Chef and the Ghost Light

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Who children become is as important as what they know.

That belief is at the heart of the Primrose School's balanced learning approach, which weaves character development into lessons every day.

Balanced learning goes beyond academics to nurture traits that help children learn what it means to be a good friend, how to show respect for others, and why it's important to keep promises.

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Welcome to Bedtime Stories for Everyone

in which

Nothing Much Happens.

You feel good

and then you fall asleep.

I'm Catherine Nikolai.

I write and read

all the stories you hear on Nothing Much Happens.

Audio Engineering is by Bob Wittersheim.

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Affirmations works to provide a welcoming space where all LGBTQIA plus folks can find support and unconditional acceptance, where they can learn, grow, socialize, and feel safe.

Learn more about them in our show notes.

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I have a story to tell you.

It's a place to rest your mind.

And all that's required of you is to listen.

Like,

just with one ear is enough.

I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little bit slower the second time through.

If you wake later in the night, don't hesitate to restart the episode.

Our story tonight is called Chef and the Ghost Light.

And it's a story

in which,

fine, I'll admit it.

Something happens.

The jig is up.

It's even a little bit spooky, friends.

So, if that isn't your cup of sleepy time tea, please skip this episode and dive into one of the hundreds of others I've written for you.

We'll return to your regular programming next week.

This is a story about Halloween night at the inn,

as party guests dance and cavort.

It's also about lightning over the lake,

whirring in the walls, a piece of village lore rediscovered, and a lone light shining in the darkness.

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So, snuggle down, get as comfortable as you can.

Even though our story tonight is a little spooky, I'm here to watch over and guard you.

You're safe,

you can relax.

Take a deep breath in through your nose

and sigh it out.

Nice.

One more inhale.

And release.

Good.

Chef

and the ghost light.

In the ballroom on the second floor, revelers were dancing.

Candles flickered within the hundred or or so jack-o'-lanterns lining the grand central staircase

from the inn's entryway

all the way up to the attic.

There was an eerie, greenish glow from my bubbling cauldron of homemade punch on the buffet table,

and through the tall windows that looked down to the lake, dark as night and reflecting a thin thin crescent moon.

Branches swayed in a rising wind.

The rain had been threatening to wash out trick-or-treating all day.

More than once, while I cooked and prepared for the festivities, I'd seen a thick grey ceiling of clouds sweep over the village,

and then,

as if they'd somehow been frozen in place,

just stop.

I don't know if you've ever seen completely still clouds.

I hadn't.

But that's what they appeared to be.

No swirling, no shifting,

and no rain.

I suspect that friend of the innkeeper, the one who'd promised us a bright sunny day for the wedding we'd hosted here a few years back, that she'd had something to do with it.

Just in the last half hour, the wind had picked up.

Leaves were tumbling from trees, like orange and scarlet snowflakes.

And I figured we had only minutes before the rain finally fell.

At least the trick-or-treaters had gotten through their neighborhood tromps before it came.

I'd had a dance or two

and was just catching my breath,

leaning up against a pillar near the double doors,

when a flash of something caught my eye from the hall.

It was the red light on the dumb waiter.

A bit like a miniature elevator.

Its panel had a call button on each floor.

When it was in transit,

its tiny bulb glowed red.

When it arrived at the floor it had been called from

it flipped to green.

I tilted my head in question,

wondering who had pressed the button below.

I scanned the ballroom,

looking for the innkeeper,

searching for her blue dress and white pinafore.

We'd coordinated costumes this year.

She was Alice,

and I was the Cheshire Cat,

or,

I teased,

the Sheffshire Cat.

The theme had been her idea,

and when I asked what inspired it,

she said something about how she sometimes feels

like she's through the looking glass.

And besides, Sycamore wanted to be the mad catter.

She didn't get any argument from me.

I was already thinking of the cookies I could decorate

to say eat me,

and the bottles of cordial and fizzy juice I could tie drink-me labels to.

My costume was a deep plum chef's coat,

with silky black ears atop my head and a tail snaking from my back.

I painted my nails in stripes of dark and light purple

and when I pulled my face into a wide Cheshire grin

I had false fangs glued to my canine teeth.

Just for fun.

It was Halloween after all.

Alice didn't seem to be anywhere in the ballroom.

So I guessed she must be the one calling the dumb waiter.

Likely she was refilling platters down in the kitchen to bring up to the buffet.

But when I checked the chafing dishes and domed plates,

there was still still plenty of my crescent moon pies and candied crows.

My fog on the lake punch was more than half full,

and the mystery cauldron dip with bat crackers had a backup waiting to be set out.

She must not have realized that I had a stocked cooler under one of the draped tables.

And it's not that I don't trust her in my kitchen,

but well, she should enjoy the party

and leave the food restocking to me.

I slipped out through the double doors

and on to the landing, making my way down the steps carefully in the candlelight.

When I rounded the half

between floors,

a little niche in the wall, where the innkeeper had hung a bouquet of nightshade from a hook in the ceiling,

a sort of Halloween version of mistletoe,

I chuckled, sidling past the couple there.

