Dreamland Tales: Bedtime Stories by Ludovic’s Dad
Bedtime stories to enchant little hearts, inspire creativity, and bring families closer.
Welcome to a special corner of 11, where stories come to life!
As a father, I created these bedtime stories for my son, Ludovic, to fill his nights with wonder and imagination. Now, I’m sharing them with you to help families everywhere create memorable bedtime routines.
Whether you’re a mother, father, or caregiver, we know bedtime is a time for connection, comfort, and creativity. These stories are here to inspire moments of magic for your little ones and maybe even spark their imaginations for a colorful future.
We hope you’ll enjoy this growing collection of free bedtime tales, crafted to bring joy to your family and encourage creativity in all aspects of life.
Here we go.....
In the time before history, before
roads, clocks, or even the word
tomorrow, there lived the Lumas—a
tight-knit family of cliff-dwellers who
survived by one simple rule: fear
everything.
Bran, the father, lived by that rule.
Every evening, just as the sun
dipped behind the distant mountains,
he would grunt, roll a boulder in
front of their cave, and mutter, “Nobody leaves after dark. That’s how we stay alive.”
But Lira, his curious teenage daughter, was growing restless. She wanted more—more than shadows and stories about what not to do. “There has to be more out there,” she whispered one night, gazing at the glowing jungle through a crack in the stone wall.
Her little brother Boz was busy chasing fireflies and laughing at his own echo. Mira, their sharp-tongued, fearless grandmother, was already snoring with a bone tucked behind her ear. Nib, the youngest, was chewing on a moss-covered rock with wild delight. And Tali, their calm and gentle mother, simply rubbed Lira’s back with a knowing smile.
Lira turned to Kio, a clever wanderer who had joined their family not long ago. He sat quietly near the fire, carving spirals into a stick while his tiny glider creature, Zip, snoozed on his shoulders.
“I’ve heard stories,” Kio said softly. “Of a cave high in the cliffs. It only shines under the moonlight. They say it holds memories—paintings that move, lights that speak. It’s not treasure like gold, but something better.”
Bran’s ears perked. “That’s a myth. The only thing out there at night is danger. You want to live? Be afraid.”
Tali, ever wise, added gently, “But maybe we can be careful and still be curious.”
Lira looked at her father. “Just once. Let’s go together. If it’s too dangerous, we turn back.”
Bran hesitated. To him, darkness meant death. But when he looked at his family—Lira’s fire, Kio’s calm, Nib’s little growl—he saw something he didn’t expect: trust.
With a deep sigh, he nodded. “Fine. But we stick together. And I’m bringing the club.”
That night, the Lumas stepped into a world they’d never known. The jungle shimmered. Petals glowed in pale blue, vines flickered softly like candles. Crickets played a rhythm like distant drums, and the air carried the sweet scent of moonflowers.
They climbed ridges and tiptoed through glowing streams. Nib leapt from stone to stone, howling gleefully. Zip let out a low hum as the stars appeared between thinning trees.
Finally, they reached the cliff face. A narrow crevice led inside. Moonlight poured in through cracks above, and the cave lit up before them.
Gasps echoed off the stone. The walls were alive with color—deep blues, radiant golds, fading reds. Paintings danced: hunters, dreamers, families, explorers. As the Lumas approached, their reflections shimmered in the walls—moving beside those ancient memories.
In the center of the cave lay a still pool, glowing faintly. Pale berries grew near its edge, pulsing like tiny heartbeats. Lira picked one and took a bite—it tasted of sunlight and mystery. She smiled and passed it around.
As they sat together, the cave responded. The walls lit brighter. New images formed—of Bran holding his family, of Lira leaping over cliffs, of Nib riding a wild lizard, of Mira standing tall with her walking stick.
“This place,” Kio whispered, “it remembers the brave.”
Bran looked around, moved. For most of his life, bravery had felt foolish. But now, surrounded by stories that lived in color and light, he saw it differently.
“I spent so long keeping us alive,” he said slowly. “But maybe living means more than surviving. Maybe it means looking for the light—even when you’re scared.”
When they returned to their cave, Bran didn’t push the boulder all the way closed. He left a crack—just wide enough for the moonlight to slip through.
That night, for the first time, they didn’t dream of hiding from monsters.
They dreamed of glowing caves, new stories, and the courage it takes to wonder—together.
Because fear might keep you alive…
But it’s love, curiosity, and courage that make life worth living.
