Sleep story · quiet, home
The house after everyone is asleep — a slow story for the end of the day, before something difficult — 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
The curtains are not quite closed, and there is a thin line of streetlight along the wall. A glass of water sits on the table, half finished. There is nothing left on the list for today.
The fridge hums on and off in the kitchen, and that is the loudest thing in the building. There is a chair by the window that nobody sits in during the day. The floorboards have stopped creaking because nobody is walking on them.
Your chest can be still now. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.
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.
Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Feel your cheeks let go.
Outside, a car goes past and its headlights sweep across the ceiling, then are gone. The radiator clicks once as it cools down.
Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.
Everything in the room is exactly where it was left. The clock in the hallway ticks slightly behind the one in the kitchen.
Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.
Your mind will leave about a hundred times. Come back about a hundred times. Notice the exact moment your attention left. You probably won't catch it. That's normal.
Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. They will find their own way out.
Let the next part go past without you. Nothing needs deciding tonight. Let them.
Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself. Let the room get slightly further away. Stay.
It works best in the hour before something difficult.
Let this be the last thing you listen to.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for quiet, home.
If this story does not settle you, try A library at closing time, after eating too much — for the hours after a late shift, A boat at anchor — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are too tired to try hard — for winding down or A field under snow (a sleep story), before something difficult — for winding down.