In the entryway,

the center table was decorated

with dripping black candles

and a giant centerpiece of orchids

in the same midnight hue.

A single tarot card

was peeking out from the moss at its base,

and I could just make out that it was the Six of Cups.

Party goers were everywhere,

lounging on the fainting couch beside the front door,

telling stories and jokes near the bowls of candy by the front office,

and crowding the long hallway that led to the back of the inn.

I was just inching my way through it

when a green light blinked on beside the butler's pantry.

What?

I stepped closer to the dumb waiter station,

trying to understand what was happening.

I'd assumed whoever had pressed its call button had done it from the hoistway in the kitchen,

a floor below where I stood.

I looked up and down the hallway,

and and while I saw plenty of people

and more than one cat,

they all seemed busy with conversation or games.

No one was looking at me or the dumb waiter.

If someone here was playing a trick on me,

they had a solid poker face.

I reached for the gate to slide it

and see what was being sent from floor to floor.

But in that moment the green light blinked out

and the red one flashed on beside it.

Come on, I said aloud.

I needed to see what was happening in my kitchen.

I started toward the stairs at the end of the hall,

when a sudden flash of lightning cut through the night.

Through the windows of the back porch I saw it reflected in the surface of the lake.

It was so bright that most of the people thronged in the hall

paused their conversations to gape.

A moment later, they broke out in nervous laughter,

and as I rounded the corner

and started down the kitchen stairs,

a boom of thunder struck,

chasing me down to the bottom, like I was escaping an explosion in an action movie.

I'd left most of the lights on down here,

anticipating the need to fill fresh platters and fetch more punch ingredients from the fridge.

But someone had turned them off.

There was only one left on

the one over the staff table,

where we ate our meals together.

it was an old pendant light

with a pretty jade green glass shade

the innkeeper told me she'd found it in a box down here when she started renovating

it made a soft circle of light around the table

and when i went to bed each night

it was the light i left on

I'd even joked before

that it was like the tradition in theaters

where they always leave a single bulb lit on stage

to burn through the night.

A ghost light, they called it.

Just then

I heard the mechanical whirr

of the dumb waiter through through the wall.

As I turned to look, the green light snapped on.

Rain spattered against the window panes,

and branches swayed in the wind,

throwing moving shadows across the walls.

I approached the gate of the dumb waiter

and reached for the knobs.

My hands weren't shaking,

but my breath was a little fast.

The feeling in the air

was the same as the scent of ozone when lightning strikes.

I wasn't afraid.

I was excited.

The doors doors opened easily,

and at first I thought it was empty,

that this was just a prank,

and probably Alice and the mad cater

were watching me from a corner,

stifling their giggles.

But then I saw a gleam of white at the back

and reached in for it.

It was a card,

an old one,

more yellow than white,

worn at the edges,

the ink faded.

I took it over to the table to read it under the light

and handwriting that reminded me of my grandparents.

I read the words at the top

Original

Village Inn

Pickles

My mouth fell open

as I scanned through the listed ingredients and method.

The recipe was different from mine

not by a huge margin,

but enough to make me wonder how these would taste.

Suddenly my mind filled with new dishes I could serve beside these pickles.

A whole dinner dedicated to this original recipe.

It made me wonder if there were more cards like these somewhere.

If whoever had sent this one

might offer up more.

I smiled broadly as I tucked the precious card

into the front pocket of my chef's jacket

and climbed the stairs to rejoin the party.

Chef

and the ghost light

in the ballroom

on the second floor,

revelers were dancing.

Candles flickered

within the hundred or so jack-o'-lanterns

lining the grand central staircase

from the inn's entryway

all the way up to the attic

There was an eerie greenish glow

From my bubbling cauldron

of homemade punch on the buffet table

And through the tall windows

that looked down to the lake,

dark as night,

and reflecting a thin crescent moon.

Branches swayed

in a rising wind.

The rain had been threatening

to wash out trick or treating

all day.

More than once,

while I cooked and prepared for the festivities,

I'd seen a thick grey ceiling of clouds sweep over the village

and then,

as if they'd somehow been frozen in place,

just stop.

I don't know if you've ever seen completely still clouds.

I hadn't.

But that's what they appeared to be.

No swirling,

no shifting,

and no rain.

I suspected

that friend of the innkeeper,

the one who'd promised us a bright sunny day for the wedding we'd hosted here a few years back

had something to do with that.

Just in the last half hour,

the wind had picked up

leaves were tumbling from the trees

like orange and scarlet snowflakes,

And I figured we had only minutes

Before the rain finally fell

At least the trick-or-treaters had gotten through their neighborhood tromps

Before it came

I'd had a dance or two

and was just catching my breath,

leaning up against a pillar near the double doors,

when a flash of something caught my eye from the hall.

It was the red light on the dumb waiter,

a bit like a miniature elevator.

Its panel had a call button on each floor.

When it was in transit,

a tiny bulb glowed red.

When it arrived at the floor it had been called from,

it flipped to green.

I tilted my head in question,

wondering

who had pressed the button below.

I scanned the ballroom,

looking for the innkeeper,

searching for her blue dress

and white pinafore.

We'd coordinated costumes this year.

