Something Wild This Way Comes Storytelling Under the Stars
Blog 9: Something Wild This Way Comes Storytelling Under the Stars
By Sophia Salazar, Editor-in-Chief
There is a particular kind of magic that happens when you take a story outside.
It's the same story you might tell in your living room, on a rainy afternoon, with the lights low and the kettle on. But something shifts when you tell it under the open sky. The darkness presses closer. The stars lean in to listen. The wind carries the words away, and you find yourself speaking a little louder, a little slower, a little more carefully—because out here, the story feels like it matters more.
Maybe it's because stories began outside. Long before there were libraries and bookshops and bedtime rituals, there were campfires. There were circles of listeners, gathered in the dark, watching the flames dance while a voice wove tales of heroes and spirits and things that lurked just beyond the firelight. The first stories were wild stories. They belong outside.
This week, we're taking them home.
Not home to your living room—though that's lovely too. Home to the places where stories feel most alive: under the stars, around a campfire, on a rooftop, in a garden at night, beneath a blanket fort built for the occasion.
We're hosting a Story Tent.
Why Stories Belong Outside
There's something about the dark that makes stories work differently.
Inside, with lights on and walls around us, we feel safe. The story is an entertainment, a pleasant way to pass the time. Outside, in the dark, with only a fire or a flashlight between us and the night, the story becomes something else. It becomes a shield. A comfort. A reminder that we're together, that we're not alone, that the darkness is full of stories as well as shadows.
For children, this is thrilling in the best way. The right amount of spooky—not too much, not too little—creates memories that last forever. They'll remember the night they heard about the Dwen in the drawers while sitting around a campfire. They'll remember the night they told their own stories under a blanket fort, with flashlights and whispered voices.
For parents, it's a chance to connect in a way that doesn't happen during the ordinary rush of daily life. Out there, under the stars, there's nowhere to be and nothing to do except be together. The story is the excuse. The being together is the point.
For wilderness camps and outdoor groups, it's tradition. The campfire story is as old as camping itself. But with the Hocksbox collection, you have something new to add—stories rooted in place, in folklore, in the kind of magic that feels right when the fire crackles and the darkness deepens.
Choosing Your Setting
The wild comes in many forms. Choose the one that works for you.
Campfire Stories
The classic. A fire, a circle of listeners, the dark pressing in from all sides. The fire provides light, warmth, and a focal point. It also provides shadows—perfect for atmosphere.
Best for: Wilderness camps, backyard camping, any night when you can safely have a fire.
Stories that work: "The Wish in the Hog Plum Tree" has the right level of spookiness—a tree that grants wishes in twisted ways, a vanished vice principal, a school gone strange. "The Dwen in the Drawers" is lighter, funnier, but still benefits from the dark. "Till Death Say We Do" works for older listeners who can handle the themes of death and love.
Stories Under the Stars
No fire, just the sky. Lie on blankets, look up at the stars, and let the story wash over you. The vastness above makes everything feel more significant.
Best for: Clear nights, open spaces, groups willing to lie down and look up.
Stories that work: "The Remarkable Evening of Oliver Hefflewhistle and the Gingham Glimmergit" was made for this—a story about a boy who looks up at arithmetic stars while walking home with a feather in his mitten. "Percival: Lost in Paradise" works too—a story about being far from home, looking up at unfamiliar skies, finding your way.
Moonlight Stories
Wait for the moon. Tell stories in its light. The silver glow changes everything—makes the ordinary strange, the familiar mysterious.
Best for: Nights with a good moon, gardens, rooftops, anywhere the moonlight reaches.
Stories that work: "Till Death Say We Do" features a bride who "glows when the moon full." Tell it under an actual full moon for maximum effect. "The Wish in the Hog Plum Tree" also works—the tree feels more alive, more watchful, when the moon is out.
Rooftop Stories
If you have access to a roof, use it. The height changes perspective. The world below feels far away. The sky feels closer.
Best for: Urban settings, warm nights, groups who can safely access a roof.
