, crochet hooks and ink pens, and a new friendship that will make the coming winter so sweet. Purchase Our Book: https://bit.ly/Nothing-Much-HappensSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Welcome to Bedtime Stories for Everyone, in which nothing much happens, you feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Katherine Nicolai. I read and write all the stories you hear on Nothing Much Happens. Audio engineering is by Bob Wittersheim. We usually bring you an encore story on Thursdays, but this week we are continuing our Halloween special. I don't find these to be in any way spooky, and certainly not scary. But if you're more in the mood for something simply cozy, we have over 200 episodes to choose from. And even if you think you've heard them all,

I bet you've missed a lot while you were sleeping. Now, let me say a little about how this works. I think of the stories as some very cushy guardrails guiding you to Sleepy Town. Bedfordshire, if you will. They keep you on track for sleep. Without them, your mind can and probably will wander all over the place. So your job is just to listen. I'll tell the story twice, going a little slower the second time through. If you wake later in the night and feel that wandering begin to gear back up,

just start the story over again. You'll drop right back off in seconds. Time to snuggle down, my dears. You have made it to the end of this day, and whatever it was is what it was. Now you're here. I'll take the next watch, so there is nothing needed from you but rest. Let your shoulders, jaw, hands, and feet relax. Let's draw a deep breath in through your nose. Let it out through the mouth. One more. Breathe in. And sigh. Good.

Our story tonight is called Sycamore and the Gravestones, Part 2. And it is a story about a tall tree at the edge of the inn and the secret it holds in one of its dark knots. It's also about corn stalks and strings of purple and orange lights, crochet hooks and ink pens, and a new friendship that will make the coming winter so sweet. Sycamore and the Gravestones Part 2

In town, there were pumpkins on nearly every doorstep. The bakery's window was full of hand-decorated cookies in the shape of bats and spiders and green monster heads. The street lamps were wrapped in dry corn stalks, and the newspaper kiosk on the edge of the park was swathed in spider webs. Our little village adored Halloween, and as a witch, I'm not going to say that that was all down to me and my coven, but I will say, as the veil grew thin, we found more ways to make October shine. The fog in the mornings rolled in like a thick, comforting quilt.

And when it cleared in the afternoons, the light on the falling leaves was absolutely stunning. Trick or treating had never once been rained out on our watch, and if anyone threw a Halloween party, there would definitely be a moment when the lights flickered and threatened to go out, just to send chill up the guests' spines, as long as one of us was invited anyway. Today, there was a pleasant grayness to the sky, the kind of day that might make you stoke up a fire in the grate and pull an extra sweater around your shoulders as as you sit somewhere comfortable and open a mystery novel. And that did sound lovely to me.

But I was on a mission today. We both were. My cat Cinder and I. My magic comes in quiet flashes of understanding. My intuition is strong and predictive. I'd had to learn how to listen to it to really be able to use it effectively. Sometimes we get intuition sort of taught out of us when we are young, and we stop trusting that voice that suggests a path or tells us what we need and when. As I grew older and learned to love and trust myself more, I found my intuition came back strong and steady. I knew before someone called that I'd be hearing from them soon.

I'd let my neighbors know before a snowstorm was even predicted that they should stock up on supplies. One summer night, I woke up at two in the morning and called a friend who lived on a lake to tell him that I was sure his boat had just come untied. He peeked out the window and stammered that it was indeed drifting away before dropping the phone and dashing out to catch up one of the lines. My grandmother's spellbook and finding the others had helped too, of course. And Cinder, well, she was as much a friend and a guide as she was my cat to care for. And today we were both anxious to retrace our footsteps

and find something that we'd perhaps lost or overlooked. In truth, we weren't exactly sure what our mission was, just that we had been struck by flashes of insight, and it had to do with an old tree we'd recently spent some time with on the grounds of the inn on the lake.

So we admired the pumpkins on the stoops and blinking orange and purple lights strung up in town as we drove. And I let my breath get deep and slow, inviting the quiet frame of mind that often allowed me to see past the present. We turned down the long gravel drive at the inn. They would close up for the season after Halloween, and the staff would leave for other jobs in other places, all except for the innkeeper, who would spend the lonely winter on small projects and long books. As I switched off the car, I realized what I had just thought,

and turned to Cinder. Is the innkeeper lonely? She stared at me from the passenger side, where she had been enjoying the heated seat, and held my gaze. Ah, I said, beginning to see. I'd been thinking that this was all to do with the tree, and that had blocked me.

