Sleep story · quiet, home
The house after everyone is asleep — a slow story for the end of the day, before something difficult — 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
There is a chair by the window that nobody sits in during the day. There is nothing left on the list for today. The floorboards have stopped creaking because nobody is walking on them.
Everything in the room is exactly where it was left. Everyone went to bed an hour ago, and the house has stopped making the sounds it makes during the day. Outside, a car goes past and its headlights sweep across the ceiling, then are gone.
Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.
The clock in the hallway ticks slightly behind the one in the kitchen. A glass of water sits on the table, half finished.
Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.
Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Let the mattress take all of it.
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.
Let your palms open if they were closed. Your chest can be still now.
The curtains are not quite closed, and there is a thin line of streetlight along the wall. The lamp beside you is the only light left on in the whole house.
Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.
If a song is stuck in your head, let it play in the background. If you feel numb, that's a valid thing to feel. Nothing to fix.
Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
Let them. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself.
You can stop listening properly. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Let it all get further away.
Sleep. Nothing here needs following closely. The words can start to blur now.
It works best in the hour before something difficult.
There is nothing more to follow. Let the rest happen on its own.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for quiet, home.
If this story does not settle you, try Sleep story: a lighthouse at the end of a long day, when the weather has kept you inside — for an overtired night, The night train — a slow story for the end of the day, when you feel restless rather than tired — for a night when you do not want to think or A library at closing time — a slow story for the end of the day, when the weather has kept you inside — for waking too early.