The Lumas and the Moonlight Secret
The Bird Who Sang the Sun Awake
In the far reaches of an old and whispering
forest, where the trees grew so tall their
tops tickled the clouds, lived a small gray
bird named Luma. Luma was unlike the
other birds—not flashy like the parrots
with emerald feathers, not swift like the
hawks, and not elegant like the herons
who danced on water. Her feathers were
the color of fog, her beak small and
delicate, and her song… soft.
But that song had a power no other creature understood—not at first.
Each morning, before the world awoke, Luma would rise from her nest high in the tallest pine and fly to her favorite branch. From there, with her eyes closed and her heart wide open, she would sing.
Her song was gentle. It rolled through the trees like morning mist, curling around each branch and leaf, brushing over the hills and down into the valleys.
It was a song about beginnings. About warmth. About hope.
Unbeknownst to her, the forest depended on her melody. The flowers waited to open until they heard her notes. The bees used her song to hum in tune as they danced from blossom to blossom. Even the sun seemed to delay its rise until her final note faded.
One chilly morning, the clouds were thick, and a cold wind ruffled Luma’s feathers. She felt tired. Her throat was scratchy. “Maybe I’ll just rest,” she whispered, curling deeper into her nest.
Down below, the forest stirred uneasily.
The flowers stayed shut. The fox cubs did not play. The frogs remained tucked in their cool ponds. The bees huddled in silence. A young deer blinked up at the dark sky. “Why isn’t the sun waking up?” he asked.
Farther off, a bear stretched and grunted. “Something’s missing.”
A wise old owl blinked and muttered, “It’s her. The little one who sings.”
The wind carried their voices upward.
Luma, half-asleep, heard the whispers of worry, the rustle of concern. Her heart fluttered. She peered out of her nest. The sky was still dark.
She took a deep breath and climbed out. Her wings were heavy, her body shivered, but her resolve was strong. The forest was waiting.
She flew—slowly—to her branch.
The world was hushed.
Then she sang.
Her first note was thin. But then came another. And another. The melody gathered strength. It danced across treetops, filled the hollows of the woods, curled around every creature like a soft blanket.
And then… light.
A soft glow peeked above the hills. The clouds parted slightly. The sun, as if listening for her voice, slowly rose over the treetops. The warmth returned. The deer pranced. The foxes giggled. The bees buzzed and began their day.
Luma finished her song and let out a sigh. She sat quietly, heart full.
From that day on, every creature knew—Luma sang the sun awake.
Each morning, the animals would gather beneath her tree. The owls would listen before their sleep. The rabbits would dance. Even the usually grumpy badger would smile.
One day, the forest creatures worked together to honor her. The beavers carved a small wooden plaque. The crows tied it to her favorite branch with ribbon-like vines. It read:
“She sings, and the sun listens.”
Luma read it, and tears sparkled in her eyes.
She had once thought she was small, unimportant. But now she knew—her song mattered.
She sang not to be heard, but because her voice made the world a better place.
And even when storms came, or snow fell, or wind howled, Luma never missed a morning. Because someone, somewhere, always needed the light.
And light always needed a song.
Because even the softest voice, when filled with love, can wake the whole world.
The Little Star Who Found Its Shine
Once upon a time, in a galaxy filled with dancing comets, swirling planets, and sparkling stardust, there lived a tiny star named Luma. She was tucked into a quiet corner of the universe, far from the biggest and brightest constellations. While the other stars flickered and blazed like fireworks in the night sky, Luma’s light was soft—more like a gentle candle than a roaring flame. Every night, Luma peeked out from behind a puff of cosmic dust and watched the other stars shine. They played games, made shapes in the sky, and even had names that people on Earth remembered—like Orion and Vega.
Luma didn’t have a name that people knew. She didn’t have a constellation family. She just had… herself. And sometimes, that felt like it wasn’t enough.
“Why am I so small?” Luma whispered to herself. “Why can’t I shine like they do?”
But what Luma didn’t know was that down on a beautiful blue planet called Earth, there was a boy named Ludovic who had noticed her. Every night before bed, Ludovic would climb up to his room, lift the lid of his telescope, and search the sky. He didn’t care about the brightest stars or the fanciest constellations. He was looking for something special—something only he could see.
And every night, his telescope would land on the tiniest twinkle… Luma.
One quiet evening, when the moon was a thin silver smile in the sky, Luma saw Ludovic looking at her again. She felt her cheeks (if stars had cheeks) blush with surprise.
“Why do you always look at me?” she finally asked, her little voice floating gently through space. “I’m not important. I’m not even bright.”
