The Lost Yawn Under the Bed

The bedside lamp cast a golden circle across the rug, just bright enough to read by. Alfie had already brushed his teeth and tucked his feet beneath the quilt when he heard three neat taps.

Tap, tap, tap.

It sounded as if someone were using a thimble against the floorboards. Alfie leaned over the edge of the mattress and peeked underneath.

Sitting squarely between an old sneaker and a lost wooden block was a round, fluffy creature the color of summer clover. He had soft mossy ears, velvet paws, and two enormous amber eyes that blinked up with utter sincerity.

"Pardon me," the creature said, his voice surprisingly gentle and formal. "I am terribly sorry to disturb you so late. My name is Barnaby."

"I'm Alfie," said the boy, dropping down onto his elbows. "Are you hiding from something?"

Barnaby smoothed the fur on his knees. "Not at all. I live in the Mossy Burrow just downstairs, beneath your rug. But the Burrow Gatekeeper is strict. The little wooden door only opens for creatures who are truly ready for bed. You must offer a proper, sleepy yawn to pass through." Barnaby sighed a small, clover-scented sigh. "And I have entirely forgotten how."

"Forgotten how to yawn?" Alfie repeated.

Barnaby nodded unhappily. "I open my mouth, but only a squeak comes out. If I cannot yawn, I will have to spend the night among your dust bunnies."

"Don't worry," Alfie declared, climbing down to sit cross-legged on the rug. "I can teach you. Yawning is easy."

First, Alfie tried dramatic demonstration. He sat up very tall, opened his jaws as wide as a crocodile, and made a loud theatrical noise: "Aaaah-humph!"

Barnaby watched with great concentration. He squared his shoulders, puffed out his chest, and opened his mouth wide. "Eeeeep!" said Barnaby. It sounded like a squeaky wheelbarrow.

"No, no," Alfie giggled, shaking his head. "That was far too perky. A yawn isn't a shout, Barnaby. It's stretchy. Try stretching your paws way up high while you do it."

Barnaby raised both fuzzy arms toward the ceiling, reaching so high his fuzzy green belly showed. Alfie reached up too, wiggling his fingers toward the stars outside the window. They stretched until their ribs felt long, then took a huge gulp of air.

Barnaby squeezed his eyes tight and tried again. A tiny whistling toot escaped his nose.

Both of them collapsed into quiet laughter.

"Okay, stretching didn't work," Alfie whispered, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Let's think about sleepy things. When my mom wants me to rest, she tells me to imagine heavy things."

"Heavy things?" Barnaby asked.

"Like warm blankets," Alfie said softly. "And warm oatmeal with brown sugar. And big lazy bumblebees floating in the sun."

Alfie pulled his own quilt down off the bed and draped half of it over Barnaby's shoulders, wrapping the other half around himself. Underneath the quilt, the air was warm and smelled of fresh laundry. Barnaby’s mossy ears drooped just an inch. He leaned his round head against Alfie’s shoulder.

"Imagine your eyelids are made of heavy velvet curtains," Alfie murmured. "The play is over. The lights are clicking off one by one."

Barnaby's great amber eyes began to flutter. His breath slowed to a steady, rhythmic hush. Alfie felt a sudden, familiar prickle at the back of his own throat. His jaw began to ache with that heavy, irresistible tickle.

Alfie opened his mouth and let out a great, genuine, jaw-cracking yawn that lasted three full seconds.

Barnaby looked up, his amber eyes wide. He saw Alfie's shoulders slump. He saw the sleepy blur in Alfie's eyes. And just like that, because yawns are the most contagious magic in the world, Barnaby felt the tickle too.

The little green monster's mouth rounded into a grand sleepy circle. He sucked in a deep breath of woolly blanket air, his mossy ears flattened back, and he gave the most enormous, rumbling yawn the bedroom had ever heard.

Click.

Right beneath the edge of the bed, a tiny brass doorknob turned all by itself in the baseboard. The little moss-covered door stood open, spilling warm yellow light across the floorboards.

"You did it," Alfie whispered, rubbing his eyes.

"Thank you, Alfie," Barnaby murmured, his voice heavy with sleep. He folded his paws, stepped softly through the little door, and pulled it shut behind him.

Alfie climbed back beneath his covers. The room was still, the house was dark, and within three breaths, Alfie was fast asleep.