I opened the car door, and Cinder jumped down to prowl through the dry leaves beside me, as we walked out to the giant old sycamore. As we approached, I noticed a deep knot on one side and peered cautiously into it. With the low, gray clouds, it is difficult to find a black cat in a dark room, especially when he isn't there. But I knew now, this one was. I made a pss pss pss sound and called to him with what I now realized was his name. Sycamore, come on out, buddy. Cinder meowed in what I guessed was a reassuring way and a second later a small black head emerged from the knot I reached up for him and he let me rub his chin more meowing from Cinder, and he let me pick him up and hold him in my arms. He

wasn't overly skinny and looked to be in pretty good shape, but he certainly was in need of a home. I guessed he'd only been waiting a bit for us to find him and now that we had, we just needed to drop him off and our Halloween good deed would be done. We walked off toward the inn, Sycamore yawning and unworried in the crook of my elbow. Coming around the side of the house, I saw through the lit windows that the innkeeper

was at the reception desk, writing something in the big book of reservations. And she saw us too, her mouth falling open while she stared at the cat I carried. I pushed through the front door and stepped into the office. Are you familiar with the cat distribution system? I asked. What? She said. That's right, I agreed. Well, you've been chosen. This is Sycamore, and you're his person now. She laid her pen on the counter, and I set Sycamore beside it. He immediately pushed the pen off the desktop. Oh, they do do that, I acknowledged.

I hope you prefer your pens on the floor. Crochet hooks, too, she asked, beginning to laugh. Afraid so. She reached out a hand to Sy afraid so. She reached out a hand to Sycamore and he sniffed it then rubbed his head against it. She began to stroke his head scratch down his spine.

He stared at her unblinking and clearly besotted. It's funny, she said, all this week, as we've been winding down for the season. I've been thinking about how much I liked having marmalade and crumb and birdie here last winter. I was a bit down, really, you know, feeling lonely, I cut in. Exactly. She leaned in to kiss Sycamore's head. Well, looks like we'll be getting to know each other.

Cinder and I stayed for a cup of tea, and while we sipped, the two cats walked shoulder to shoulder through the room and jumped up together onto a window seat. Cinder was always a good big sister to a lost and found cat, and I felt sure that Sycamore and the innkeeper would take excellent care of each other through the winter. I set my cup down and suggested to Cinder that we be on our way. The innkeeper, with Sycamore at her heels, walked us to the door. And before we left, I squatted down and stroked the black cat, telling him how glad I was that he had found his home,

that the innkeeper would take care of him and that he would need to take care of her as well. Cinder touched her nose to his, then jumped up onto my shoulder, settling her bottom into the hood of my coat, a favorite seat of hers.

The innkeeper squeezed my hand, and we were off. We had one more stop to make in the village. Sycamore and the Gravestones, Part 2 In town, there were pumpkins on nearly every doorstep. The bakery's window was full of hand-decorated cookies in the shape of bats and spiders and green monster heads. The street lamps were wrapped in dry corn stalks, and the newspaper kiosk on the edge of the park was swathed in spider webs.

Our little village adored Halloween. And as a witch, I'm not going to say that that was all down to me on my coven, but I will say that as the veil grew thin, we found more ways to make October shine. The fog in the mornings rolled in like a thick, comforting quilt. And when it cleared in the afternoons, the light on the falling leaves was absolutely stunning. Trick-or-treating had never once

been rained out on our watch. And if anyone threw a Halloween party, there would definitely be a moment when the lights flickered and threatened to go out, just to send a chill up the guests' spines, as long as one of us was invited anyway. Today there was a pleasant grayness to the sky, the kind of day that might make you stoke up a fire in the grate and pull an extra sweater around your shoulders as you sit somewhere comfortable and open a mystery novel. And that did sound lovely to me, but I was on a mission today. We both were. My cat Cinder and I. My magic comes in quiet flashes of understanding. My intuition is strong and predictive.