Ludovic smiled, his warm eyes shining just as brightly as any star. “Because you’re different. You sparkle in a way no one else does. Your light makes me feel calm, like everything will be okay. You’re not like the others, Luma—you’re you. That’s what makes you special.”
Luma was quiet for a moment. No one had ever said something like that to her before. She had always tried to be like the other stars. But Ludovic didn’t want her to be like them. He wanted her to be herself.
So that night, Luma made a promise: she would shine with all her heart—not to compete, not to be the biggest, but just to make Ludovic smile. She focused all her light into one steady beam of sparkle, and suddenly, something amazing happened. The dust around her began to shimmer, and her glow grew warmer, stronger, and more beautiful than ever before.
The other stars began to take notice.
“Look at Luma!” said a nearby shooting star.
“She’s glowing!” said a distant planet.
“You’ve found your shine,” said the wise old star who watched over the galaxy. “And it came from inside.”
Luma beamed with pride, not because she was now noticed, but because she was finally being herself—and that was more than enough.
From then on, Luma and Ludovic became sky-friends. Every night, she would twinkle especially for him, and every night, he would whisper, “Goodnight, Luma,” before going to sleep. And sometimes, if the world ever felt scary or the night too dark, Luma’s little light reminded Ludovic that even the smallest stars could light up the sky—and so could he.
Goodnight, (Your Kids Name).
May your dreams twinkle as brightly as Luma’s star,
And remind you that you are one of a kind,
Always enough, always loved,
And shining exactly as you are. 🌟💫✨
The Brave Little Snail
In the heart of a sunlit garden full of buzzing bees and dancing daisies, lived a tiny snail named Sammy. Sammy was not fast like the grasshoppers or graceful like the butterflies. He didn’t hum like the bees or sing like the birds. He was just… Sammy. Quiet, gentle, and slow.
But Sammy had a dream.
Every morning, as the golden sun stretched across the sky and lit up the garden, Sammy would look up at the tallest sunflower and imagine what it would be like to sit on top and see the world. That sunflower towered above all the flowers in the garden.
Its giant yellow petals reached high into the clouds, and its thick green stem stood proudly like a watchtower. Sammy knew the view from up there must be beautiful—fields of wildflowers, fluttering wings, the silver ribbon of the river, maybe even a glimpse of the mountains far beyond the garden fence.
“I want to climb that sunflower,” Sammy whispered one day.
The other animals stopped and stared.
“You? Climb that?” the grasshoppers snickered, bouncing off a nearby leaf.
“You’ll be stuck before breakfast!” giggled the sparrows, flapping overhead.
“That stem is taller than a tree!” added a beetle.
“You’re way too slow,” said a butterfly as it zipped past.
Sammy didn’t argue. He just looked up at the sunflower, took a deep breath, and said softly, “Maybe I am slow. But I’m strong in my own way.”
And so, early the next morning, when dew still sparkled on the grass and most of the garden was fast asleep, Sammy began his climb. He slid his way to the base of the sunflower, looked up at the towering stem, and began inching his way upward.
The climb was hard. The stem was bumpy and sticky in places. The wind made the sunflower sway gently from side to side. Once or twice, a drop of water slid down the stalk and splashed onto Sammy’s shell. But Sammy didn’t stop.
An hour passed. Then two. Sammy moved slowly—but he was moving.
Just as he reached a small leaf halfway up, a bright red ladybug landed beside him.
“Hello!” she said cheerfully. “I’m Lucy. That’s a long way to climb. Need a lift?”
Sammy smiled and shook his tiny head. “Thank you, Lucy, but I want to do this on my own. It’s my dream.”
Lucy’s eyes sparkled. “Then I’ll cheer you on! You’re doing amazing!”
She waved her wings and buzzed beside him for a bit, calling out encouragement before flying ahead to tell the others what Sammy was doing.
Soon, word spread across the garden.
“The snail is climbing!” said the bees.
“He’s halfway up!” chirped the sparrows.
“Do you think he’ll make it?” asked the butterflies.
The animals gathered around the sunflower, watching in wonder as the smallest creature in the garden did something no one had ever done.
Hours passed. The sun moved across the sky. And finally—finally—as the sky turned a soft shade of pink and the breeze carried the scent of lavender, Sammy reached the top.
He crawled slowly onto the giant sunflower’s face, nestled between its golden petals, and looked out.
His eyes widened. His breath caught in his throat.
The view was… magical.
