Sleep story · quiet, home
The house after everyone is asleep (a sleep story), if you are tired of apps — for a racing mind
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 radiator clicks once as it cools down. The lamp beside you is the only light left on in the whole house. The clock in the hallway ticks slightly behind the one in the kitchen.
A glass of water sits on the table, half finished. 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.
Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.
Let the mattress take all of it. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.
The curtains are not quite closed, and there is a thin line of streetlight along the wall. There is nothing left on the list for today.
Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.
Outside, a car goes past and its headlights sweep across the ceiling, then are gone. Everyone went to bed an hour ago, and the house has stopped making the sounds it makes during the day.
Let your hands be completely still. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
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 the space between your eyebrows smooth out. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.
A glass of water sits on the table, half finished. The clock in the hallway ticks slightly behind the one in the kitchen.
Your ankles can go loose now. Let your palms open if they were closed.
Everyone went to bed an hour ago, and the house has stopped making the sounds it makes during the day. There is nothing left on the list for today.
Notice the moment you realise you've drifted. That moment is the whole skill. Notice if you're being hard on yourself about any of this.
Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine. Notice your hips, wide and settled.
Let the next part go past without you. Just the dark.
Almost nothing to do now. Let it all get further away. Let them.
Stay. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer.
No account, no streak, no notification asking how you feel.
The room is dark, the day is finished, and nothing is required of you.
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 slow story for the end of the day, when you want to finish something — for the hours after a late shift, An attic room (a sleep story), if you have done this a hundred times — for a racing mind or The house after everyone is asleep (a sleep story), when you are too tired to try hard — for jet lag.