Can You Feel The Silence Novels & Stories

Too quiet. “I don’t trust it,” I muttered under my breath. “Don’t trust what?” Kaden asked from behind me. I didn’t turn. “The silence. There’s something wrong.” Kaden’s footsteps approached, his hand brushing against mine. “What do you mean?” I frowned, trying to put words to the feeling that clawed at me. “It’s too quiet. No wolves, no creatures... it’s like the world’s holding its breath.” He was silent for a moment before speaking again. “I’ve been feeling it too. Like something’s watching us.”

*** Slap after slap, my feet hit the hard ground running. The silence is so deafening, yet so loud, as it calls out to me in the darkness. It's urgently pulling at me, propelling every step I take, but something else in the silence is there too… watching me. There’s a prickle along my skin, raising tiny bumps of awareness along my arms as it works its way to the base of my neck. I can’t pinpoint where it’s watching me from, seemingly everywhere, but nowhere all the same.

Every sound vanished. The wind stopped. The city stopped. Time itself seemed to hesitate. And from the fractured heavens, a presence descended. Not a body. Not a shape. A feeling. Ancient. Infinite. Curious. The First Silence had arrived. The citizens throughout the city lowered their heads. The Second Silence became still. Even the Third Silence looked upward. The First Silence touched reality. And existence listened. Nova felt the familiar voices. Thousands. Millions. Countless fragments speaking as one.

Missy's point of View I never liked silence. Not the kind of silence that came after a fight, or after a gun had been fired, or even the silence of an empty room. What I hated most was the silence that made you feel like someone else was breathing in the same space with you, only you couldn’t see them. The kind of silence that stretched thin and sharp, crawling across your skin until goosebumps rose on your arms without you even realizing. That was the silence I woke up to.

POV: Lucian Voss There’s something I’ve always respected more than loud voices or angry words. Silence. Not the kind you get when the power goes out or when a room empties suddenly. I mean real silence—the kind that settles deep into your bones and makes every breath feel louder than it should. The kind of silence that doesn’t beg for attention… it demands it. It walks into a room and takes control without saying a single word. That’s the kind of silence I stood in now.

Silence is not an absence for me; it is a texture. It is the rhythmic thrum of the refrigerator against the floorboards, the sharp vibration of a slammed car door echoing through my heels, and the pressurized stillness of a house at midnight. I have been deaf since birth, navigating a world of visual cues and tactile feedback. I don’t know what a voice sounds like, but I know what fear feels like—it is a cold, static hum in the center of my chest.

This is bad, I sigh inwardly as I feel myself tighten. “Did we die?” She returns to her seat, her eyes still closed and I chuckle. “You’re not getting away from me that easy missy.” I say, smiling as I ruffle her hair and the silence returns. From the first time we met, silence seems to be her comfort. Maybe getting involved was the best decision I’ve made in my life after all. Smiling to myself I take her hand again and we drive in the warmth of the stillness that envelopes us, before we reach our destination.

Complete silence for what feels like an eternity. “…what?”

And for the first time in a long time, silence didn’t feel awkward. It felt like something waiting to happen.

You thought you knew the weight of something and then you picked it up and discovered you had been wrong by a significant amount. The silence had a texture. Not cold. Not angry in the obvious way. Something emptier than either of those things. It was the silence of someone who had removed you from the room they were living in. Not locked the door against you. Not posted a sign. Simply ceased to include you in the space where they existed. Linda's number was in her phone. Zara looked at it sometimes in the evenings when the flat was quiet. She did not call.