Sleep story · quiet, home
The house after everyone is asleep (a sleep story), if you are tired of apps — 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 floorboards have stopped creaking because nobody is walking on them. Everything in the room is exactly where it was left. The clock in the hallway ticks slightly behind the one in the kitchen.
A glass of water sits on the table, half finished. The radiator clicks once as it cools down. There is a chair by the window that nobody sits in during the day.
Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.
Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.
Everyone went to bed an hour ago, and the house has stopped making the sounds it makes 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. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.
The fridge hums on and off in the kitchen, and that is the loudest thing in the building. Outside, a car goes past and its headlights sweep across the ceiling, then are gone.
Let your palms open if they were closed. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.
There is nothing left on the list for today. The lamp beside you is the only light left on in the whole house.
Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.
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.
Your ankles can go loose now. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.
Everything in the room is exactly where it was left. There is nothing left on the list for today.
Notice the difference between a thought and the space around it. Notice anything you're holding onto from earlier today.
Notice your hips, wide and settled. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.
Softer. The words can start to blur now.
Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. You can stop listening properly. Just the weight.
Leave it there. Slower. Let the next part go past without you.
No account, no streak, no notification asking how you feel.
I will stop here. The quiet will carry on without the words.
21 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, when you want to be left alone — for a restless night, The night train (a sleep story), when you are cold and want to be warm — for the hours after a late shift or A boat at anchor — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are on your own — for the hours after a late shift.