Sleep story · quiet, home
Sleep story: the house after everyone is asleep, if you are sceptical about all of this — for a night when you do not want to think
The hour when the house belongs to nobody and nothing needs doing.
Lights off. Press begin and let the story read itself to you, at the pace of sleep.
Screen on or off — we suggest dimming it, or simply closing your eyes after the first paragraph.
The story, in full
There is nothing left on the list for today. The floorboards have stopped creaking because nobody is walking on them. The fridge hums on and off in the kitchen, and that is the loudest thing in the building.
A glass of water sits on the table, half finished. Everything in the room is exactly where it was left. The clock in the hallway ticks slightly behind the one in the kitchen.
Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.
There is a chair by the window that nobody sits in during the day. The curtains are not quite closed, and there is a thin line of streetlight along the wall.
Let your ribs stop working so hard. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Let the mattress take all of it.
The radiator clicks once as it cools down. Everyone went to bed an hour ago, and the house has stopped making the sounds it makes during the day.
Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.
Outside, a car goes past and its headlights sweep across the ceiling, then are gone. The lamp beside you is the only light left on in the whole house.
Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.
If you're irritated, that's allowed. Irritation is just weather. If you feel emotional, you don't have to explain it to anyone, including yourself.
Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Feel your wrists loosen.
Let your breathing do the rest. You do not have to count them.
Almost nothing to do now. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Just the dark.
Let it all get further away. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last.
Scepticism is welcome. You do not have to believe anything for this to work.
I will stop here. The quiet will carry on without the words.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for quiet, home.
If this story does not settle you, try Sleep story: a lake before dawn, when you are waiting for something — for a night when you do not want to think, A hotel room somewhere — a slow story for the end of the day, after a difficult conversation — for waking too early or Sleep story: a field under snow, when you have just finished work — for an overtired night.