Otto's Story | Cozy Bedtime Stories For Grownups

Hey, Jeffrey here, and welcome back to Night Falls. I've got a quick favor to ask. If you're enjoying the show and it helps you sleep, please do share us with family and friends. Hopefully we can make a difference to their night, and I know it will make a huge difference to us. I'm a very open person, perhaps prone to oversharing. I love getting to know people properly, and for them to know me too, maybe because I'm utterly useless at small talk, or maybe because I love to hear and tell stories. Tonight, I'm excited to share a story about how I learned about one of my best friends at the Falls. He's very hairy and very lovable. Can you guess who it is? Well, recently I learned something new about Otto. I learned where he came from, who his family was, and why he always seemed to belong to the other world more than he did to our own. This is the story of a dog called Chaos, and a pack of hunting hounds, unlike any you've seen before. Before we begin, here's the quick ad break that keeps this free content possible. To go ad-free, subscribe via the link in the show notes. All right, now back to Night Falls. Autumn was almost upon us, and as the earth began to cool beneath our feet, my friends and I slipped our thick wool socks back on and said goodbye to the summer. To me, Night Falls never looked better than when the amber's and oranges have fall. Crisped up the leaves on the trees and crunched on the ground beneath my feet. For Lyra, autumn and winter proved to be an annual inconvenience, one we scarcely heard the end of. At the threat of cold weather, Wanda, Devani, Alistair, Behiti and I were sent out in all corners and crevices of the mountains to gather wares for Lyra's potion work. The flowers, herbs, rare barks, and weeds that our older friend needed had to be collected before the cold dried them out. Without those clippings, Lyra wouldn't be able to work through the winter. On the promise of tea and cake, my friends and I always agreed, taking a hike up to the peak that cast long shadows over Night Falls before splitting up to cover more ground in less time. Devani often took the longest journey, setting off from the peak at dawn on her paraglider. She would cut through the air to the northernmost mountains where snow would soon cover the steep grassy verges. As I made my annual jaunt down the side of the first peak and deep into the valley below, I watched her flying. I was always half thrilled and half horrified by the sight of her swooping and soaring through the skies like that. Whenever Devani took to the skies, it was as though she hadn't a care in the world. I often wondered if perhaps she felt so unburdened because every time she got her paraglider out, she left all her cares and concerns with me, knowing I would stew in them for hours for her. The urge to tell her to be careful whenever she prepared for a flight was overwhelming, but she didn't need to hear it and it wouldn't have helped anything. So instead, I kissed her goodbye, squeezed her tight enough that she would roll her eyes at my dramatics and waved her off with a smile. Alistair always ventured a little further into the mountains than I did and Wanda made sure she took the shortest route every year, happy to help her beloved Lyra, but very much unhappy at the thought of traveling too far into the mountains on her lonesome. Our most well-read friend was right at home in night falls, but it was clear that taking a bookworm such as Wanda out of the library hadn't tempered her desire to escape into books. Whatever compromises Wanda had been willing to make to live with Lyra out in the mountains did not extend to mountaineering. Wanda much preferred her adventures to remain neatly pressed and printed onto pages of A5, sewn together at the margin, bound, and tucked into a dust cover that would protect the title for years to come. That year, it took me several days to gather all the supplies on Lyra's list, but I rather relish the time alone. Wild camping deep in the valley and taking a little time to myself was something I looked forward to every year, even if I was exhausted by the time I arrived back in night falls. I had rolled up my sleeves on the journey home, intending to catch the last of the summer sun. After hours of walking, the heat finally caught up to me, and by lunchtime the next day, my muscles were still sore, and I was undeniably sleepy. Even after a long nap in the shade, I remained exhausted from the hike. Lyra's carrot cake, lathered in buttercream icing, and dusted with extra sugar, wasn't enough to keep me awake. We stayed close to the campfire to recuperate that day. Davani's spirits were higher than ever. She was always happiest on