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Discover weekly, the best short stories

Looking for a steady supply of bedtime short stories? Every week thousands of writers submit stories to our writing contest.

Bedtime Short Stories to read

Submitted by writers on Reedsy Prompts to our weekly writing contest. Everybody loves a story before bed, and our collection of bedtime short stories has got you covered.

Bedtime Short Stories – Page 2

Inexplicable but true

Viacheslav Novakovskyi

Weekly Contest #365

There was a pouring day. Rain was kissing the windowpane. It did not merely fall, but incessantly set the percussive rhythm, that seemed to demand attention. The sky was colored like bruised plum, hanging low over the local architecture of McFanry’s manor. A surge that would leave the city blind. All inhabitants of Sheffield thought the blackout was coming. But they were wrong. The darkness they feared was non-electrical in nature. Mr. McFanry and his daughter Elizabeth were outside of their house. His little daughter was struggling from e...

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Something horrible lives on the edge of the lake.

Luke George

Weekly Contest #365

“Dad wake up. I heard a noise upstairs” The child was gripping his father by the shoulders, straining to shake him awake. The man was lying spread out on his double mattress, under soft cotton sheets, and was snoring gently. He awoke with a cough that startled the boy and then opened his eyes wide in the midnight of the room. “What’s the matter lad?” he whispered apprehensively. “I heard a noise above my room. It was like creaking or groaning or something.” The boy’s whispering was loud, and his breathing rapid. “Oh, that.” The father replie...

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Hiccough

Weekly Contest #364

Hiccough, Hiccough, Hiccough. Pause. Hiccough, Hiccough, Hiccough, pause. What was that sound? I’d been counting breaths for months. Weeks. Days. Hours. They’d gone from 20, to 18, to 14, to 12. My sister said she wanted to be there. Make sure I call her immediately. She wanted to be there. My brother flew in from out of town. He wanted to be there. Make sure I wake him. My mother gave a kiss good night and said be sure to wake her. She wanted to be there. I was the only one who said I did not want to be there. I told him I would tak...

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Sandman

Weekly Contest #364

The door made no sense. It was hiding directly behind the open door to my newly assigned bedroom. A door behind a door.Shorter than the ceiling by about a third of the way down, it was askew on its frame, as though it had been popped into place as an afterthought, then tried to settle in but never quite completed the journey. A misfit for sure, as far as doors went. To me, it just seemed uncomfortable—and that made me uncomfortable.Since my dad had died, my mom had tried to “keep things normal” by renting a cottage for my sister and me every...

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The Night Storm

Weekly Contest #363

Gigi's house always smells like fake flowers and dusty cotton curtains. I’m kneeling on the back of her sofa watching the tail lights on Mom and Dad's car grow smaller and fade into the darkness. We don't usually go to Gigi's at night, but Dad pulled me out of bed, still in my pajamas, and said we had to go because the baby is coming.Mom says the baby is in her belly, which seems scary because, how will it come out? I think the doctor will have to cut it out.Boom! Thunder shakes the windows, and a few heavy droplets of rain splash against th...

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A Lost Sheep

Anna Feng

Weekly Contest #363

Once upon a time, there was a sunset. And the clouds were melting.It was not a hint of the vast, open space. It had nothing to do with it. Instead it shone its stars and fluttered its gills. The bright, starlight scene splashed with short bursts of light. Small and delicate. A constellation in a jar.There used to be a horse and a kid. The horse galloped around, when or wherever it goes, it leaves. And when it leaves, it’s gone. And then the young one, the little child, was left to fathom the starry night, wondering why, oh why, did he leave....

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The Blue Gazelle

Elena Vikman

Weekly Contest #362

I occasionally scan the Internet for the recipes of borscht, just out of curiosity. I wonder what people write about it. None of the recipes I encounter are right. Some people fail to mention you need a homemade chicken broth to start a borscht. Others forget to include cabbage, which is vital. Also, if you add cabbage too early in the process your borscht will inevitably become a shchi - and this is a different dish. I never make shchi but I could probably produce a decent Ukrainian borscht with my eyes half-closed. I'll let you in on a se...

