You’re there, you’re the babysitter, but the kids are in bed and the parents aren’t home yet.  No music, because what if the kids wake up and need you, what if they have nightmares and you can’t hear them, what if what if what if?

So you sit.  It’s peaceful and almost scary, night hovering like Eliot’s yellow fog at the doors and windows, light making you [feel] safe on your side of the glass.  Get up and lock the back door; you’ll feel better, keeping out the night.  The kids are quiet.