She was Alice

and I was the Cheshire Cat.

Or,

I'd teased,

the Sheffshire Cat.

The theme had been her idea.

And when I asked what inspired it,

she said something about how

she sometimes feels like she's through the looking glass.

And besides, Sycamore wanted to be the mad cater.

She didn't get any argument from me.

I was already thinking of the cookies I could decorate

to say eat me,

and the bottles of cordial and fizzy juice I could tie drink me labels to.

My costume was a deep plum chef's coat,

with silky black ears atop my head,

and a tail snaking from my back.

I'd painted my nails in stripes of dark and light purple

and when I pulled my face into a wide Cheshire grin

I had false fangs glued to my canine teeth

just for fun

it was Halloween after all

Alice didn't seem to be anywhere in the ballroom

so I guessed she must be the one calling the dumb waiter.

Likely she was refilling platters

down in the kitchen

to bring up to the buffet.

But when I checked the chafing dishes

and domed plates,

there were still plenty of my crescent moon pies

and candied crows.

My fog on the lake punch

was more than half full,

and the mystery cauldron dip with bat crackers

had a backup already waiting to be set out.

She must not have realized that I had a stocked cooler

under one of the draped tables.

And it's not that I don't trust her in my kitchen,

but,

well, she should enjoy the party and leave the food restocking to me.

I I slipped out through the double doors

and onto the landing

making my way down the steps

carefully

in the candlelight

when I rounded the half-landing between floors

a little niche in the wall

where the innkeeper

had hung a bouquet of nightshade

from a hook in the ceiling

as a sort of Halloween version of mistletoe.

I chuckled,

sidling past the couple there.

In the entryway,

the center table was decorated

with dripping black candles

and a giant centerpiece of orchids

in the same midnight hue.

A single tarot card

was peeking out from the moss at its base.

And I could just make out

that it was the six of cups.

Party-goers were everywhere,

lounging on the fainting couch

beside the front door,

telling stories and jokes near the bowls of candy by the office,

and crowding the long hallway

that led to the back of the inn.

I was just inching my way through it

when a green light blinked on

beside the butler's pantry.

What?

I stepped closer to the dumb waiter station,

trying

to understand

what was happening.

I'd assumed whoever had pressed its call button

had done it from the hoistway in the kitchen,

a floor below where I stood.

I looked up and down the hallway,

and while I saw plenty of people

and more than one cat,

they They all seemed busy with conversation or games.

No one was looking at me or the dumb waiter.

If someone here was playing a trick on me,

they had a solid poker face.

I reached for the gate

to slide it back

and see what was being sent

from floor to floor.

But in that moment,

the green light blinked out

and the red one flashed on beside it.

Come on,

I said aloud.

I needed to see

what was happening in my kitchen.

I started toward the stairs at the end of the hall

when a sudden flash of lightning cut through the night.

Through the windows of the back porch

I saw it reflect

in the surface of the lake.

It was so bright that most of the people

thronged in the hall

paused their conversations to gape.

A moment later,

they broke out in nervous laughter.

And as I rounded the corner and started down the kitchen stairs,

a boom of thunder struck,

chasing me down to the bottom,

like I was escaping an explosion in an action movie.

I'd left most of the lights on down here,

anticipating the need

to fill fresh platters

and fetch more punch ingredients from the fridge.

But someone had turned them off.

There was only one light on,

the one over the staff table,

where we ate our meals together.

It was an old pendant light

with a pretty jade green glass shade.

The innkeeper told me

she found it in a box down here

when she started renovating.

It made a soft circle of light around the table.

And when I went to bed each night,

it was the light I left on.

I'd even joked before

that it was like the tradition in theaters,

where they always leave a single bulb lit on stage

to burn through the night.

A ghost light, they call it.

Just then

I heard the mechanical whirr

of the dumb waiter through the wall.

As I turned to look,

the green light snapped on.

Rain spattered across the window panes,

and branches swayed in the wind,

throwing moving shadows across the walls.

I approached the gate of the dumb waiter

and reached for the knobs.

My hands weren't shaking,

but my breath was a little fast.

The feeling in the air

was the same as the scent of ozone

when lightning strikes.

I wasn't afraid.

I was excited.

The doors opened easily,

and at first

I thought it was empty,

but this was just a prank,

and probably

Alice and the mad cater

were watching me from a corner,

stifling their giggles.

But then I saw a gleam of white at the back

and reached for it.

It was a card,

an old one,

more yellow than white.

Worn at the edges, the ink faded.

I took it over to the table

to read it under the light

in handwriting that reminded me of my grandparents.

I read the words at the top

Original Village Inn

Pickles

My mouth fell open

as I scanned through the listed ingredients and method.

The recipe was different from mine

not by a huge margin,

but enough to make me wonder

how these would taste.

Suddenly my mind,

filled with new dishes, I could serve

beside these pickles

a whole dinner dedicated to this original recipe.

It made me wonder if there were more cards like these somewhere.

If whoever had sent this one to me

might offer up more.

I smiled broadly

as I tucked the precious card

into the front pocket of my chef's jacket

and climbed the stairs to rejoin the party.

Sweet dreams.