Sleep story · quiet, home
The house after everyone is asleep — a slow story for the end of the day, if you are new to this — for a night when you do not want to think
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 fridge hums on and off in the kitchen, and that is the loudest thing in the building. 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.
The radiator clicks once as it cools down. The clock in the hallway ticks slightly behind the one in the kitchen. The lamp beside you is the only light left on in the whole house.
Your ankles can go loose now. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.
Outside, a car goes past and its headlights sweep across the ceiling, then are gone. There is nothing left on the list for today.
Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.
Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.
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.
Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.
The floorboards have stopped creaking because nobody is walking on them. Everything in the room is exactly where it was left.
Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Let your hands be completely still.
There is a chair by the window that nobody sits in during the day. The radiator clicks once as it cools down.
Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
The clock in the hallway ticks slightly behind the one in the kitchen. A glass of water sits on the table, half finished.
Notice the exact moment your attention left. You probably won't catch it. That's normal. Notice how quickly your mind labels things: good, bad, boring, nice.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Let the mattress take all of it.
Stay with the weight of your body. Let them.
Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Just the weight. Stay.
The words can start to blur now. Nothing here needs following closely. Sleep.
Nothing here assumes you have done this before.
The room is dark, the day is finished, and nothing is required of you.
21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for quiet, home.
If this story does not settle you, try Sleep story: the house after everyone is asleep, if you are doing this in the middle of the day — for a restless night, Sleep story: a library at closing time, when you have been putting it off — for jet lag or A bus at night — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are somewhere noisy — for a restless night.