The Bedtime Bandit

The Bedtime Bandit

by Chester McPuckett

Once, there was a dad. This dad was rather sleepy. The sun had gone to bed and he so desperately wanted to follow it. Unfortunately, something was in his way. Well, best not to call it a thing. Someone. Two someones actually. They were his sons, and sleepy they were not. Bumblecroft was a dreary town, a place where nothing happened. It was the place where they resided, however, and the general lack of eventfulness is precisely what landed the dad in this predicament. How in the world were his precocious brats meant to tire themselves out in the day if there was simply nothing to do? Were they meant to exhaust themselves playing in the world's grandest park? Actually, that does sound rather ideal. Unfortunately, said park was two towns over and the closest Bumblecroft had to it sadly held the title of least grand.

This was no unheard-of predicament, though. The dad’s parents dealt with it when he was young, as did theirs before him. Parents for generations simply just had to sit at the foot of their child’s bed until the clock struck midnight and their little bodies simply couldn’t resist the temptations of sleep any longer. It was just the way of the world. That was, until, the dad had a stroke of genius. His master plan came to him as suddenly as lightning struck the unassuming sheep herder. 

“Boys,” the dad began, “settle down, will you? I have a story for you”

“A story?” His eldest responded.

“You can tell stories?” The younger boy questioned.

“Yes, I can. I can very well try at least. Now, are you going to settle down so I can start?” he asked.

The boys, clearly intrigued by the prospect of something new and fun to focus their unfettered energy on, tucked themselves in and shut their mouths.

“Right. Once upon a time, there was a little elf-” Dad started, before being rudely interrupted by his oldest son.

“But Dad, everybody knows elves are tall and they live on the other side of the country and-” he tried to protest.

“Enough! This elf is really small, one of a kind. Maybe he’s not an elf, but other than the fact he’s tiny he sure does look like one. Anyways, no more interrupting or we’ll sit here in silence all night until you fall asleep. Understood?” the dad retorted.

The boys laid in silence, their lack of response answering his question perfectly.

“Good. Now, this little elf was named Twig Twag. He was something of a wanderer, Twig Twag. He had patch work clothes made out of big people’s socks and he carried a bindle made out of a toothpick. Now, Twig Twag couldn’t well find a job, could he? Who in the world would hire a six-inch elf? No no, Twig Twag had to steal to survive. Nothing bad, just bits and bobs. He soon realised, though, that he couldn’t go stealing from the big people. One time he stole a sausage from a butcher’s kitchen and he had very nearly trodden on him! No, that wouldn’t do at all. Twig Twag was to die a happy old elf, surrounded by all his little children and grandchildren. Twig Twag decided he’d just take his little nicknacks from the bedrooms of little boys. He’d be in and out, and little boys always kept a snack under their bed. Strange little animals they are, aren’t they?”

The elder son twitched nervously at this point, clearly startled by the news his father knew about the hoard of snacks he had hidden in his room. Perhaps the rumours were true, after all. Maybe his dad really was a kid once, a long, long time ago.

“So, Twig Twag started stealing from little boys” Dad continued, “and everything was going smoothly. He’d find loose socks to make clothes out of, bits of pastry the little fella could feast on for a week. It was a good life. However, one fateful night- he was caught. Just as he was climbing back up to the window to sneak out of another bedroom with his bounty of socks and snacks- a boy woke up. Who are you? he asked Twig Twag. Twig Twag wasn’t much for lies, so he told him the truth. I’m an elf, he responded. You’re a bit small for an elf aren’t you?, the boy asked. Maybe, he responded. They chatted for a bit, and everything seemed to be going fine. Twig Twag shared his name, the boy shared his. The boy, whose name was Timmy, asked all about Twig Twag’s life. He told the boy all about his adventures, and everything seemed jolly good. Twig Twag said goodbye and went to leave- and that’s when things went wrong. Wait, said the boy rather sternly. Do me a favour before you go, or I’ll tell everyone about you. What favour?, Twig Twag asked. Well, we have a test at school in the morning and I can never remember the names of all the Kings of Balmorris. If you help me pass, I’ll keep your secret. Twig Twag thought for a moment and then agreed. I’ll see you at school, just don’t go telling any grown-ups about me! Twig Twag hopped out the window and Timmy went to sleep, nervous about what the next day had in store for him. Little Timmy didn’t want to tell people his new friend’s secret, but he really needed to pass this test.”

The Dad stopped for a moment to catch his breath and noticed his story-telling had already sent his younger son to sleep. He was going to leave, but the eager look in his eldest’s eyes told him to carry on.

“Okay, so, the next day Timmy went to school. He sat down at this desk and got ready to start the test, no sign of Twig Twag. He got on with it anyway, but to his dismay, he was getting nowhere. None of the kings were coming to him. Who was on the throne right now? Gil? No that couldn’t have been it. Timmy was hopeless. Out of nowhere, he heard a voice say Wilhelm. He was flabbergasted of course, because nobody in his class would dare cheat in front of Mr Belcampbell. He was the strictest teacher in all of Balmorris! I’m in your hat, the voice said. It was Twig Twag! He came to help Timmy, after all. One by one, he listed the Kings of Balmorris and Timmy got the perfect grade he was after. As they parted ways, Twig Twag insisted Timmy study more. I will, Timmy told the tiny tutor. I won’t tell anyone your secret either, Twig Twag! And so Twig Twag scurried away, surely on the hunt for another little boy to rob. The End.” Dad finished with a satisfied smile, clearly content with the yarn he had spun.

His eldest was almost asleep, but still somehow clinging on to consciousness.

“Dad,” he whispered, “where’s Twig Twag now?”

“Oh, he’s probably waiting for the last little boys to fall asleep so he can crawl in through their windows and take their odd socks. The usual, I suppose. Night night my boy, I love you very much.”

With that, his eldest’s eyes closed firmly and the dad left the room in glee. At last, he’s found a way to get his kids to sleep. He’ll have to tell his friends about this ‘bedtime story’ idea down at the tavern on Saturday, he thought. For now, though, it was time for the Dad to join his wife in bed and his boys in the land of dreams. 

The end.

Published kingdom-wide by the Battley Brothers Publishing Company.