Stories that work: "Oh, the Roaming Fairy Folks of Mischief" features jack-rabbits leaping over skyscrapers. Tell it on a rooftop, looking out at the city, and the story comes alive in a new way. "The War of the Whiffle Waffles" works too—imagine the Luftwaffes descending over the rooftops.
Night Garden Stories
A garden at night is its own kind of magic. The plants look different. The sounds are different. Everything is slightly strange.
Best for: Gardens, parks, anywhere with plants and paths.
Stories that work: "Old Crumpet Noggin and the Singing Flummywisters" fits a garden setting—flummywisters yodelling from the trees, Crumpet sitting outside Mrs. Fidget's. "The Dwen in the Drawers" also works—a forest spirit stealing laundry feels right in a garden at night.
Blanket Fort Stories
For younger children, or for nights when going outside isn't possible, build a fort. Blankets draped over chairs, flashlights inside, the sense of a secret space. It's not the same as being outside, but it captures something of the same spirit—a small, safe space in the middle of a larger darkness.
Best for: Indoors, younger children, rainy nights, anyone who needs to feel cozy.
Stories that work: Any of them. The fort becomes its own world. The stories become its mythology.
Setting Up Your Story Tent
Whatever setting you choose, a little preparation goes a long way.
The Basics:
Comfortable seating. Blankets, cushions, logs to sit on, something between your listeners and the ground.
Light. A fire, flashlights, lanterns, or just the moon. Enough to see by, not so much that the darkness disappears.
Warmth. Blankets, jackets, hot drinks. Night air gets cold even in warm places.
Something to hold. A cup of cocoa, a marshmallow on a stick, a friend's hand. Small comforts matter.
For Atmosphere:
Mark the space. If you're in a garden, hang a few lanterns. If you're on a rooftop, string some fairy lights. If you're around a fire, arrange the seating so everyone can see the flames and each other.
Set the mood with sound. If you can, play quiet music before the story begins—steelpan for Holloway & Graves, something soft and stargazy for Oliver, something a little ridiculous for the roaming fairy folks.
Welcome everyone in. Have a ritual for entering the story space. A special phrase. A moment of silence. A question to think about while they listen.
For the Story Itself:
Know your story. Read it aloud to yourself first. Find the rhythms, the voices, the moments where you want to pause.
Use your voice. Speak slowly. Let the silence work. Change your voice for different characters—not a full performance, just enough to signal who's talking.
Involve your listeners. Ask questions. Pause for predictions. Let them chime in when something reminds them of their own experiences.
Watch the time. A story that drags loses its magic. Better to leave them wanting more than to push past their attention span.
Stories for the Wild: A Guide
Here's how each of our stories works in an outdoor setting.
"The Remarkable Evening of Oliver Hefflewhistle and the Gingham Glimmergit"
This story is made for looking up. Oliver walks home under stars that have turned into arithmetic equations. He catches a feather that floats down from a window. He feels, for one night, that the universe might be sending him a message.
Best under: Stars. Clear skies. Any night when you can lie back and look up.
Before the story: Ask everyone to find a star and make a wish. Not out loud—just to themselves. Tell them to hold onto it.
During the story: Pause when Oliver looks up at the stars. Ask your listeners: what do you see up there? What equations might the stars be forming tonight?
After the story: Pass out small feathers—real or paper. Invite everyone to write or draw something on their feather: a hope, a memory, a message for someone they care about. Take them home. Keep them somewhere special.
"Old Crumpet Noggin and the Singing Flummywisters"
This story is about waiting, hoping, and the strange ways dreams come true. It's also about listening—to flummywisters, to the world, to the small sounds that most people miss.
Best in: Gardens, parks, anywhere with trees. If you can find a spot where birds are singing, even better.
Before the story: Sit in silence for a minute. Just listen. What do you hear? Birds? Wind? Something else? Tell everyone to hold onto one sound they noticed.
During the story: When the flummywisters yodel their yisters, invite your listeners to join in. "Flummy, flummy, flummy, / Spread your wings and yister, / Flummy, flummy, flummy, / Don't forget to blister!" It doesn't matter if they're off-key. It matters that they're part of it.
