Subscribe
Share
Share
Embed
Explore the winter wonderland of a far-off land in this story inspired by the game Unravel. Wander through this winter wonderland and find your way through this oversized world.
Narrated by Cate Barr
Written by Chris Winson-Longley
Music by Nick May
Edited and produced by Magdoos Media Limited
Show Notes
Welcome to the beautiful and intriguing world of Unravel. You find yourself in a strangely familiar place, but where are you?
In this story you'll traverse snow covered landscapes to reach your final destination. What adventures await and how, as small as you are, will you overcome the challenges ahead?
Narrated by Cate Barr
Written by Chris Winson-Longley
Music and mastering by Nicholas May
Edited and produced by Magdoos Media Limited
© 2022 Magdoos Media Limited - All Right Reserved
★ Support this podcast on Patreon ★
In this story you'll traverse snow covered landscapes to reach your final destination. What adventures await and how, as small as you are, will you overcome the challenges ahead?
Narrated by Cate Barr
Written by Chris Winson-Longley
Music and mastering by Nicholas May
Edited and produced by Magdoos Media Limited
© 2022 Magdoos Media Limited - All Right Reserved
Creators & Guests
Composer
What is Kids Bedtime Stories?
Relax and unwind with classic bedtime stories for kids. One of the best free bedtime story podcasts, perfect for those long trips and journeys with your kids
Unravel
Snuggle down and cosy up for tonight your adventure will take you across the water and into the wild winter landscape of Unravel.
You wake to find yourself lying on a bed of pebbles. They press into your back making you uncomfortable. Using your hands as levers, you sit up and the pebbles shift beneath your weight, rearranging themselves as you draw your knees to your chest and sinking your heels into the ground below you. With your eyes tightly closed against the glare of the winter sun, you smell the sea salt on the breeze, but you also sense something else. There is a chill in the air, and you sense the presence of snow somewhere in the far distance.
Opening your eyes, you realise that this world is much larger than you are. What you thought were pebbles are in fact much smaller than that. You recognise this as a shingle beach. Directly in front of you towers a wooden post. This is the beginning of a jetty that reaches far out into the water. On the horizon lies an island, silent and waiting. The post should only be as tall as your chest, but in reality, it soars above you and seems to touch the sky.
With some awkwardness you get to your feet and discover that wrapped around your waist and shoulders is a hank of yarn, like a climbing rope. Your boots are sturdy, like those of a mountaineer and you realise that you must have an arduous journey ahead. Balancing precariously on the shingle you make your way towards the jetty. The post stands tall, as high as a tree but with no branches to help you climb. You realise that you will have to make your way along the supporting beams as the floor of the jetty is beyond your reach.
At first you have no difficulty walking across the beam, it is wide enough for you to feel secure and it is quite dry. You grow in confidence and a spring appears in your step. You are gathering speed when, suddenly, you feel the grip beneath the soles of your boots disappear and you are falling, tumbling through the cold air. You land awkwardly on the shingle beneath the beam with the water lapping at your feet. Luckily, you have not fallen far and have not injured yourself. Examining the point at which you fell, you see the wood has a coating of green algae. This part of the jetty must spend a considerable amount of time underwater, so you worry that the tide might soon be coming in. The beam you fell from stops at a second post. This one shows the highwater mark and you realise that you may not have much time to get to the end of the jetty before the timbers are fully submerged. A little way above the beam, there is an old, rusted nail sticking out of the post. It has the frayed remnants of a fishing net attached to it. Instinctively, you reach for the yarn wrapped around your body. You quickly form a lasso using the yarn and fling it towards the nail. You are surprised to find that your aim is true, and the yarn holds firm. You understand now how you are going to move within this world. Holding the yarn tightly you climb to the new beam and carefully make your way along it. Each time you come to a post you are pleased to find a nail positioned in such a way that you can use the yarn to swing across to the next beam.
You continue until you can’t move forward anymore, the beam has rotted and you are now seemingly stuck. The tide has turned and it is too cold to risk falling into the water by attempting to jump the divide.