her way back from a flight through the mountains. This is often the case at that time of year. The weather was changeable, and we alternated between dips in the lake to cool off and stints beside the campfire to warm up and dry out whenever the sun ducked behind the clouds for cover. We were busy brewing tea over the campfire when I felt something shift in the air. Winter's chill seemed to wash in for a moment. The feeling was so sudden that I was drawing my sleeves down over my hands and passing Davani the blanket I had wrapped around my shoulders. Having carried in the cold, the winds stilled entirely, as if lumbering that chill across the mountains and depositing it in night falls had proved to be a task and a half. The silence that usually settled between the trees had been replaced by soft music that drifted out of the pines. All of us, say, ferrata, fell quiet. The schnauzer's tail began to wag at the sound, and Suni was howling toward the sky, attempting to sing along with the woodwind line. I didn't realize you were such a fan of the clarinet auto. Lyra quipped, ruffling the fur under his chin and trying her best to quell the barks, breaking out of him. Nothing could be done to temper his enthusiasm, and as the music grew nearer, he caught the zoomies and whizzed around the campfire. Just watching him bound in and out of the lake was enough to wear me out all over again. He didn't stop even as the source of the sound emerged through the pine trees, a gathering of around ten with a horde of hunting dogs at their feet. The sun was already starting to set in the east, but the band of travelers emerging from the trees seemed to be backlit by a sunset all of their own. They appeared as though they might have belonged more in the Nordic myths I had taken to reading that summer than they did in Night Falls. The characters in my favorite TV shows as a boy had only run in slow motion so they could appear impossibly cool, but none of them had ever been backlit by their own sunset. As that huddle of figures approached the clearing, time seemed to stand still so they could step through it. The light dipped lower in the clearing, save for the golden rays blazing at their back. The soft song they were playing suddenly seemed the perfect underscore for their every step. It was as though I was witnessing all the after-effects and editing that belonged in the movie Before My Eyes. I had to wonder who on earth had sprung for the budget with the blazing sunset that seemed to follow them wherever they went and what I assumed had to be a dry ice machine kicking out the fog at their feet. When their tall silhouettes filled the gaps between even taller pine trees, Otto practically fist with excitement. Even with shadows still shrouding their faces, Otto's whole body swung from side to side to counteract the force with which his tail wagged. Our Otto was a tremendous judge of character and I knew undoubtedly that our visitors would be friends, not fools. Only when the tallest and broadest of the hordes stepped out of the pine forest and into the dappled sunlight that warmed the clearing, did Otto lurch towards him. The schnauzer jumped higher than I realized he could, expecting the stranger to catch him in mid-air. Big arms reached out and banded beneath Otto as though he were just a puppy. Otto howled with excitement, his nose tipping up to the sky. The dogs that had drifted into the clearing with that group of travelers did just the same, turning to the skies and celebrating with a veritable chorus. The arms holding Otto aloft belonged to a man who was certain bore the title warrior. A metal plate guarded his chest, his legs were strapped with sheaths holding all manner of hunting tools. His dark hair was peppered with grays and fell just past his shoulders. We would come to know the leader of that band of travelers as Aron. And later that night when we were stretched out on the sands and Devani was insisting for the third time that she hadn't fancied him, she had mused that Aron had long hair in a rugged, cut off from civilization sort of way, as opposed to a rosemary oil hair mask. Just trimmed the dead bits off and growing out of it, sort of way. I got the sense she rather liked that. Maybe I ought to grow mine out, I suggested, and she turned to scan my face. No, I don't think it would suit you, she decided, before rolling over on the sands. Miffed, I stared up at the stars. I was almost asleep when she confessed. I like cutting your hair, it's the only time I can catch you alone these days. I'd rolled onto my side and pulled Devani into my chest before sleep swept us both away for the night. Aron set Otto back down on the ground and the schnauzer began to sniff at the bigger dogs traveling