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We fall asleep head to toe like two shoes in a box

Br Ra

Weekly Contest #362

The pigeon came on the subway the same day I started to dissect vegetables at the kitchen, and Boston suddenly seemed so big and strange, about to take off. The pigeon—the Red Line, got on the Davis, off at Porter. It hesitated a moment at the ledge between door and platform, like my friend Emma, who’s afraid to step onto escalators. It dove precisely into a cluster of pigeons fighting over a bread, like it had heard about it. I wondered if they had all come here by means of public transportation. Earlier that day, I was at work in Davis, ki...

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Midwinter

Weekly Contest #362

Spring had come, and with it came the enchanted call of the wood. It whispered along the hills and prodded Rabbit from the darkness of her cottage with the tinkling laughter of nymphs and the silvery murmur of wind among the treetops.So Rabbit tugged on her mud boots and trench coat and began the first of her favorite walks through the village, down the slope to the river, and into the woods. She breathed in the earthy decay of felled trees and newly sprouted flora. It was here in the wood where she felt she could almost hear the old country...

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King Whisker's Blessings

Karen Ciesielski

Weekly Contest #361

King Whisker’s BlessingsBy Karen Ciesielski-MottaBig Little glanced at Little Big and laughed. His deep baritone voice carried his laugh out across the water of the pond. Though his old eyes were dimmed of sight they crinkled in delight at the small child looking up at him from his seat in the small fishing skiff. Little Big grinned back with the toothless charm of every seven year old. Their smiles were matched, each missing the same teeth. Like looking in a mirror of time, each reflected a past, present and future image of the other. As th...

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Fine With Me

Karly Moller

Weekly Contest #361

Summer was over, and so were we. Most wildflowers in the field were nothing but dead heads. It was nearly drought conditions. The heat had been burning that summer. Suffocating. All-consuming. The tempers were hot, too. Matilde had read in the paper that there had been more than an average amount of domestic situations and murders in her county, in the newspaper. A local psychiatrist blamed the heat, and they all discussed the physiological changes, which seemed to make sense. She stopped and thought, “Have I been angrier?” She felt she had ...

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BOOK ONE — Winter Lamb: Before the Last Grain of sand

Weekly Contest #361

BOOK ONE — Winter Lamb: Before the Last Grain of sandBOOK ONE — Winter Lamb Before the Last Grain fallsWinter settled over the barn on a long cold night, quieting the fields, the rafters, and every small creature tucked safely inside. A thin line of snow rested against the wooden walls. Wind sighed through the cracks. Near the fire, the Winter Lamb lay curled in the straw, his thick wool fluffed around him, but even that warmth could not reach the sadness tucked deep inside his heart. He was not jumping, kicking straw, nudging barrels, or ta...

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The Women with their Beautiful Headdresses.

Tucker Sloan

Weekly Contest #360

TRIGGER WARNING- The following short story contains Strong Violence, and what could be considered Hate Crimes, as well as some Sexual Content. The Women with their Beautiful Headdresses. Part 1- The Board’s Great Round Table. As Chappell Roan’s, “Good Luck, Babe!” came on the speaker- the members of the Board all took to their seats at the round table. “The sin of lust. The sin of touch! You’re convicted.” And with that, Claudia slammed her gavel, and in came the crane. Lesbianism was forbidden, and Claudette had been caught in the act ...

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Next

Weekly Contest #360

Next Death was dying. Had he expected some fanfare? No, he thought to himself, ceremony was for the living. Still, after all these centuries, it all just seemed…underwhelming. He stared down at his slim fingers poking out from his black cloak. They felt numb. Wiggling them slowly, his eyes widened slightly as the linoleum floor came more into focus. What seemed at first to be an optical illusion became the realization that his hand was indeed becoming transparent. He exhaled a soft grunt and clenched his fist tightly, nodding his head as his...

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Trying to survive

Jennifer Braveheart

Weekly Contest #360

I live close to Palm Springs California in a town called Indio; it was 121 degrees yesterday as my head hit the pillow to sleep.It was the end of July, and we will have to endure this god forsaken heat until September when our desert weather will begin to cool off. I was thinking about what to do tomorrow as I drifted off to sleep. The dream was floating, lazily along the recesses of my brain. It was rolling gently along the banks of my memory. It was fluttering as softly as butterfly wings delicately tapping on the windows of my soul tryin...

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