Lumi, the Firefly Who Didn’t Want to Sleep (a Short Bedtime Story)

In a little house at the end of a stony path, right where the forest begins, lived Nico.

On his bedside table, Nico had a lamp shaped like the moon, and every night, when Mom gave him the last kiss, he asked for the same thing: “Can we leave it on a little bit longer?”

It wasn’t that he was scared. Well, maybe just a little bit. When the light went out, the wardrobe looked bigger, the curtains moved on their own and the house made noises it never made during the day.

That night, Mom turned off the lamp, tucked him in right up to the nose and whispered: “Goodnight, Nico. Everything’s calm.”

Nico lay very still, eyes wide open. And then, on the other side of the window, something went: tinkle, tinkle, tinkle.

It was a tiny yellow light, the size of a chickpea, blinking on and off against the glass.

Nico tiptoed closer. It was a teeny firefly, with see-through wings and a very serious face.

“Hello,” said the firefly. “My name is Lumi. Can’t you sleep either?”

“It’s just that when I turn off the light, I don’t know what’s happening in my room,” Nico replied.

“Same here!” said Lumi, and her light turned orange like a tangerine, she was so happy not to be the only one. “Mom says it’s time to turn off my light. But if I do, who will look after the forest?”

Lumi had the most curious light in the world: yellow as a lemon when she was happy, orange when she laughed and, when something made her a little bit scared, it went tinkle, tinkle, tinkle.

“Come with me,” said Lumi. “Let’s go and watch over the forest. If anything happens, at least there’ll be two of us.”

Lumi touched the tip of Nico’s nose with her light. It felt like a golden tickle. Suddenly, Nico was as small as she was, had two delicate wings on the back of his pajamas and could float.

They slipped out through a crack in the window, zoom, zoom, zoom, and the garden looked enormous: the blades of grass were trees, and a drop of dew was a lake.

“See?” said Lumi. “From here, the night isn’t so scary.”

They flew up to the highest branch of the old oak tree, where Bruno the owl lived, with eyes as round as two coins.

“What are you two doing up so late?” asked Bruno, turning his head almost all the way around.

“We’re looking after the forest,” said Lumi very seriously.

“And my room,” added Nico.

Bruno smiled. “I watch over the paths all night long. It’s my job. From up here I can see the river, the bridge and even the window of your house.”

Then he lowered his voice, like someone singing a lullaby: “Sleep, Lumi, sleep. Sleep, Nico, sleep. The forest is safe and sound.”

But Lumi didn’t want to sleep, and neither did Nico. They flew to the pond, where Rita the frog was singing on a lily pad.

“Ribbit, ribbit. What are you two doing here so late?” said Rita.

“We’re looking after the forest,” Lumi repeated, with a teeny yawn.

“Well, I sing so the forest can sleep peacefully,” said Rita. “My song tells every animal that it can close its eyes, that nothing bad is going to happen.”

And she sang, ribbit, ribbit, very softly, while the water made circles around her. Nico let out a yawn, and covered his mouth so no one would see.

“Sleep, Lumi, sleep. Sleep, Nico, sleep. The forest is safe and sound.”

They kept flying, a little more slowly.

They passed the rabbits’ burrow, where they were snoring curled up in a ball. They passed the sparrows’ nest, where they slept wing to wing. Even the hedgehog was asleep, curled up under a leaf, with a snore so small it sounded like a sigh.

“How strange,” whispered Nico. “At night the forest is dark, but it isn’t scary. It’s... calm.”

“That’s because the dark isn’t an empty place,” said Lumi. “It’s the place where everyone rests.”

Just then a branch cracked, crack, and Lumi’s light went tinkle, tinkle, tinkle. Nico took her hand, which was almost as small as a grain of rice.

“I get a little bit scared sometimes too,” Nico told her. “But if we’re together, it passes sooner.”

It was only a pine cone that had fallen from the pine tree. They both laughed, and Lumi’s light turned orange again.

Lumi and Nico landed on top of a hill, where there were no trees, and looked up.

The sky was full of lights. Hundreds. Thousands. More lights than Nico could count, although he tried up to forty-seven.

“Who are you?” whispered Lumi.

And the stars answered in a voice as soft as a blanket: “We are the lights of the night. When you turn yours off, we turn ours on. That way the forest is never left in the dark.”

Lumi opened her eyes wide. The forest would never be without light! Not even while she slept.

Behind the hill the moon appeared, round and white, and her light covered everything like a freshly washed sheet.

“What about my room?” asked Nico. “Who looks after it when I close my eyes?”

The moon smiled. “I peek through every window, Nico. Yours too. Every night I leave a little light on the floor, next to your bed. Haven’t you ever seen it?”

Nico thought of the silver stripe that sometimes appeared next to his slippers. It was the moon! It had been there all along.

“And in the room next door,” the moon added, “sleep the people who love you most. There’s no better watch than that.”

They flew back slowly, very slowly. At the window, Lumi touched his nose again and, with a golden tickle, Nico was back to his normal size, warm and cozy in bed.

Down below, on the grass, Mommy firefly was waiting for Lumi with open arms.

“Have you finished looking after the forest?” she asked.

“Now the stars are looking after it,” said Lumi. “And Bruno. And Rita. And the moon.”

Nico snuggled under the blanket. He no longer looked at the wardrobe or the curtains: he looked at the silver stripe on the floor.

“Goodnight, Lumi,” he whispered.

“Goodnight, Nico.”

And Lumi’s light grew smaller and smaller on the other side of the glass: yellow, orange, a tiny dot... and it went out. Nico closed his eyes, calm, because now he knew that the night takes care of us too.

And if one night you find it hard to sleep, look out of the window. There’s sure to be a star shining just for you.

The End.