Sleep story · quiet, home
The house after everyone is asleep (a sleep story), when you are somewhere unfamiliar — 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 lamp beside you is the only light left on in the whole house. The radiator clicks once as it cools down.
There is nothing left on the list for today. The clock in the hallway ticks slightly behind the one in the kitchen. The fridge hums on and off in the kitchen, and that is the loudest thing in the building.
Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Feel your cheeks let go.
Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it.
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 forearms get heavy and warm. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other. Your chest can be still now.
A glass of water sits on the table, half finished. Everything in the room is exactly where it was left.
Let your calves spread out and flatten. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.
The floorboards have stopped creaking because nobody is walking on them. Everyone went to bed an hour ago, and the house has stopped making the sounds it makes during the day.
Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.
If you're counting the minutes, that's fine. Count them and come back. Notice if you're waiting for something to happen. Nothing is scheduled.
Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.
Just the weight. Let your breathing do the rest.
They will find their own way out. Softer. Sleep.
Slower. Let the dark be ordinary. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing.
It travels well. Hotels, spare rooms, other people’s sofas.
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 boat at anchor (a sleep story), before something difficult — for winding down, Sleep story: a hotel room somewhere, if you are new to this — for a night when you do not want to think or A garden in the rain (a sleep story), when you are somewhere noisy — for winding down.