Sleep story · quiet, home
The house after everyone is asleep, on a low-energy afternoon — 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 lamp beside you is the only light left on in the whole house. The curtains are not quite closed, and there is a thin line of streetlight along the wall. Outside, a car goes past and its headlights sweep across the ceiling, then are gone.
The floorboards have stopped creaking because nobody is walking on them. Everything in the room is exactly where it was left. There is a chair by the window that nobody sits in during the day.
Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Let your palms open if they were closed.
There is nothing left on the list for today. Everyone went to bed an hour ago, and the house has stopped making the sounds it makes during the day.
Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
Notice your hips, wide and settled. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
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.
Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Let your calves spread out and flatten.
The clock in the hallway ticks slightly behind the one in the kitchen. A glass of water sits on the table, half finished.
Feel your wrists loosen. Let your ribs stop working so hard.
Notice the difference between a thought and the space around it. You might be planning something. Notice the planning, then come back.
Let the mattress take all of it. Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head.
Just the weight. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges.
Leave it there. Just the breath. Stay with the weight of your body.
Let it all get further away. Let the next part go past without you. You can stop listening properly.
Low-energy afternoons are what this was written for.
No more sentences. Just the weight of you in the bed.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for quiet, home.
If this story does not settle you, try A lake before dawn, when the weather has kept you inside — for a night when you do not want to think, A library at closing time, when you have already had a long week — for jet lag or The night train, when you feel restless rather than tired — for an overtired night.