Sleep story · quiet, home
The house after everyone is asleep, when you need to stop thinking about work — 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. 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.
A glass of water sits on the table, half finished. There is a chair by the window that nobody sits in during the day. There is nothing left on the list for today.
Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Let your palms open if they were closed.
Let the mattress take all of it. Feel your wrists loosen.
The radiator clicks once as it cools down. The clock in the hallway ticks slightly behind the one in the kitchen.
Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.
Your chest can be still now. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.
The lamp beside you is the only light left on in the whole house. Outside, a car goes past and its headlights sweep across the ceiling, then are gone.
Notice your hips, wide and settled. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.
The floorboards have stopped creaking because nobody is walking on them. Everyone went to bed an hour ago, and the house has stopped making the sounds it makes during the day.
Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
Everyone went to bed an hour ago, and the house has stopped making the sounds it makes during the day. The clock in the hallway ticks slightly behind the one in the kitchen.
Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.
Outside, a car goes past and its headlights sweep across the ceiling, then are gone. The curtains are not quite closed, and there is a thin line of streetlight along the wall.
If a song is stuck in your head, let it play in the background. Notice any urge to check something. You can wait two more minutes.
Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.
They will find their own way out. Let the room get slightly further away.
Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer. Almost nothing to do now. Slower.
The words can start to blur now. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Nothing needs deciding tonight.
Work thoughts are allowed to be there. They just do not get to drive.
The room is dark, the day is finished, and nothing is required of you.
21 paragraphs, roughly 4 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for quiet, home.
If this story does not settle you, try A library at closing time, when you have already had a long week — for jet lag, Sleep story: an attic room, when you need something unremarkable — for a racing mind or A bus at night — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are somewhere noisy — for waking too early.