After the story: Create your own collection of oddities. Go around and have each person contribute one object they find nearby—a stone, a leaf, a stick. Give each object a story. Place them all in a "mysterious bucket" (any container works) and take turns drawing them out and telling their tales.
"Oh, the Roaming Fairy Folks of Mischief"
This story is chaos. Noddy and Poppy, five jack-rabbits, a skyscraper carried away by a whirlwind. It's loud and ridiculous and perfect for letting off steam.
Best around: A campfire, where there's room to move and the flames add to the chaos.
Before the story: Take off your shoes. Something about bare feet makes chaos more accessible. If you're brave, have everyone do a quick "Twizzlehop pirouette" before they sit down.
During the story: When the jack-rabbits start somersaulting, have your listeners somersault too—or at least wave their arms like gangly legs. When the skyscraper flies away, have everyone make a "whoosh" sound. Get them moving. Get them involved.
After the story: Have your own chaos parade. Put on music. March around the fire, the garden, the rooftop. Leap. Spin. Be ridiculous. Then collapse together, laughing, and catch your breath.
"The War of the Whiffle Waffles"
This story is about loss and home and starting over. It's also about baked goods, which makes it perfect for a campfire with snacks.
Best around: A campfire, preferably with something to eat. Waffles, obviously. Or pies. Or s'mores, which aren't in the story but belong at every campfire.
Before the story: Ask everyone: what would you defend with everything you had? What's your bakery?
During the story: When the Whiffle Waffles attack in their Luftwaffes, have your listeners make explosion sounds. When Fizzwick and Toddy escape in "The Flying Scone," have everyone lean forward like they're flying too.
After the story: Share your snacks. As you eat, go around and share one thing you've lost and one thing you've found. It doesn't have to be physical—it can be a feeling, a hope, a person, a place. Celebrate the finding. Then name your own "Brimblebutton's Rest"—your safe place, your home, your somewhere to start over.
"The Dwen in the Drawers"
This story is spooky but funny, perfect for a campfire when you want a little thrill without nightmares.
Best around: A campfire, with the darkness pressing in. If you can, set up a clothesline nearby with some "missing" items.
Before the story: Ask everyone: what's the strangest thing that's ever gone missing from your house? A sock? A key? Something you still wonder about?
During the story: When the Dwen appears, have someone ready to sneak around the edges of the firelight—just a glimpse, just enough to make everyone look twice. When the stash is discovered, list the items dramatically: "Twenty-three socks! Fourteen pairs of underwear! Two neckties! One sequinned bra! A beach towel that says 'Best Dad Ever'!"
After the story: Host your own Paranormal Pop-Up. Gather scraps of fabric, leaves, whatever you can find, and design an outfit for a spirit. Who will have the most fabulous design? Let the group vote.
"The Wish in the Hog Plum Tree"
This story is darker. For older listeners who can handle the tension.
Best under: A tree, if you can find one. Sit beneath it, looking up at its branches.
Before the story: Ask everyone to think of a wish. Don't say it out loud. Just hold it.
During the story: When the curse spreads—bookbags with legs, lunchboxes attacking, a peanut butter sandwich that needs to be beaten with a cricket bat—let the tension build. Pause at the scary moments. Let the silence work.
After the story: Ask everyone: would you still make your wish, knowing it might come true in a twisted way? What would you be willing to offer the tree in exchange for balance? No right answers. Just thinking.
"Till Death Say We Do"
This story is about love that outlasts death. Spooky, but also beautiful. For listeners who can handle themes of mortality.
Best around: A fire, with the flames representing the love that persists. If it's a full moon night, even better.
Before the story: Light a candle (safely) and place it where everyone can see. This is for Rita and Cyril.
During the story: When the objecting cousin appears, have someone jump up and shout "I OBJECT!" for maximum surprise. When Rita says, "Boy, I dodged you in life and I will dodge you in death," let the laughter break the tension.