with the group. Part of me wanted to call Otto back to keep him safe, but he seemed to know his way around the pack and with the way they had welcomed him. I began to wonder if perhaps he wasn't a stranger to them either. Otto trotted back to the campfire and the band of travellers followed. The thrumming of the drums peedered out, flutes were tucked back into pockets and clarinets were stowed in travel bags. Extending a handout to Alistair, the man with the peppery long hair that Devani liked so much began. We're only calling through to check on this one. He rumbled in a rhythmic well shagged scent as he knelt to pet Otto, who rolled over at his feet practically begging for belly scratches. We didn't mean to disturb you. You know Otto, Alistair's eyebrows hit the ground and the band of travellers was in the air. You know Otto, Alistair's eyebrows hit his hairline. I don't know an Otto, his brow quirked, but I do know a dog called Chaos. Otto barked at the word as though he recognized it. His tail wagged even harder and he hopped to his feet. You live here? the warrior asked, regarding the campfire. We do, I interjected. You must be hungry, will you stay for dinner? I offered. A feast would be welcome, he beamed. I'm Aron. I'm not sure we can promise a feast, but Jeffrey does make a mean chickpea tagine. Devani petted him on the back before ushering the band of travellers around the campfire. I followed her toward the fire, lingering just long enough to hear Aron tutting to himself. Otto, what a feeble name for such a hound. He gently stroked the soft fire under Otto's chin and it was clear the pair knew one another, but I couldn't understand how. It was certainly cosy with everyone sitting shoulder to shoulder around the campfire. It was such a squeeze that I was almost glad to be up and tending to the food. What brings you to the campfire? What brings you to Nightfall's? Lyra asked as she uncorked yet another bottle of red from her sellers. Seemed that their journey had left Aron and his friends feeling quite parched. Oh, we've been out here for years. A stout man with tufty red hair replied, I'd wager we've spent more time hunting in these parts than we have at home. These parts as in Scotland, Wanda asked. These parts as in anywhere beyond the Vale. You're from the other world, Wanda checked, putting the pieces of the puzzle together, so she could tell me just how this band of woodwind playing woodsmen knew Aron Otto. Where else Aron leaned back on his stool and I heard the wood splintering under his weight. I don't know, Devani muttered to herself over the boiling pot of tajine. Codiff, swan-zee, Bristol? It took the spoon she was stirring dinner with so that she could settle into the empty chair beside Wanda and relax. Like all the fey we had met, Aron and his friends seemed almost two feet taller and a whole set of shoulders wider than my friends and I. He and his friends had been on the road for years, each forming a part of what they called the wild hunt. For all the dramatics of their entrance to the clearing, Aron and his friends were a humble, bumbling lot. Even though they could have lumbered about and made the campfire their own, it was clear they were trying to be courteous of our home. What are you hunting? I asked, stirring the chickpeas and hoping he didn't say rabbit. Oh, we lost sight of that years ago. Aron began. At first we came for sport, then we started gathering lost souls and once we settled in and started enjoying the journey, we stopped bothering to hunt all together. I'm Loris, the set of muscles sitting to Aron's left side. And I'm Bren, the tall, lithe hunter to his right offered. This is Sophron, Mar, Adry, Yros, and that over there is Ivy. Bren is the best shot by the side of the veil. Aron bragged and a crooked smile cracked across Bren's face. Don't worry, Bren was quick to assure us. The last thing I took aim at was an apple. One does shoulders sagged with relief. There were more, too many to name, all settling into conversation around the campfire with my friends. Devaney seemed to have drifted into easy conversation with Bren, whilst Otto sat at her feet, tongue out, panting happily. When the tajine was finally ready and I ladled it out, Aron confessed he had never so much as sampled a chickpea before. I suppose you barbecue beneath the stars each night. Alistair guessed, sending rather like he wanted to join them. Oh, no, we don't really need to eat. Aron mumbled between mouthfuls. But this is fantastic. What do you mean you don't need to eat? Lyra blanched. Oh, we are here more in spirit than in body or being. Aron moped up the sauce on his plate with a chunk of bread. We have to leave something behind to keep things ticking over at