I've had to learn how to listen to it, to really be able to use it effectively. Sometimes we get intuition sort of taught out of us when we are young, and we stop trusting that voice that suggests a path or tells intuition came back strong and steady. I knew before someone called that I'd be hearing from them soon. I'd let my neighbors know before a snowstorm was even predicted that they should stock up on supplies. One summer night, I woke at two in the morning and called a friend who lived on a lake to tell him that

I was pretty sure his boat had just come untied. He peeked out the window and stammered that it was indeed drifting away before dropping the phone and dashing out to catch up one of the lines. My grandmother's spellbook and finding the others had helped too, of course. And Cinder. She was as much a friend and guide as she was my cat to care for. And today we were both anxious to retrace our footsteps

and find something that we'd perhaps lost or overlooked. In truth, we weren't sure exactly what our mission was. Just that we had been struck by flashes of insight lately, and it had to do with an old tree we'd recently spent some time with on the grounds of the inn at the lake. we admired the pumpkins on stoops and blinking orange and purple lights strung up in town as we drove. And I let my breath get deep and slow inviting the quiet frame of mind that often allowed me to see past the present. We turned down the long gravel drive at the inn.

They would close up for the season after Halloween, and the staff would leave for other jobs and other places, all except for the innkeeper, who would spend the lonely winter on small projects and long books. As I switched off the car, I realized what I had just thought and turned to Cinder. Is the innkeeper lonely? She stared at me from the passenger side,

where she had been enjoying the heated seat, and held my gaze. Ah, I said, beginning to see. I'd been thinking that this was all to do with the tree, and that had blocked me. I opened the car door, and Cinder jumped down to prowl through the dry leaves as we walked out to the giant old sycamore. As we approached, I noticed a deep knot on one side and peered cautiously into it. With the low, gray clouds, it was hard to make anything out,

and I remembered an old aphorism, that it is difficult to find a black cat in a dark room, especially when he isn't there. But I knew now this one was. I made a pss pss pss pss sound and called to him with what I now realized was his name. Sycamore, come on out, buddy. Cinder meowed in what I guessed was a reassuring way, and a second later, a small black head emerged from the knot. I reached up for him,

and he let me rub his chin, more meowing from cinder, and he let me pick him up and hold him in my arms. He wasn't overly skinny and looked to be in pretty good shape, but was certainly in need of a home. I guessed he'd only been waiting a bit for us to find him.

And now that we had, we just needed to drop him off and our Halloween good deed would be done. We walked toward the inn, sycamore yawning and unworried in the crook of my elbow. Coming around the side of the house, I saw through the lit windows that the innkeeper was at the reception desk, writing something in the big book of reservations. And she saw us two, her mouth falling open, while she stared at the cat I carried. I pushed through the front door and stepped into the office. Are you familiar with the cat distribution system i asked what she said that's right i agreed well you've been chosen this iscamore, and you're his person now.

She laid her pen on the counter, and I set Sycamore beside it. He immediately pushed the pen off the desktop. Oh, they do do that, I acknowledged. I hope you prefer your pens on the floor. Crochet hooks too, she asked, beginning to laugh. Afraid so. She reached out a hand to Sycamore, and he sniffed it, then rubbed his head against it.

She began to stroke his head and scratch down his spine. He stared at her, unblinking, and clearly besotted. It's funny, she said, all this week as we've been winding down for the season. I've been thinking about how much I liked having marmalade and crumb and birdie here last winter. I was a bit down, really. You know, feeling lonely, I cut in. Exactly.

She leaned in to kiss Sycamore's head. Well, looks like we'll be getting to know each other. She leaned in to kiss Sycamore's head. Well, looks like we'll be getting to know each other. Cinder and I stayed for a cup of tea. And while we sipped, the two cats walked shoulder to shoulder through the room. And jumped up together onto a window seat. Cinder was always a good big sister to a lost and found cat, and I felt sure that Sycamore and the innkeeper

would take excellent care of each other through the winter. I set my cup down and suggested to Cinder that we be on our way. The innkeeper, with Sycamore at her heels, walked us to the door and before we left I squatted down and stroked the black cat telling him how glad I was that he had found his home

that the innkeeper would take care of him, and that he would need to take care of her as well. Cinder touched her nose to his, then jumped up onto my shoulder, settling her bottom into the hood of my coat, a favorite seat of hers. The innkeeper squeezed my hand, and we were off. We had one more stop to make in the village. Sweet dreams.