Sleep story · quiet, home
The house after everyone is asleep, after a difficult conversation — for waking too early
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. There is nothing left on the list for today. Everything in the room is exactly where it was left.
The floorboards have stopped creaking because nobody is walking on them. Outside, a car goes past and its headlights sweep across the ceiling, then are gone. Everyone went to bed an hour ago, and the house has stopped making the sounds it makes during the day.
Let your calves spread out and flatten. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.
Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Let the mattress take all of it.
The lamp beside you is the only light left on in the whole house. The clock in the hallway ticks slightly behind the one in the kitchen.
Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.
Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Let your palms open if they were closed.
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.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.
There is a chair by the window that nobody sits in during the day. The radiator clicks once as it cools down.
Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
If nothing much is happening, that's not a problem. Nothing much is often the point. Notice the pull to make this mean something. It doesn't have to.
Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Feel your wrists loosen.
Let the dark be ordinary. Almost nothing to do now.
Sleep. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself.
Stay with the weight of your body. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. Let the next part go past without you.
Difficult conversations leave a residue. This is for the residue.
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 A garden in the rain (a sleep story), on a day that started badly — for a racing mind, Sleep story: a bus at night, when you have woken up too early — for a racing mind or Sleep story: a library at closing time, when you only have a few minutes — for a restless night.