The Midnight Dream Route

Underneath the soft hum of the London streetlamps, seven-year-old Poppy lay listening to the night. She was almost asleep when she heard a tiny, tired sputter near the carpet.

Put-put-put.

Poppy slipped out from under her duvet and tiptoed across the floorboards. There, parked crookedly beside her wooden toy box, sat a bright red double-decker bus. It had gleaming chrome headlights and real rubber tires, but the whole thing was no larger than a teapot.

On the side, painted in neat gold letters, it said: The Nighttime Express.

Kneeling down, Poppy watched the front folding doors squeak open. A little driver with bushy silver whiskers stepped out onto the rug. He took off his peaked cap and mopped his brow with a polka-dot handkerchief.

"Out of steam, out of puff," the driver grumbled with a weary sigh. "Three thousand happy dreams delivered from Big Ben to Kensington, and my tires feel flat as pancakes."

"Are you a dream-bus?" Poppy asked softly, resting her chin on her knees.

The driver nodded, pointing his thumb toward the upper deck. Inside the miniature windows glowed a single, shimmering lavender bubble. It floated gently above the velvet seats, swirling with pictures of pirate ships, silver kites, and chocolate biscuits.

"Just one last dream left on the route," said the driver, shaking his head. "It belongs to young Julian, three chimneys down the lane. But my gears are stuck, and I don't have a conductor to read the rooftop map."

Poppy smiled. She looked at her bedside table, where her mother’s brass postage stamp and a silver bell from a chocolate bunny were lying. "I could help you," she offered. "I'm very good at directions."

"Splendid!" cried the driver. "Touch the golden bell on the back bumper, miss."

Poppy reached out, tapped the shiny metal with her index finger, and suddenly—whoosh! The bedroom rug stretched wide as a meadow. Her slippers grew into velvet boots, and her pajamas turned into a crisp conductor’s coat with brass buttons. She was no taller than a pencil!

"All aboard!" Poppy called out, ringing her little bell with a cheery chime.

She took her seat on the top deck right beside the lavender dream bubble. The driver shifted the tiny silver lever, and the engine gave a happy rumble. Up they went! With a magical burst of starlight sparks from its tailpipe, the little red bus rolled up the velvet curtains, zoomed out the cracked window, and sailed into the cool night air.

The city roofs looked like giant stepping stones. Chimney pots stood tall against the purple sky. The bus bounced over a slanting slate roof, but then—skrrrt! The back wheels spun uselessly against a slick patch of damp moss on an old chimney stack.

The engine groaned. "We're stuck fast!" the driver called back. "The front tires can't get any grip to pull us over the ridge!"

Poppy thought quickly. She remembered the smooth brass stamp she had seen on her desk, and then she noticed a dry, sturdy pigeon feather tucked into a rain gutter just inches away.

"Hold the brakes!" Poppy said.

She leaned out the back platform, caught the feather by its quill, and wedged it under the spinning rear tire.

"Try it now, driver!" she called.

The rubber caught the stiff ridges of the feather. With a joyful roar, the bus popped over the mossy ridge and glided safely onto Julian's brick chimney.

Right below, a cozy bedroom window stood slightly open. Poppy gently guided the glowing lavender bubble out through the bus door. Like a soap bubble riding a warm breeze, it drifted down, floating quietly over Julian’s pillow and melting into his hair. Julian turned in his sleep, smiling.

"Delivery complete," Poppy whispered happily, ringing the bell once more.

The bus hummed a smooth, contented tune as it turned around, gliding effortlessly back toward Poppy’s windowsill. As the wheels touched down on her rug, Poppy stepped off. With another tiny whoosh, she grew right back to her normal size.

Down by the toy box, the driver gave a polite tip of his cap, clicked off the little red bus's headlights, and curled up for a good rest.

Poppy climbed back into her warm bed, pulling the duvet to her chin. Outside, London drifted into quiet. And Poppy closed her eyes, ready for her own lavender dream.