Great News! Chamberton Publishing has featured The Conductor in their children's bedtime story anthology entitled, Nightlight. Get your copy today!
The Conductor
(A short story for children)
The Conductor
Every night he climbs out of bed. He has no need for an alarm clock. The warm glow of the rainbow sunset rouses him. And when it is cloudy or stormy out, the crickets come calling, coaxing him from his dreams with their sketchy song.
The old man rises from his bed of clouds and scratches his long, silvery beard. He stretches his weary bones, shifting the sleeping cap that has traveled to one side of his head.
Making his way behind his dressing screen, you hear only a single yawn just before his nightgown flies up in the air to hang over the screen. He emerges in a flowing robe the color of frosty diamonds and tied at the waist with a single moonbeam. Though he is weary, there is a job to be done and his is a very important job. No one else will apply for this special job. No one else can do this job.
Fireflies encircle his head and he swats at them as he travels down a darkened hallway. The solitary candle he carries illuminates the stone walls around him. His is a tiny castle; one that belongs only to him as it always has and will always belong to him for all of time.
Through the caressing glow of his lonely candle, the hallway of the tiny castle curves to reveal a tightly spiraling staircase. The last fiery spurts of sunlight pierce the narrow window at the base of the stairs, clawing at the gray stone walls until their last dying breath pulls them away. The old man shields his eyes and pauses, looking up at the stairs ahead of him. His shoulders rise and fall on a sigh.
Holding up the long skirt of his robe, he lifts his candle high and starts his climb. The steps curve and curve. They curve forever it seems. As he is not as young as he used to be, the old man stops every now and then to catch his raspy breath before continuing to climb, climb, climb.
Finally, he arrives at a landing. Long and flat, the landing is bigger even than his sleeping quarters. Along the outskirts of the landing are many large cages rising to the high-beamed ceiling.
The old man sets his candle down on a little round table made from the wayward tail of a comet and crosses to the far side of the cages. He places his aged hand on a lever and pulls. With a resounding clack, the single bar that locks all the cages falls free and the cage doors flap open.
In the purple dawn of a twilight sky, the cages remain silent, dark. The old man walks to the center of the landing and pulls a tiny flute from the left pocket of his robe. Standing silent for a moment, he slowly scans the open cages from left to right before placing the reed of the flute to his whiskery lips.
Tsk, tsk! Wanna' know what happens next? Buy a copy of Nightlight today.
Every night he climbs out of bed. He has no need for an alarm clock. The warm glow of the rainbow sunset rouses him. And when it is cloudy or stormy out, the crickets come calling, coaxing him from his dreams with their sketchy song.
The old man rises from his bed of clouds and scratches his long, silvery beard. He stretches his weary bones, shifting the sleeping cap that has traveled to one side of his head.
Making his way behind his dressing screen, you hear only a single yawn just before his nightgown flies up in the air to hang over the screen. He emerges in a flowing robe the color of frosty diamonds and tied at the waist with a single moonbeam. Though he is weary, there is a job to be done and his is a very important job. No one else will apply for this special job. No one else can do this job.
Fireflies encircle his head and he swats at them as he travels down a darkened hallway. The solitary candle he carries illuminates the stone walls around him. His is a tiny castle; one that belongs only to him as it always has and will always belong to him for all of time.
Through the caressing glow of his lonely candle, the hallway of the tiny castle curves to reveal a tightly spiraling staircase. The last fiery spurts of sunlight pierce the narrow window at the base of the stairs, clawing at the gray stone walls until their last dying breath pulls them away. The old man shields his eyes and pauses, looking up at the stairs ahead of him. His shoulders rise and fall on a sigh.
Holding up the long skirt of his robe, he lifts his candle high and starts his climb. The steps curve and curve. They curve forever it seems. As he is not as young as he used to be, the old man stops every now and then to catch his raspy breath before continuing to climb, climb, climb.
Finally, he arrives at a landing. Long and flat, the landing is bigger even than his sleeping quarters. Along the outskirts of the landing are many large cages rising to the high-beamed ceiling.
The old man sets his candle down on a little round table made from the wayward tail of a comet and crosses to the far side of the cages. He places his aged hand on a lever and pulls. With a resounding clack, the single bar that locks all the cages falls free and the cage doors flap open.
In the purple dawn of a twilight sky, the cages remain silent, dark. The old man walks to the center of the landing and pulls a tiny flute from the left pocket of his robe. Standing silent for a moment, he slowly scans the open cages from left to right before placing the reed of the flute to his whiskery lips.
Tsk, tsk! Wanna' know what happens next? Buy a copy of Nightlight today.