You search in vain for a nail from which to swing. You edge towards the gap and see that the water is as deep as you are tall. The seabed is covered in discarded scallop shells, they are white like bleached bone. You realise something has been feeding here. The surface of the water reflects the underside of the beam, and you see that it is covered in living scallops. Then you notice a large slab-like creature lurking in the shadows. It is a huge crab. As you stare at this formidable creature it moves from the shadows and stretches up its mighty claws to grab a fresh scallop. But they are too high and however much it tries, the crab cannot reach its supper. A plan begins to form in your mind, but it is dangerous. Not only will you risk falling in the ice-cold water, but you mightn’t be able to get back up again. However, you can see no alternative. You begin stamping on the beam. Your heavy boots create vibrations through the water and the crab scuttles away. As you jump higher and land harder the scallops begin to lose their grip on the underside of the beam. One by one they start to fall into the water. They drift downwards like snowflakes and land on the seabed directly below the gap in the beam. The giant crab rushes out of hiding with its huge claws snapping furiously at the scallops. Without hesitating, you leap onto its back and with a tremendous effort, hurl yourself at the exposed end of the far beam. Your fingers grip the rotten wood, and you haul yourself up to where you are safe.
You sit for a moment, catching your breath relieved that only your boots got wet.
It is late afternoon as you reach the end of the jetty. You have created your yarn swing numerous times and your arms are tired. You sit down with your legs dangling over the edge of the beam. You are disappointed to find that the water is only centimetres from your feet. You will have to climb higher as quickly as possible, or all your hard work will have been for nothing. As you begin to search for anything that will help you attach your yarn and allow you to climb up, you are distracted by a sudden flash of blue. On the far side of the jetty, you can just make out the prow of a sailing boat. Its mooring rope is caught around a rusted bolt that protrudes from the last post. It is a small boat and the perfect size. You imagine the pain of the child who lost such a precious toy but are grateful for your good fortune. You move to the end of the beam and prepare a length of yarn. It takes several attempts to finally hook it around the tiller but eventually you succeed, and you begin to pull the boat towards you. To your dismay, it has only covered half the distance when its rope goes taught and holds the boat fast. For a moment you consider giving up, but the tide has continued to rise and as the water begins to lap around your feet you give one last determined pull and the rope snaps. The little boat shoots towards you and you have one chance to leap aboard as it skims past. You shoot out over the top of the submerged beam and into the open sea.
Steadying the tiller, you pull on the main sheet until the sail fills with the fresh breeze and you head towards the island. The beautiful, blue boat cuts effortlessly through the waves and you begin to relax, lulled by the lapping of the waves against the hull.
The sun is just touching the tops of the trees as your little boat beaches itself on the shoreline. There is a thin strip of golden brown before the salty sand gives way to the encroaching blanket of snow. The whole island is dazzlingly white in the last rays of the sun. You leap from the boat and begin trudging through the soft snow. The path is difficult to find, but you instinctively know the way.
After a while your feet become cold, and your trousers are soaked through. You realise it would be faster to swing through the trees. As you climb onto a bough that touches the ground, the sudden movement shakes the snow from the branches and it springs into the air, hurling you skywards. Instantly, you have your yarn ready and throw it towards a broken stub protruding from the trunk. It holds tight and you swing safely to land on a bough high above the ground below.
Although you are only small, you take your time to select only the branches that look strong enough to support your weight. Looping your yarn over each carefully chosen bough you swing through the trees expertly.
Eventually, the trees begin to thin and beneath you stands an old, abandoned building. You know you have reached your destination. The old workshop lies at the bottom of a hollow where the trees are less established, and the last of the sunlight makes the windows glow. Dropping to the ground you approach the large wooden doors. Even though they are old and rotten, you cannot find a way in. High above you is a window with a broken pane of glass, but there is no way to reach it. You feel defeated. Staring at the snow that surrounds you, you start thinking of an alternative plan.
You have an idea. It has only a slim chance of success, but the air is much colder now, and you are prepared to take the risk.
Climbing back up the snow-covered slope towards the tallest of the trees you begin your search. By the time you find what you are looking for the snow has chilled you to the bone and your hands are numb with cold. High above your head is the largest pinecone you have ever seen. Using the last of your strength you form a lasso with your yarn and take aim. You do not think you will be able to attempt the throw many times before your energy fails.
