Once upon a time in Charlotte, a book magically appeared on Jackson’s bookshelf! It was unlike any other. It shimmered and sparkled, and Jackson, with his elegant way, just knew this book was special.
“Dad!” Jackson shouted, his love for dragons momentarily forgotten. “Look at this book!”
Dad, who at 31 still loved everything about cars, put down his car magazine and ambled over. “That’s a curious one,” he said, examining the book. “It has no title!”
Flipping it open, they found the pages were blank. “That’s odd,” Dad said. Suddenly, a sprinkle of glittery dust fell from the book, and a tiny voice said, “We need your help!”
A fairy, no bigger than Jackson's thumb, with delicate butterfly wings, hovered near his ear. “Our stories,” she squeaked, “They’ve disappeared from Deserted Island!”
“Deserted Island?” Jackson asked, his robot arms twitching with excitement.
The fairy explained that Deserted Island was a magical place where stories lived. “Reading is so important!” she said. “It helps us learn and grow our imaginations. But without the stories, children won’t learn and dream!”
Jackson, being a brave young boy, knew what he had to do. He grabbed his Dad's hand. “We have to help them!”
Using the fairy’s magic, they were whisked away to Deserted Island. It was just as the fairy described: a beautiful island with crystal-clear water and trees laden with juicy fruit. But something was wrong. The usual sounds of laughter and talking animals were gone, replaced by an unsettling silence.
They found a group of fairies huddled together, their wings drooping with sadness. “The stories are gone!” one cried. “We found this…clue.” She presented them with a small, leather-bound book.
Jackson opened it carefully. Inside, written in swirling, sparkly letters, was a riddle: “I have leaves, but I am not a tree. I have words, but I do not speak. What am I?”
Jackson knew this one! “It’s a book!” he shouted.
As soon as he said the word, a path opened up in the forest. Following the path, they found an old, dusty library. But the shelves were bare! Another clue was left on the floor – a tiny glass slipper.
"Hmm," Dad mused, “This reminds me of a story.”
Jackson’s eyes widened. “Cinderella!” he exclaimed. “She loved to read!”
The fairy gasped. "That's it!" she cried. “Cinderella’s story is missing! We need to find her!"
Deeper into the forest they went, following a trail of sparkling dust. Finally, they reached a clearing. And there, sitting on a rock, was Cinderella herself, looking very sad.
“My story,” she sniffed, “it’s gone! Without it, how can I share my message of kindness and hope?”
Jackson knew just what to do. He loved to read, and he remembered Cinderella’s story perfectly. So, he told it, with all the excitement and detail a five-year-old could muster. He told of the pumpkin carriage, the glass slipper, and the prince who loved Cinderella for her kind heart.
As he spoke, Cinderella’s story magically reappeared in the book she held. The missing stories from the library flew back to their rightful places on the shelves, and the island was filled with joy and laughter once more.
The fairies were overjoyed. “You saved our stories!” they cheered, showering Jackson and Dad with glittery fairy dust. “Reading truly is magic!”
Jackson and Dad returned home, their hearts full of warmth. The magical book was still there, but now it had a title: "Jackson and the Case of the Missing Stories." And every night, Dad would read a story from that book, reminding Jackson of their magical adventure and the importance of reading.