He saw the garden stretched out like a painting—blades of grass glowing in the light, bees dancing over blossoms, birds gliding through the air. He could see over the treetops, all the way to the edge of the hills where the sky touched the earth. Everything shimmered in the late afternoon light.
“I did it,” Sammy whispered, tears of joy welling in his eyes. “I really did it.”
Down below, the garden erupted in cheers.
“You did it, Sammy!” shouted the grasshoppers.
“Way to go!” called the birds.
“You’re our hero!” buzzed the bees.
Even the butterfly who once doubted him fluttered up and bowed. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe in you, Sammy. You showed us what true strength looks like.”
Sammy beamed. “Sometimes, being slow and steady is the best way to reach the tallest dreams.”
That evening, as the stars blinked awake in the sky and the moon peeked over the garden wall, all the animals gathered around Sammy. He sat on a soft petal and told them about his climb—the swaying stem, the friendly ladybug, the moment he reached the top. The animals listened quietly, their eyes wide with wonder.
From that day forward, Sammy wasn’t just “the little snail.” He was Sammy the Brave, Sammy the Dream-Climber, Sammy the One Who Reached the Sunflower.
And every night, when Ludovic looked out at the stars or dreamed beneath his cozy blanket, he could remember that no dream is too big and no climb too long when you believe in yourself and never give up.
Goodnight, (Your Kids Name).
May your dreams carry you up sunflower stems, across magical gardens,
And into skies of possibility.
You are strong. You are steady.
And you can do anything. 🐌🌻✨
The Curious Cloud and the Rainbow Bridge
Once upon a time, high above the trees and rooftops, there lived a fluffy little cloud named Puffy. Puffy was round and soft like a cotton ball, and he loved floating peacefully across the sky. From up high, he could see everything—the mountains, rivers, forests, and tiny people going about their day.
But even with such a grand view, Puffy had a big dream in his heart: he wished he could visit the ground just once. He wanted to feel the cool grass beneath him, listen to the rustling of the leaves up close, and meet the animals and children he saw from far away. Every day, he’d watch the world below and sigh softly to himself.
One morning, as Puffy drifted near a group of tall, whispering clouds, he gathered his courage and called out, “Wind! Wind! Can you hear me?”
A warm breeze circled around him like a hug. “Yes, little Puffy,” the Wind replied, swirling gently. “What is it you wish for?”
“I want to touch the Earth,” Puffy said. “Just once. I want to feel it, hear it, be part of it. Can you blow me down to the ground?”
The Wind chuckled, a deep, kind sound that echoed across the skies. “Oh, Puffy… you’re a cloud. You belong up here in the sky. But just because you can’t land on the Earth doesn’t mean you can’t connect with it.”
Puffy blinked. “Really? How?”
The Wind swirled again, this time guiding Puffy over hills and forests until they reached a quiet, hidden valley. Puffy gasped in wonder. There, glowing faintly through the mist, was a beautiful bridge made of shimmering colors—red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet—arching gracefully between the sky and the Earth.
“What is that?” Puffy whispered.
“That,” said the Wind, “is the Rainbow Bridge. It only appears when a cloud like you is brave enough to let go of its raindrops with love. If you sprinkle your raindrops on it, Puffy, it will sparkle and shine like never before. That is your way to touch the Earth—with light and color.”
Puffy’s eyes sparkled with joy. He closed his eyes gently and let a soft shower of raindrops fall. The rainbow instantly glowed brighter, its colors deepening and stretching farther, lighting up the whole valley like a dream.
Down below, a little boy named Ludovic had just stepped outside after the rain. He looked up and gasped. “A rainbow!” he shouted with glee. He waved both hands in the air and jumped up and down. “Thank you, sky! Thank you for making everything so beautiful!”
From above, Puffy saw Ludovic and beamed with happiness. Though he couldn’t speak, his cloud heart swelled with joy. He wiggled his fluffy edges in excitement, sending one last tiny sparkle of mist down the bridge.
And from that day on, whenever the rain stopped and the sun peeked through, Puffy would send a gentle shower just to make the rainbow bridge glow again. Ludovic would always spot it, smile up at the sky, and whisper, “Thank you, Puffy.”
They never met face to face, but in that quiet, colorful magic between raindrops and sunshine, Puffy and Ludovic shared a secret smile—a promise that even from far away, you can touch hearts and make the world more beautiful.
Goodnight. Sleep tight, and may your dreams be filled with soft clouds and glowing rainbows. 🌈☁️✨