Incredibly, you are successful on your second try! You pull on the yarn with all your might. The pinecone resists at first but then with a loud crack, separates from the tree and falls to the ground below. Full of renewed energy and hope, you get behind it and push it as hard as you can. It is as tall as you. After only a few metres, it begins to gather its own momentum and starts to roll faster down the slope. You watch in amazement as it gets larger and larger, collecting fresh snow as it hurtles towards the shed. By the time it reaches its destination it is very big and travelling very fast. It crashes into the bottom of the wooden doors and explodes, leaving behind a hole just large enough for you to squeeze through.
Unable to control your excitement, you shout with joy as you run and tumble down the path the giant snowball has made. When you reach the doors, you pause for only the briefest of moments to catch your breath before going inside.
It takes a few moments for your eyes to adjust to the gloomy interior. The air is filled with the smell of used oil and dust motes gather in the last of the sun’s rays emanating from a small window high above a bench.
The workshop has been abandoned for years. Forgotten. Cobwebs, thick with dust, cover every surface, but the spiders that built them are long dead.
On the walls, posters advertise products from the world of motoring: Duckham’s oil, Champion sparkplugs and Michelin tyres.
The bench is untidy, as if someone had left only moments before and has every intention of returning, but never did.
Car components lay in pieces and there is a chipped mug, stained brown by coffee, lying on its side. On the wall above the bench is an old-fashioned telephone. It has bells attached at the top, like a vintage alarm clock. The receiver is off the hook and dangles on its wire, but there is no dialling tone. The connection was lost a long time ago.
In the centre of the workshop there is a car. The shape and style seem vaguely familiar.
The bonnet has been removed and, in its place, hangs an engine, suspended by a block and tackle from the beam above.
The driver’s door is missing, and the tyres are flat. The yellow paint is peeling and patches of rust cover the entire body. Peering inside you see a tangle of wires beneath the dashboard and all the dials are missing.
Using an old toolbox to gain some height, you manage to scramble over the sill and into the car. The carpet, once thick and luxurious, is matted and covered in flakes of rust and an assortment of nuts and bolts. The driver’s seat is too high for you to scale and so you grab hold of the wires that hang down from the dash. You climb until you are level with the bottom of the steering wheel. It is only a few centimetres away and you easily reach out and climb across. From there, you jump onto the driver’s seat.
Although you’ve always been fascinated by driving, the controls, the switches, the pedals are unfamiliar and alien, and you find yourself drawn towards the back of the car. There are no rear doors and so you have to scramble up the back of the seat. The leather is brittle and cracked and it is easy to find hand and footholds. You reach the top and stare into the darkness. Then you jump.
The back of the car feels unexpectedly but warm. The leather feels less brittle, and it has a comforting and familiar smell. You suddenly become aware of your aching muscles and your legs feel like lead – you’ve been very busy today.
Sitting down, you stare absentmindedly between the two front seats and out through the windscreen. From this angle you can see the window high above the bench. The sun has now disappeared and replaced by hundreds of stars shining brightly in the blue blanket of the night sky. It looks very beautiful but very cold. You decide to stay where you are and settle down for the night.
Outside the car, the workshop is quiet and still. Nothing moves. Nothing makes a sound. Tiredness is beginning to wash over you and you know that it is time to rest.
You’re glad you’ve found this place, and the car is warm. Despite the workshop being abandoned, it feels safe, as if it were there for you to find, a refuge from the cold. But it’s more than that. Even the silence is familiar and you know that you can rest here for as long as you need. But you also know that you won’t be here for long, so you get comfortable.
You curl up in a ball and shut your eyes tight. In your mind, the car begins to move swiftly through the night. You can feel a gentle vibration through the seat as it rumbles towards its destination. You hear a distant voice ask sleepily, “Are we there yet?”
It’s a recognisable voice, but you’re too tired to pay it any more attention. Like everything else in this strange place, it doesn’t scare you. In fact, it helps you relax.
Quietly recounting the day’s events, you’re grateful you’ve made it here safely. You’re tired now, so you let your memories take over as you close your eyes and slowly drift away, awaiting your next adventure.