Bedtime stories for 5 year olds

Five-year-olds can enjoy a slightly fuller story with a little adventure — but still calm enough to drift off to. Here's one to read tonight.

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The Sleepy Little Bear

A little bear spent the whole day exploring the forest.

It found a patch of sweet berries. It watched the silver fish dart in the river. It climbed halfway up a tree, then carefully climbed back down.

As the sky turned from gold to deep blue, the little bear felt its paws grow heavy and slow.

It padded back to the warm cave where Papa Bear was waiting.

"Did you have a good day?" rumbled Papa Bear gently.

"The best," yawned the little bear, snuggling into the soft leaves.

Outside, the moon rose round and bright, and the whole forest grew hushed and still.

The little bear took one slow breath, then another, and closed its sleepy eyes.

And it slept soundly all night long, dreaming of tomorrow's adventures.

More stories to read tonight

The Lighthouse That Stayed Awake

At the end of the harbour stood a small white lighthouse, and every night it did the same thing: it turned its light around, and around, and around.

Norah lived in the last house on the harbour road. From her window she could watch the beam go past — bright, then dark, then bright again, as steady as breathing.

One night she asked her grandfather, "Doesn't the lighthouse ever get tired?"

"It does," he said. "But it knows the fishing boats are still out. So it waits."

Norah thought about the boats on the black water, and about the light finding them one by one and showing them the way in.

She watched the beam go past. Bright. Dark. Bright.

Somewhere out in the dark, an engine came closer. A boat slid into the harbour and tied itself up, safe.

And only then, with her forehead cool against the window, did Norah fall asleep.

The Long Way Home

The young deer had gone further than he meant to.

He had followed the smell of green things all afternoon — over the stream, up the slope, into a part of the wood he did not know. Now the light was going, and everything looked different.

He stood very still and listened.

At first there was nothing. Then, far off, he heard water moving over stones. He knew that sound. It was the stream he had crossed in the morning.

So he walked towards it, slowly, the way you do when you are not quite sure.

The stream led him down the slope. The slope led him to the clearing. The clearing smelled of his own herd, warm and familiar — and there was his mother at the edge of it, waiting exactly where she said she would be.

He folded his long legs and lay down in the grass beside her.

He had been a little afraid. Now he was not.

The wood went quiet, and the young deer slept.

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