The Night the Letters Walked Out

Nora liked the Juniper’s Cove library just before closing. The lamps glowed, the windows turned blue, and nobody minded if she read the funny parts twice.

That evening, she opened a book about a bear who baked pies.

“The ear put on his apron,” she read.

Nora frowned. An ear with an apron?

A small black B bounced off the page, landed on her sleeve, and sprang onto the table.

“Excuse me!” Nora whispered.

“Excuse yourself,” said B. “I’m going somewhere.”

Three A’s marched along a shelf, their pointed tops bobbing. A curly S slid down a bookmark. Two O’s rolled past Nora’s elbow.

Mrs. Reed, the librarian, looked up.

“Is someone rattling the book trolley?”

“No,” said Nora. “It’s the alphabet.”

One O rolled into Mrs. Reed’s teacup. The other hauled it out with a loop of bookmark ribbon.

“Careful!” called B. “We need everybody.”

Everybody for what?

B bounced away before Nora could ask.

Across the library, books rustled open.

Letters climbed down ladders of sentences. An H helped a tiny i over a page edge. A line of M’s carried a tired W between them.

Nora checked the bear book again.

“The bear wore his at,” she read.

“That should be hat,” said Mrs. Reed.

From a sea story came a furious whisper.

“My boat is a oat!”

Mrs. Reed hurried toward the sound. Nora watched the letters instead. They were all travelling toward the window.

Nora followed them past the low shelves.

A’s built a little bridge across a gap between tables. O’s rolled underneath, carrying dots on their backs. B waited until the smallest full stop was safely across.

“You’re taking the punctuation too?” Nora asked.

“Someone has to let us rest,” B said.

Outside, lights twinkled in the houses of Juniper’s Cove.

B pressed against the glass.

“There. That’s where voices go.”

Nora noticed which books stood open behind them: the ones on the bottom shelf, with dusty spines.

“Why those books?” she asked.

B’s two round bumps drooped.

“We’ve been shut inside for ages. We make brave speeches and silly songs, but nobody hears them.”

An A tapped the window with one foot.

“Marching words need somewhere to march!”

“And jokes need a giggle,” said S.

Nora remembered taking books from the bright display every week. She hardly ever bent down to the bottom shelf.

“You’re going to the houses?”

“Perhaps someone there needs a word,” B said.

Behind them, another page went blank.

Nora hurried to Mrs. Reed.

“Please don’t close the books. They want someone to hear them.”

Mrs. Reed lowered the cover she was holding.

“Well,” she said softly. “We have been choosing the same stories lately.”

Nora carried the bear book to the window.

“Could I hear your best bit?” she asked B.

B brightened.

“The bear’s picnic!”

“Tell me.”

B opened its mouth, then stopped.

“I’m the beginning of bear. I can’t tell you all of it.”

The other letters shuffled closer.

“We’ll make new words!” declared A.

The letters arranged themselves on the table.

B, A, T.

“Bat!” Nora read.

The letters bowed.

Then O rolled between A and T.

“Boat!”

“Can a boat bake pies?” asked Nora.

B considered this.

“Probably badly.”

They tried again. S slipped in. A stomped. The full stop kept getting bumped aside.

Soon they had a fine collection of noises and no picnic at all.

“I miss the bear,” B admitted.

“So do I,” said Nora.

Nora had an idea.

“You don’t have to leave your stories to reach the houses. We can carry the stories there.”

“How?” asked B.

“First, let me read this one. Tomorrow we’ll put the forgotten books where people can find them.”

Mrs. Reed brought a little basket.

“And we’ll invite readers to choose a surprise from this basket,” she said.

B looked at the other letters.

“Will you do the bear’s grumbly voice?”

Nora sat in the reading chair.

“I was hoping you’d ask.”

B hopped back onto the page. An A marched after it. T climbed in, followed by the two R’s it had been helping.

The words filled out again, one careful place at a time.

Nora began.

“The bear packed a tart, a spoon, and a hat large enough for two.”

She gave the bear a voice like a sleepy kettle.

“WHO HAS SAT ON MY PICNIC?”

Mrs. Reed chuckled.

On the table, S curled into a delighted wiggle.

“Keep going,” it whispered.

At the funniest part, Nora stopped.

“The bear lifted his hat and found a—”

A small m waited on the arm of her chair.

“Is it my turn?” it asked.

Nora looked at the waiting word.

“It won’t be a mouse without you.”

The m stood taller.

“A mouse!” it squeaked, and leapt into place.

Nora finished the sentence.

“A mouse wearing the spoon as a very shiny shoe.”

Mrs. Reed laughed into her hand.

B shook on the page. Even the bear seemed to grin.

Now the letters hurried back toward their books.

H offered its crossbar as a step. The O’s rolled home together. A’s marched in pairs, and S made sure the full stop reached the final sentence.

Nora and Mrs. Reed filled the basket with the newly complete stories.

The next afternoon, Nora brought two friends. They chose the bear book first, then the sea adventure.

Mrs. Reed invited each reader to take a different book home.

By evening, the basket was nearly empty.

Nora borrowed the last book.

As she tucked it under her arm, B peeped from the bear book her friend was carrying.

“Was that enough giggling?” Nora whispered.

“For today,” said B. “Tomorrow, try the rabbit voice.”

At home, Nora opened her book beside her dad.

“Shall we read one page?” he asked.

From between the lines came a tiny, hopeful rustle.

Nora smiled.

“Let’s see what happens.”

One page became two.

And somewhere inside a sentence, a full stop settled down for a well-earned rest.