Sleep story · quiet, home
The house after everyone is asleep, if you are tired of apps — 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. Outside, a car goes past and its headlights sweep across the ceiling, then are gone. A glass of water sits on the table, half finished.
The floorboards have stopped creaking because nobody is walking on them. The clock in the hallway ticks slightly behind the one in the kitchen. The curtains are not quite closed, and there is a thin line of streetlight along the wall.
Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Let your calves spread out and flatten.
Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other. Let your ribs stop working so hard.
There is nothing left on the list for today. Everything in the room is exactly where it was left.
Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Let the mattress take all of it.
Your chest can be still now. Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head.
Everyone went to bed an hour ago, and the house has stopped making the sounds it makes during the day. The fridge hums on and off in the kitchen, and that is the loudest thing in the building.
Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
The radiator clicks once as it cools down. The lamp beside you is the only light left on in the whole house.
Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.
Outside, a car goes past and its headlights sweep across the ceiling, then are gone. The radiator clicks once as it cools down.
Your ankles can go loose now. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.
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.
If you've lost track of where we were, you haven't lost anything important. If you're distracted by a sound, let the sound be the object for a moment.
Feel your wrists loosen. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
Nothing needs deciding tonight. Almost nothing to do now.
Leave it there. Nothing here needs following closely. Let your breathing do the rest.
Stay with the weight of your body. Slower now. Softer.
No account, no streak, no notification asking how you feel.
No more sentences. Just the weight of you in the bed.
21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for quiet, home.