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The Midnight Float of the Non-Fiction
Please vote for “A Bedtime Story” for Volume One’s Best Local Podcast!
Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!
“A Bedtime Story” Season 2 is coming soon!
Mr. Caspian Clutterbuck was the librarian of the Grand Reading Hall, a man so devoted to quiet that he wore felt slippers year-round and communicated primarily through written notes. One blustery Tuesday, engrossed in re-shelving a rare history of turnip production, Mr. Clutterbuck failed to hear the closing bell. The massive oak doors locked with a resounding THUNK, and he realized he was trapped for the night.
He sighed, lit a kerosene lamp, and prepared to enjoy the silence. He settled down with his turnips history just as the grandfather clock chimed midnight.
BONG! BONG! BONG!
As the twelfth chime faded, Mr. Clutterbuck noticed a peculiar sight: the entire non-fiction section began to lift silently off the shelves. The huge volumes on architecture, physics, and marine biology hovered in the air, drifting gently like silent, heavy birds.
Mr. Clutterbuck stared, jaw slack. "The Dewey Decimal System must be malfunctioning," he scribbled frantically on a notepad.
The floating books, unbound by gravity, began to mingle. The book on Volcanoes started circling the book on Ancient Roman Law, as if arguing. The massive biography of a famous painter bumped playfully against The Complete Guide to Plumbing.
A slim volume on Advanced Calculus whizzed past Mr. Clutterbuck’s head, seemingly trying to escape the entire non-fiction block. He reached out and snagged it.
"Hold on, little Calculus," he whispered. "Why the panic?"
The book pulsed gently in his hand. Suddenly, the entire non-fiction section descended on him, trapping him in a soft, cushiony wall of knowledge. A thick medical textbook settled directly on his chest.
A low, collective hum seemed to emanate from the books. Mr. Clutterbuck understood: they were tired of being so serious. They wanted a midnight party.
He laughed, a silent, joyful laugh, and spent the next hour gently redirecting the book on Bridge Construction away from the poetry section. When the first hint of dawn appeared, the books descended with a soft whoosh back onto their shelves, perfectly aligned. Mr. Clutterbuck, exhausted but thrilled, dusted himself off. From then on, he always stayed until midnight on Tuesdays, ready to chaperone the most serious party in the world.
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By Matthew MitchellPlease vote for “A Bedtime Story” for Volume One’s Best Local Podcast!
Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!
“A Bedtime Story” Season 2 is coming soon!
Mr. Caspian Clutterbuck was the librarian of the Grand Reading Hall, a man so devoted to quiet that he wore felt slippers year-round and communicated primarily through written notes. One blustery Tuesday, engrossed in re-shelving a rare history of turnip production, Mr. Clutterbuck failed to hear the closing bell. The massive oak doors locked with a resounding THUNK, and he realized he was trapped for the night.
He sighed, lit a kerosene lamp, and prepared to enjoy the silence. He settled down with his turnips history just as the grandfather clock chimed midnight.
BONG! BONG! BONG!
As the twelfth chime faded, Mr. Clutterbuck noticed a peculiar sight: the entire non-fiction section began to lift silently off the shelves. The huge volumes on architecture, physics, and marine biology hovered in the air, drifting gently like silent, heavy birds.
Mr. Clutterbuck stared, jaw slack. "The Dewey Decimal System must be malfunctioning," he scribbled frantically on a notepad.
The floating books, unbound by gravity, began to mingle. The book on Volcanoes started circling the book on Ancient Roman Law, as if arguing. The massive biography of a famous painter bumped playfully against The Complete Guide to Plumbing.
A slim volume on Advanced Calculus whizzed past Mr. Clutterbuck’s head, seemingly trying to escape the entire non-fiction block. He reached out and snagged it.
"Hold on, little Calculus," he whispered. "Why the panic?"
The book pulsed gently in his hand. Suddenly, the entire non-fiction section descended on him, trapping him in a soft, cushiony wall of knowledge. A thick medical textbook settled directly on his chest.
A low, collective hum seemed to emanate from the books. Mr. Clutterbuck understood: they were tired of being so serious. They wanted a midnight party.
He laughed, a silent, joyful laugh, and spent the next hour gently redirecting the book on Bridge Construction away from the poetry section. When the first hint of dawn appeared, the books descended with a soft whoosh back onto their shelves, perfectly aligned. Mr. Clutterbuck, exhausted but thrilled, dusted himself off. From then on, he always stayed until midnight on Tuesdays, ready to chaperone the most serious party in the world.