Sleep story · quiet, home
Sleep story: the house after everyone is asleep, when you have tried everything else — for an overtired night
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
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. The radiator clicks once as it cools down.
The floorboards have stopped creaking because nobody is walking on them. There is nothing left on the list for today. The clock in the hallway ticks slightly behind the one in the kitchen.
Your chest can be still now. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.
Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
Everything in the room is exactly where it was left. Outside, a car goes past and its headlights sweep across the ceiling, then are gone.
Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Let your ribs stop working so hard.
Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Feel your cheeks let go.
The curtains are not quite closed, and there is a thin line of streetlight along the wall. There is a chair by the window that nobody sits in during the day.
Let your palms open if they were closed. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.
The lamp beside you is the only light left on in the whole house. 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. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
Notice the pull to make this mean something. It doesn't have to. If your body wants to move, let it move, then come back.
Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Let your calves spread out and flatten.
Stay. The words can start to blur now.
Let the quiet be boring. Let the room get slightly further away. Let the next part go past without you.
Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. You do not have to count them. Slower now.
This assumes you have already tried the obvious things.
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 A library at closing time — a slow story for the end of the day, after a long day — for jet lag, Sleep story: a library at closing time, when you are at home and cannot settle — for winding down or A kitchen late at night, when you have just finished work — for winding down.