Sleep story · quiet, home
The house after everyone is asleep, when you need to stop thinking about work — for a restless night
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. A glass of water sits on the table, half finished. 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. 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.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.
Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.
There is a chair by the window that nobody sits in during the day. The radiator clicks once as it cools down.
Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.
Everything in the room is exactly where it was left. Everyone went to bed an hour ago, and the house has stopped making the sounds it makes during the day.
Let the mattress take all of it. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.
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.
Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.
The floorboards have stopped creaking because nobody is walking on them. The radiator clicks once as it cools down.
Your chest can be still now. Feel your cheeks let go.
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.
If nothing much is happening, that's not a problem. Nothing much is often the point. If you've lost track of where we were, you haven't lost anything important.
Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.
Nothing here needs following closely. Just the dark.
Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Just the weight.
Stay with the weight of your body. Stay. The words can start to blur now.
Work thoughts are allowed to be there. They just do not get to drive.
No more sentences. Just the weight of you in the bed.
21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for quiet, home.
If this story does not settle you, try A caravan by the sea, when you are at home and cannot settle — for waking too early, Sleep story: the night train, if you are doing this instead of scrolling — for a night when you do not want to think or A boat at anchor — a slow story for the end of the day, when you have been putting it off — for waking too early.