Morning arrived with an unsettling stillness. Sunlight painted Oakhaven gold, yet the warmth felt distant, as if filtered through glass. Kael sat on the front step of the unfamiliar house, observing the townspeople begin their muted routines.
Upstairs, the girl he'd silently nicknamed Two-Tap remained curled in a nest of blankets.hadn't dared to break the silence that had descended since the shadowy figure appeared and she'd dragged him, trembling, into the crawlspace.
This town held secrets deeper than mere programming, illusions woven into its very fabric. He needed answers, and he needed them now.
sigh
'How in the world did I let myself get dragged into this.'
…
He began to test the boundaries of this strange silence.
Test One: Volume.
He waited until the narrow street was deserted, then cupped his hands and whistled – a soft, low note that the stillness seemed to swallow.
Silence.
He tried again, louder this time.
At first, nothing. Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw the snap of shutters closing. One. Then another, like a chain reaction down the lane. A merchant, arranging produce at his stall, froze mid-motion, his gaze locking onto Kael with a flicker of something akin to sorrow before it reluctantly slid away.
Kael cut off the sound.
The silence that followed felt heavier, deeper than before
.
Test Two: Writing.
He approached a man methodically chopping vegetables at a market stall. Kael pulled out his notebook and scribbled a question:
"Why can't anyone speak?"
He held it out.
The man glanced at the page, then at Kael. Slowly, his head shook, a subtle tremor in the movement. Not refusal, but a profound fear
.
He picked up a stick of charcoal, hesitated, and then with a jerky motion, scrawled something beneath Kael's words
.
"It hears."
Kael pointed at the crude writing. "Who's 'it'?"
The man's wide eyes darted past him, unfocused.
Kael turned, a prickle of unease on his skin.
Nothing.
He looked back. The man had vanished, leaving only the rhythmic thud of another chopper nearby.
Test Three: Imitation.
Kael began to mimic the silent language he'd observed – subtle head tilts, quick finger taps, hesitant hand waves.
He tried to greet a woman sweeping her doorstep using what he believed was a silent greeting: an open hand pressed to his chest, then extended outward.
The broom clattered to the cobblestones. She recoiled, shaking her head vehemently.
Her hands flew up, fingers forming a frantic gesture: two pressed sharply across her throat.
Kael frowned, confusion clouding his features. He repeated the sign, slower this time, trying to convey harmless intent.
She backed away, her eyes wide with terror, and slammed the door shut.
"Okay," he muttered under his breath, a dry rasp in the heavy silence, "definitely not hello."
Behind him, a distant chime resonated through the air – a low, vibrating hum, like a struck metal resonating in the stillness.
Kael froze, every muscle tensing.
There was no discernible source. No bell tower, no breeze to stir hidden chimes.
Just that sound, hanging in the air.
He turned slowly toward the town square.
The ancient oak loomed in the center, its branches swaying in a phantom wind that didn't so much as ruffle his hair. And beneath it – no, within it – he saw a fleeting distortion, a ripple in the air like heat rising from asphalt. Then it was gone.
…
He returned to the attic by mid-afternoon.
Two-Tap was awake, her brow furrowed in concentration as she sketched in her notebook. She held it up the moment he entered, her gaze intense.
"Did you speak?"
Kael hesitated, the weight of the silence pressing down.
Then he offered a single, slow nod.
Her face tightened, her eyes flashing with alarm.
She flipped the page and scribbled with furious energy.
"DON'T. IT LEARNS."
Kael knelt beside her, his voice a low murmur. "What is it?"
Her hand flew across the page, leaving a quick, crude symbol: a circle with jagged lines erupting from its circumference, like distorted sound waves. A silent scream? A gaping maw?
He pointed a questioning finger. "This?"
She nodded emphatically. Then, beneath the symbol, she wrote:
"It lives in sound."
He stared at the stark words, the implications sinking in.
This wasn't just a bizarre punishment or some elaborate illusion. It was a form of containment.
The oppressive silence wasn't their prison – it was their fragile shield.
Kael exhaled slowly, the air feeling thick in his lungs. "What happens if someone keeps speaking?"
She didn't write an answer.
Instead, her charcoal scratched across the page, forming another disturbing image – a stick figure with its head split open, jagged tendrils reaching out, and another smaller figure being pulled into the gaping void.
Kael stared at the drawing, a cold knot forming in his stomach.
He swallowed hard, the silence amplifying the sound.
…
That night, Kael stood alone in the square beneath the ancient oak.
The phantom wind whispered through the leaves, a sound like water flowing over smooth glass – always present, yet always just beyond his reach.
He didn't speak. He didn't even dare to breathe too loudly.
Instead, he sat cross-legged on the cool cobblestones and watched the silent sentinel of the town.
And in the deepening twilight, he felt with chilling certainty that it watched him back.