Sleep story · quiet, home
The house after everyone is asleep, on a low-energy afternoon — 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
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 clock in the hallway ticks slightly behind the one in the kitchen.
The floorboards have stopped creaking because nobody is walking on them. The fridge hums on and off in the kitchen, and that is the loudest thing in the building. There is a chair by the window that nobody sits in during the day.
Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Feel your cheeks let go.
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.
Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Let the mattress take all of it.
Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
The lamp beside you is the only light left on in the whole house. The radiator clicks once as it cools down.
Let your calves spread out and flatten. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
Everything in the room is exactly where it was left. 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. Feel your wrists loosen.
If you feel restless, that's a feeling, not a failure. If a song is stuck in your head, let it play in the background.
Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.
Let the dark be ordinary. Sleep.
Nothing here needs following closely. You can stop listening properly. Let the next part go past without you.
Almost nothing to do now. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself.
Low-energy afternoons are what this was written for.
Goodnight. There is nothing left to do.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for quiet, home.
If this story does not settle you, try The house after everyone is asleep — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are waiting for something — for winding down, A bus at night (a sleep story), when you want to finish something — for winding down or Sleep story: a boat at anchor, when you need to stop thinking about work — for a restless night.