home. You're looking at the king of the Welsh other world, Bren teased, and Aron swatted the title away. I tend to leave the mind and body back home to see to state affairs and let my spirit make a home for itself here. I've been coming for centuries, calling in whenever I can to see chaos. Otto parked up at the name, his head tilting as he listened into the conversation. Chaos, I caulked my head. Chaos, Aron called, and Otto came running. Things were beginning to fall into place in my mind. How long have you known Otto? I asked. I've known Chaos. He made sure to emphasize the name since the day he was born. He was the runt of the litter and still able to run me ragged. He drew Otto up onto his lap before he went on. This one caused me more chaos than any of his brothers or sisters ever did. Aron motioned to the hounds, sitting patiently at his feet. There had to be more than seven dogs stretched out around the camp. And all of them were much, much bigger than Otto. Aron stroked the fur behind Otto's ears with a gentleness that didn't fit his frame. And I couldn't help but notice that where the other dogs ears were pointed and alert, Otto's were floppy and flew behind him when he ran. Where the other dogs from the litter were clad in muscle, Otto had a little extra fur around his middle. Otto sniffed at the other dogs and soon enough they were all up on their paws. He bowed on his front legs and leaped at the bigger dogs. My heart lurched and I worried that they wouldn't take kindly to it, but my worries were misplaced. Though they were all from the same litter, the dogs had turned out rather differently and they knew it. Aron's spectral hounds played with Otto as though he were just a pup. They let him bound at them full force and feigned falling or rolled over whenever he did. It was hard to deny they were Otto's true family when they played with him as though he was their younger, perhaps slightly annoying but very lovable brother. Only one question remained and I had to ask it. How did Otto come to live in Nightfall? Oh, it must have been a while ago now that he chose to stay here. Aron shrugged. And when you say a while ago, the Vanny guessed, would that be a decade, two decades? Longer? Much longer. Aron chuckled as he set his plate on the floor and let the dogs dig into his leftovers. It could have been a few hundred years ago now and we've been back since to check on him every so often. He assured us. Chaos, Otto, was never cut out for the wild hunt. He tried, he travelled with us for years, but his paws got tired. His coat got matted. No matter how much we fed him, he never grew as big as the others. He was a very good dog. He was a very good dog. He was not matted. No matter how much we fed him, he never grew as big as the others. When we stumbled upon this clearing and he curled up beside the campfire, it was the first time he had seemed truly at ease in months. For that reason, we stayed. Truly we stayed as long as we could, but soon the rest of the pack grew restless. The bigger dogs needed to cover more ground and my friends hankered after the open road. It was time to move on, but Chaos here was so content. As we prepared to leave night falls that morning, packing up camp and pulling our boots back on, he whinnied like I had never heard him and when we began to walk away, he didn't follow. I turned back to check on him, but he was still standing beside the campfire and I could tell he had found his home by the hearth. To Chaos, the hearth is much more important than the hunt. He curled up beside it and I know he would have wanted me to stay with him, but the wild hunt doesn't cease. It doesn't slow. It doesn't stop for comforts like campfires. Chaos deserves that kind of comfort. So we said our goodbyes. There was a woman here before you. I can never remember her name. Elena? Devani interjected. That sounds about right. I knew I could trust her to take care of him and in return I hoped he would keep her company. We come back through here as often as we can, but it's always difficult to say goodbye. Our on finished. I was glad to put the mystery of Otto's origins to bed. That night after the wild hunt had finally headed off, looking less than wild and more than ready for bed, I was pleased to be setting to sleep myself. Otto usually slept on our toes when Devani and I stretched out on the sands by the lake, but that night he wriggled up between Devani and I. Devani wrapped her arms around him tightly and we drifted off side by side, me doing my best not to complain about his dog breath, and Devani trying not to giggle when he snored in his sleep. We'll leave our story there for tonight. I hope you enjoyed learning more about Otto. Sleep well, and see you next time.