Every night at exactly midnight, a bus drives down Sam's street.
It's not on any map. It doesn't have a number. It just appears when the clock strikes twelve.
The bus is silver and glows faintly in the moonlight. The driver tips his hat to anyone still awake.
Most people don't see it. But Sam does.
One night, Sam decided to get on.
The bus was warm and soft inside. The seats were like clouds. Other children sat quietly, some already dozing.
"Where does this bus go?" Sam asked the driver.
"To Dreamland," said the driver. "But only if you're tired enough. Are you tired, young traveler?"
Sam yawned. He was VERY tired.
The bus drove through the night. Out the windows, Sam saw amazing things.
A forest made of pillows.
A river made of warm milk.
Mountains made of stuffed animals.
Each child got off at a different stop—their own perfect dream.
"What will my dream be?" Sam wondered.
"Last stop," called the driver.
Sam looked out the window. He saw his own house. His own room. His own bed, glowing warmly.
"But I wanted to go somewhere magical!" said Sam.
"You already are," said the driver. "The most magical place is the place where you feel safe and loved."
Sam climbed into bed. And he dreamed of flying, and laughing, and everything wonderful.
All without leaving home.
THE END