"Just one more night," said Vivi, and popped the dummy quickly into her mouth.
She'd said that yesterday, too. And the day before. Because the dummy was soft, and warm, and it tasted the way it feels when someone strokes your back.
Mummy tucked her in, switched off the light, and closed the door. The room filled with a thick, cosy quiet — the kind where you can hear every tiny sound.
And that's when the dummy began to glow.
Just a little at first, like a firefly. Then brighter and brighter, all silvery, and Vivi felt it tugging her gently upwards — as if it were the string of an invisible balloon.
"Hold on tight," someone whispered. "And don't be afraid."
The window swung open all by itself. Vivi floated out into the night, dummy in her fist. Below her, her house drifted away, then the garden gate, the street, the whole town with its hundreds of tiny yellow windows. And above her hung the moon, so big and bright she had to squint.
And beside the moon grew a tree.
It was an enormous tree with silver leaves, and hanging from its branches were not apples, and not pears. Hanging from its branches were dummies. Thousands and thousands of them, each one glowing softly, like tiny lanterns.
"This is the Dummy Tree," said the voice.
Now Vivi saw who it belonged to: a velvety, midnight-blue butterfly sitting on the lowest branch, as big as her hand.
"Look down," said the butterfly.
At the foot of the tree, in the soft silver grass, sat some very tiny creatures. Each one was no bigger than a walnut. They had just hatched out of moonlight — they were still blinking at the brightness — and they were crying, very, very quietly.
"They are the moonlings," said the butterfly. "Born tonight. And not one of them has a dummy."
Vivi's heart gave a little squeeze.
"Then give them one from the tree!"
"We can't," said the butterfly, shaking its head. "The tree only grows new dummies from the ones that children bring here. And a dummy can never be taken from anyone. It can only be given. That is the one piece of magic that works here."
"And who can give one?" asked Vivi.
The butterfly looked at her with its large, dark eyes.
"Only someone who is big enough."
Vivi looked down at her fist. There was her dummy, warm and familiar. She squeezed it. Then she squeezed it once more, as hard as she could.
And then she reached out and hung it on the lowest branch.
The moment she let go, the dummy blossomed. It burst open into light, like a star, and out of the light dropped a brand-new tiny dummy, straight into the lap of the smallest moonling. The moonling popped it in, went quiet, and — whoosh — was fast asleep.
The other moonlings snuggled up close, and underneath the tree it became quiet. The most beautiful quiet Vivi had ever heard.
"Hold out your hand," said the butterfly.
Vivi held it out. Something tiny and warm dropped from the tree, right into her palm. It was a star, hardly bigger than a poppy seed.
"This is a bravery star. You won't be able to see it, but it will always be there. If you think of your dummy in the night and your heart aches a little, just squeeze your hand into a fist. You'll feel how warm it is."
Vivi squeezed. It was warm.
Then the butterfly gave one beat of its wings, and Vivi began to float slowly, softly down. Past the moon, over the town, over all the little yellow windows, in through her own window, and straight back under her duvet, which had kept her warmth for her.
Her eyes were already closing, like two heavy little curtains.
In the morning, when she woke up, the dummy was nowhere to be found.
But her hand was squeezed into a fist. And when she opened it, right in the middle of her palm there was the faintest silver dot — so tiny that nobody else ever noticed it.
Only her.
The end. Sweet dreams! 🌙