Sleep story · quiet, home
The house after everyone is asleep (a sleep story), when you are too tired to try hard — for the hours after a late shift
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. Outside, a car goes past and its headlights sweep across the ceiling, then are gone. Everything in the room is exactly where it was left.
The fridge hums on and off in the kitchen, and that is the loudest thing in the building. The radiator clicks once as it cools down. The clock in the hallway ticks slightly behind the one in the kitchen.
Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.
Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.
There is nothing left on the list for today. A glass of water sits on the table, half finished.
Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
Your ankles can go loose now. Feel your cheeks let go.
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.
Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Notice your hips, wide and settled.
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 upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.
Feel your wrists loosen. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.
Outside, a car goes past and its headlights sweep across the ceiling, then are gone. The radiator clicks once as it cools down.
Notice the exact moment your attention left. You probably won't catch it. That's normal. If a worry shows up, name it quietly and let it sit beside you.
Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
Let the room get slightly further away. Just the dark.
Let them. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. Let it all get further away.
Nothing needs deciding tonight. Nothing here needs following closely. Slower now.
Too tired to try hard is exactly the right amount of tired for this.
Let this be the last thing you listen to.
20 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for quiet, home.
If this story does not settle you, try The night train (a sleep story), when you are cold and want to be warm — for a restless night, A fire dying down, on a day that started badly — for waking too early or The night train — a slow story for the end of the day, if you are fitting this around other people — for winding down.