This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Correct_One1695 on 2024-10-09 19:13:26+00:00.

I’m not sure how many of you remember a children’s show called The Goodnight Friends Show. It aired sometime in the late 90s or early 2000s—I can’t recall exactly when, but I remember the times I’d sit on the carpet in front of the TV, completely glued to it. I’ve tried asking people about it recently, but every time, I’m met with blank stares. It’s like no one remembers this show ever existed. That’s probably for the best.

At the time, it was supposed to be a fun, simple puppet show for children. I was young, maybe 5 or 6, and my parents would let me watch it in the evenings before bed. The show was built around four puppet characters—Mr. Tickles, Lucy the Lamb, Dandy Duck, and the lead character, Uncle Goodnight, an old man who always wore a striped nightcap and a long robe. Uncle Goodnight would gather the puppets for bedtime stories, songs, and lessons about “being good.” But what I’ve come to realize now is that the lessons were always…off. And the more I think about it, the more disturbing they become.

I didn’t think much of it as a kid; in fact, I loved the show. The puppets were funny, and Uncle Goodnight had this soothing voice. But even then, there were moments when something just didn’t feel right. For example, the music would occasionally shift from playful to this unsettling, slow lullaby, like something you’d hear in a broken music box. The puppets’ laughter would drag on too long, almost becoming shrill and distorted. But it was the “lessons” that truly unsettled me.

I’ll never forget the episode where Uncle Goodnight taught us about keeping secrets.

“Now remember, little ones,” Uncle Goodnight said in his calm, gravelly voice, “secrets are special, and keeping them makes you a good friend.”

The puppets—Lucy, Dandy, and Mr. Tickles—all nodded enthusiastically.

“But what if someone tells a bad secret?” Lucy the Lamb asked, her wide plastic eyes staring blankly at the camera.

“Oh, Lucy,” Uncle Goodnight chuckled, “There are no bad secrets. If you’re told one, you must keep it forever. If you don’t, well…” He paused, the smile fading slightly from his face, “you might lose something very dear to you.”

I remember the way his eyes seemed to linger on the camera. At the time, I thought nothing of it. But now, it’s…chilling.

In another episode, Uncle Goodnight taught a lesson about “always being nice.” On the surface, it sounded like something you’d hear on any kids’ show. But the execution was…disturbing.

“Being nice is the most important thing you can do,” Uncle Goodnight said, his smile wide but stiff, almost forced. “If someone is mean to you, don’t get upset. Don’t tell anyone. Just smile and let them have their way. That’s what nice people do.”

Dandy Duck’s puppet wobbled over to Lucy and pushed her off a small stage they were standing on. Lucy hit the ground with a squeak, but she didn’t cry or react. Instead, she just got up, turned to the camera, and smiled.

“See? That’s the right thing to do!” Uncle Goodnight exclaimed with his unsettling cheerfulness. “No matter what happens, always smile!”

Looking back, the entire premise of the show seemed to be about obedience and silence. The more episodes I try to remember, the more I realize just how sinister the lessons were. They weren’t about learning or growing—they were about control. But that’s not the worst part.

I remember one episode in particular, and I wish I didn’t.

It was close to the end of the show’s run, and by then, I had started to feel uneasy about watching it, but I didn’t understand why. Something just felt wrong. In this episode, Uncle Goodnight was sitting in his usual armchair, but there were no puppets. The set, which usually had warm, dim lighting, seemed darker, and Uncle Goodnight looked…different. His eyes were sunken in, his smile weaker, almost strained. I still hear his voice sometimes.

“Tonight, children,” he said, “I want to talk to you about something very important.”

He leaned closer to the camera, his wrinkled face taking up more of the screen than usual.

“Sometimes, we have to say goodbye to our friends. And when we do, we can’t be sad. We have to stay quiet and smile. If you’re really good…they might come back.”

I remember staring at the screen, waiting for the puppets to appear. But they never did. Instead, Uncle Goodnight just stared at the camera for what felt like forever, not saying a word. His smile slowly disappeared, leaving his face expressionless. The episode ended abruptly after that, the credits rolling in complete silence.

After that night, I never saw The Goodnight Friends Show again. It just…disappeared. No reruns, no mention of it on any TV listings. Even the VHS tapes we used to record it on were blank. My parents couldn’t remember the show at all. No one could. It was as if it had been wiped from existence.

I’ve spent years trying to find out more about The Goodnight Friends Show, scouring the internet for any trace of it, but there’s nothing—no episodes, no fan discussions, no records of it ever airing. But I know it was real. I can still hear Uncle Goodnight’s voice in my head. I can still see his face, smiling, then not. And I know I’m not the only one who remembers.

Recently, I found an old VHS tape buried in a box in my attic. It wasn’t labeled, but I recognized it immediately—it was one of the tapes we used to record the show. I was hesitant to play it, but my curiosity got the best of me. The tape was old and damaged, but after some effort, I managed to get it working.

It was an episode of The Goodnight Friends Show, but something was…wrong. The quality was grainy, and the sound was distorted. Uncle Goodnight was there, but he didn’t say anything. He just stared at the camera, his eyes dark and hollow. The puppets were lying on the floor behind him, unmoving, their eyes wide and vacant. After what felt like hours, Uncle Goodnight finally spoke.

“You remember, don’t you?” he whispered.

Then the screen went black.

I don’t watch the tape anymore. I don’t even go near it. But sometimes, at night, I swear I can hear Uncle Goodnight’s voice, whispering in the dark. “You remember, don’t you?”

And I do. I wish I didn’t.