Sleep story · quiet, home
Sleep story: the house after everyone is asleep, when the day has been loud — for jet lag
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
Outside, a car goes past and its headlights sweep across the ceiling, then are gone. The radiator clicks once as it cools down. There is nothing left on the list for today.
A glass of water sits on the table, half finished. The floorboards have stopped creaking because nobody is walking on them. The clock in the hallway ticks slightly behind the one in the kitchen.
Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.
Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Let your palms open if they were closed.
The fridge hums on and off in the kitchen, and that is the loudest thing in the building. Everyone went to bed an hour ago, and the house has stopped making the sounds it makes during the day.
Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Your chest can be still now.
The curtains are not quite closed, and there is a thin line of streetlight along the wall. The lamp beside you is the only light left on in the whole house.
Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Feel your wrists loosen.
There is a chair by the window that nobody sits in during the day. Everything in the room is exactly where it was left.
Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
There is nothing left on the list for today. Everyone went to bed an hour ago, and the house has stopped making the sounds it makes during the day.
Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Feel your cheeks let go.
Outside, a car goes past and its headlights sweep across the ceiling, then are gone. A glass of water sits on the table, half finished.
If you're distracted by a sound, let the sound be the object for a moment. Notice if you're waiting for something to happen. Nothing is scheduled.
Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Let your ribs stop working so hard.
Let the dark be ordinary. Slower now.
Let your breathing do the rest. Let them. Slower.
Nothing needs deciding tonight. The words can start to blur now. Stay with the weight of your body.
For days that were loud from the moment they started.
That is the end of the story. Sleep is the next part, and it does not need instructions.
21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for quiet, home.
If this story does not settle you, try A hotel room somewhere (a sleep story), when you have tried everything else — for an overtired night, A garden in the rain — a slow story for the end of the day, if you are new to this — for a night when you do not want to think or A lighthouse at the end of a long day, when nothing else has worked today — for waking too early.