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In the corner of a quiet house, at the end of a long, sleepy street, was a room that refused to go to sleep. It belonged to a little boy named Leo. While the rest of the world embraced the cool, calming blanket of the night, Leo fought it with everything he had. His room was a fortress of light. He had a lamp shaped like a rocket ship on his desk, a string of fairy lights wrapped around his bedpost, a glowing turtle on his nightstand, and a hallway door left open exactly three inches.
Leo was afraid of the dark. To him, the dark was an empty canvas where his imagination painted monsters in the shadows and giants in the corners. As long as the lights were on, he knew exactly where his toys were, and he knew he was safe. But the lights also kept him awake. He tossed and turned, his eyes tired, his body heavy, but his mind buzzing like a busy bee.
The clock downstairs chimed midnight. Just as the twelfth chime faded into the quiet house, a strange sound caught Leo’s attention. It was a tiny thump, followed by the delicate shattering of glass, coming from the floor near his closet.
Leo sat up, pulling his starry quilt up to his nose. “Hello?” he whispered, his heart doing a nervous little flutter.
A tiny voice, no louder than the rustle of a dry leaf, groaned. “Oh, thistles and thorns. That was a dreadful landing.”
Leo slowly leaned over the edge of his bed, peering down. Sitting on the soft carpet was a creature no taller than an apple. He looked like a tiny boy, but he had antennae on his forehead and a pair of wings folded behind his back that looked exactly like the wings of a Luna moth—pale green and incredibly soft. He was dressed in a little tunic woven from twilight-blue thread. Next to him lay a miniature metal lantern. Its glass panes were cracked, and the inside was completely dark.
“Who are you?” Leo asked, forgetting to be afraid because the creature was so incredibly small.
The little being looked up, his large, silver eyes blinking in the bright glare of Leo’s room. He shielded his face with a tiny hand. “Goodness, it’s brighter than the midday sun in here! I am Pip. I am a Night-Sprite, a Keeper of the Quiet Hours. My job is to fly from window to window, bringing the soothing magic of the night to help children sleep.” Pip sighed, his moth-wings drooping sadly. “But I flew into a rogue gust of wind, tumbled down your chimney, bounced down the hall, and crashed in here. My lantern is broken, and the Dream-Light has gone out.”
Leo looked at the tiny, dark lantern. “Can’t you just turn it back on? Like a flashlight?”
Pip shook his head. “Dream-Light isn’t made of batteries and bulbs. It is made of the night’s most peaceful magic. Without it, the shadows grow sharp and scary instead of soft and sleepy. Without it, children like you cannot rest.” Pip looked at Leo’s many lights. “I see you are already fighting the shadows.”
“I don’t like the dark,” Leo admitted, his voice quiet. “It’s too empty.”
“The dark is never empty, Leo. It is full of rest, peace, and quiet wonders,” Pip said gently. He picked up his little lantern. “If I cannot relight this lantern before the sun rises, the magic will fade forever, and the Night-Sprites will lose their power to bring peaceful sleep. Will you help me? If we relight the lantern, I promise I will show you that the dark is nothing to fear.”
Leo looked around his overly bright room. His eyes ached. He was so very tired. He looked at the hopeful little sprite and nodded slowly. “Okay, Pip. How do we fix it?”
Pip smiled, a warm expression that made Leo feel instantly braver. “We must step into the Midnight Realm and gather the ingredients of the night. Come, Leo. The closet awaits.”
Leo slipped out of bed in his bare feet. He followed Pip to the closet door. When Pip touched the wood with his tiny hand, the door swung open. But instead of Leo’s clothes and board games, the closet revealed a sprawling, beautiful meadow bathed in the softest, gentlest silver light. Taking a deep breath, Leo stepped through the door, leaving the glare of his bedroom behind.
