Sleep story · quiet, home
The house after everyone is asleep — a slow story for the end of the day, before something difficult — for a restless 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
Outside, a car goes past and its headlights sweep across the ceiling, then are gone. The clock in the hallway ticks slightly behind the one in the kitchen. There is a chair by the window that nobody sits in during the day.
The radiator clicks once as it cools down. The fridge hums on and off in the kitchen, and that is the loudest thing in the building. There is nothing left on the list for today.
Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.
Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it.
Everyone went to bed an hour ago, and the house has stopped making the sounds it makes during the day. A glass of water sits on the table, half finished.
Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.
Your ankles can go loose now. Feel your wrists loosen.
The curtains are not quite closed, and there is a thin line of streetlight along the wall. Everything in the room is exactly where it was left.
Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.
The lamp beside you is the only light left on in the whole house. The floorboards have stopped creaking because nobody is walking on them.
Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
If your mind has wandered, that's not a mistake. Noticing is the practice. If you've lost track of where we were, you haven't lost anything important.
Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.
Slower. Nothing needs deciding tonight.
Stay. Almost nothing to do now. Let the next part go past without you.
Let the dark be ordinary. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. Stay with the weight of your body.
It works best in the hour before something difficult.
The room is dark, the day is finished, and nothing is required of you.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for quiet, home.