After the story: Have a toast. Rum punch for adults, something festive for kids. Raise your cups to love that persists, to connections that outlast death, to the ghosts who won't let go. Then have a conga line through the headstones—or just around the fire.
Activities Around the Fire
Stories are the heart of the night, but they're not the only thing. Here are activities to fill the spaces between.
Storytelling in the Round
After you've told a Hocksbox story, invite your listeners to tell their own. Go around the circle. Each person adds a sentence. The person next to them adds the next. See where the story goes. It might be wonderful. It might be nonsense. It will definitely be memorable.
Wishes on the Fire
If you have a campfire, give everyone a small strip of paper. Write a wish on it. Fold it. Toss it into the fire. Watch the smoke carry it up. (Be careful. Fire safety matters.)
Shadow Stories
Use the fire or a flashlight to make shadows on a wall or tent. Tell a story using only shadows. Let your listeners guess what's happening. Then let them try.
The Story Catcher's Challenge
Give everyone a prompt: "Tell a story about something that happened to you today, but make it sound like a Hocksbox tale." Use wonderful names. Add a creature. Make the ordinary extraordinary.
Midnight Snack
Every good story night needs food. S'mores. Hot dogs. Hot chocolate. Something warm, something shared, something that tastes like the night.
For Wilderness Camps and Organized Groups
If you're running a camp or leading a group, here are tips for making story night a tradition.
Make it regular. The same night each week. The same spot. The same ritual for gathering. Campers will come to expect it, to look forward to it, to treasure it.
Involve the campers. Let them choose stories. Let them tell stories. Let them lead the activities. The more ownership they have, the more the night becomes theirs.
Create a story circle. Arrange seating so everyone can see everyone else. The circle shape matters—it says we're all part of this, we're all listening together.
Have a talking stick. Something that gets passed around. Only the person holding it speaks. This gives everyone a chance to be heard and keeps the chaos contained.
End with silence. After the last story, after the last activity, sit in silence for a moment. Just listen to the night. Let the stories settle. Then close with a word of thanks—to the listeners, to the tellers, to the night itself.
For Parents: Building a Memorable Relationship with Stories
You don't need a camp or a wilderness to make story nights special. You just need intention.
Start a tradition. The first Friday of every month is story night. Or every full moon. Or every time it snows. Regularity builds anticipation.
Let your children choose. Give them a list of stories and let them pick. They'll be more invested if they chose the tale.
Create a special space. It doesn't have to be outside. A corner of the living room. A pile of cushions. A blanket fort. Anywhere that feels different from ordinary life.
Use your voice. Don't just read—tell. Look up from the page. Make eye contact. Let your listeners see that you're in the story too.
Ask questions. Not comprehension questions—wonder questions. "What do you think happens next?" "Why do you think the Dwen wanted clothes?" "If you were Percival, would you keep writing to Emily?"
Share your own stories. After the Hocksbox tale, tell a story from your own life. Something that happened to you. Something you remember. Your children will treasure these stories more than any book.
Let the night linger. Don't rush to bed. Sit in the dark a little longer. Talk about nothing. Talk about everything. The story is the excuse. The being together is the point.
A Final Thought on Wild Stories
There's a moment in "The Remarkable Evening of Oliver Hefflewhistle" that I think about whenever I'm outside at night. Oliver, walking home after the feather has landed in his mitten, looks up at the stars. They've rearranged themselves. The numbers are different now. And the story tells us:
"Perhaps it was a secret message from the universe, a cosmic acknowledgement of his success, or perhaps it was just another bit of celestial whimsy."
This is what wild stories are like. We can never be quite sure if they're messages from the universe or just bits of celestial whimsy. We can never be quite sure if the magic we feel is real or imagined.
But out there, under the stars, around the fire, with the darkness pressing close and the voices of loved ones weaving tales—it doesn't matter. The magic is real because we're making it together.
That's the wildest thing of all.
Next in Blog 9: "Something Connected This Way Comes The Hocksbox Universe: Mapping Worlds and Making Connections"
Until then: go outside. Light a fire. Tell a story. Look up.
Look, Listen, Linger, Laugh, and Love.
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