Sleep story · quiet, home
The house after everyone is asleep (a sleep story), when you are too tired to try hard — for winding down
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
Everything in the room is exactly where it was left. The floorboards have stopped creaking because nobody is walking on them. The clock in the hallway ticks slightly behind the one in the kitchen.
The curtains are not quite closed, and there is a thin line of streetlight along the wall. Outside, a car goes past and its headlights sweep across the ceiling, then are gone. The fridge hums on and off in the kitchen, and that is the loudest thing in the building.
Feel your wrists loosen. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.
Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.
A glass of water sits on the table, half finished. There is nothing left on the list for today.
Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.
Let the mattress take all of it. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
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 ankles can go loose now.
Everyone went to bed an hour ago, and the house has stopped making the sounds it makes during the day. The lamp beside you is the only light left on in the whole house.
Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Let your ribs stop working so hard.
There is a chair by the window that nobody sits in during the day. The lamp beside you is the only light left on in the whole house.
Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.
Outside, a car goes past and its headlights sweep across the ceiling, then are gone. The fridge hums on and off in the kitchen, and that is the loudest thing in the building.
Notice anything you're holding onto from earlier today. Notice any urge to check something. You can wait two more minutes.
Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Notice your hips, wide and settled.
Let the dark be ordinary. Let your breathing do the rest.
Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer. Let it all get further away.
You do not have to count them. The words can start to blur now. Let the room get slightly further away.
Too tired to try hard is exactly the right amount of tired for this.
Let the words go now, and take the quiet with you.
21 paragraphs, roughly 4 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for quiet, home.
If this story does not settle you, try A lake before dawn — a slow story for the end of the day, after a difficult conversation — for an overtired night, Sleep story: a kitchen late at night, when your attention is scattered — for waking too early or A lighthouse at the end of a long day (a sleep story), when you have been putting it off — for winding down.