Doctor Silent Hill Novels & Stories

She wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her hoodie and then she pouted. We were all silent, well they were. I'm always silent. The only thing you could hear was the radio on low volume and the crinkling bags as we ate. "Have you done it before?" Samantha suddenly spoke up. My eyebrows furrowed and I sent her a questioning look. "Killing someone..."

Cassian snapped, though his voice dropped slightly. Selene walked back to her desk and glanced down at her cell phone, which was sitting face-down right next to her laptop. Reaching out, she turned it over and tapped the screen. The screen lit up with a long list of missed calls from Cassian and his marketing staff. At the very top, the small icon of a slashed bell showed that the phone was still set to total silence. She had turned the volume off two hours ago, wanting to drown out every single thought of him with work.

The voice — low, controlled, certain. And one more detail. The license plate on the mechanic’s van. Not registered to him. To a shell company. One with no employees. No address. No history. But with a monthly withdrawal. Made to a private account. Under a name that didn’t exist. But the bank? It was real. And it was local. Silas didn’t move. Just wrote the name in his notebook. Closed it. And waited. Because the hunter wasn’t done. But neither was he.

"Doctor Phillips, your injuries require bed rest and proper recuperation. Otherwise, the bone injuries will be difficult to heal." "How is she?" Reginald asked. "Miss Heloise's most serious external injury is still the gunshot wound. I've already reapplied medication," Doctor Phillips said. "As for whether SILENT DAWN COMPOUND will cause any lasting side effects, I'll need to obtain the drug and conduct research before I can give an answer." "I'll have someone get the drug for you."

Mr. Hill was in distress. He has never been this troubled in his life since his wife. And that was almost a long time ago. When he and Alexis got home that night, it was as silent as ever. They were both too sullen to notice that their security alarm went off that night.

The hall stretched long and ominous, lit faintly by moonlight streaming through high windows. Another soft click—metal against metal. Jillian froze, and so did I. Then a voice rang out, low and deliberate. “I wouldn’t take another step, Jill.” It was smooth. Unbothered. A man stepped out of the shadows at the end of the hallway, dressed in black, a silencer fitted onto his pistol. I didn’t recognize him. Jillian tensed. “Graham.” My stomach dropped. Graham? He stepped forward. “Didn’t expect me, huh? You should’ve.”

"Why did you do this? We loved you. My father... he would have given you anything. Why did you have to kill her? Why did you get this way?" Silas’s hand, blackened and trembling, reached up. He didn't try to strike Dante. He feebly gripped the front of Dante’s shirt. "You don't... you don't know," Silas whispered. Each word seemed to cost him a piece of his soul. "The secrecy... the hiding. It's a disease, Dante." He coughed, a spray of dark blood flecking his chin. I knelt beside them, the Blood Heir in me reaching out instinctively. I didn't drain him. I simply opened the channel, allowing his final thoughts to bleed into the air.

" Shane closed his eyes in pain. His head hung low, and his voice was hoarse. "I know it's all my fault. "I just hope I can stay by your side. "I don't mind being treated like a stranger. I'll just watch over you two in silence." I said nothing. After turning around, I walked to the window and watched the sky gradually turn dark. "Leave, and don't come back." Shane stood frozen there for a long moment. Only when I repeated my dismissal did he stagger away. His silhouette with the scenery of sunset behind him looked lonely and desolate.

He doesn’t say a word, just collapses into a chair and pulls out his laptop, his fingers flying across the keys as he dives back into the digital archives. Finally, after what feels like a decade but is barely five minutes, the heavy oak door swings open. Silas enters. His face is a mask of carved granite, but I can see the faint tremor in his jaw, his wolf is fighting hard against the surface. He doesn’t offer a greeting. He simply walks to my desk and slaps two lab printouts side by side onto the polished wood. I lean over them, my eyes scanning the headers. The top printout reads: Aconitine. The second: Silver.

Dark Soldiers’ Base – Holding Room Elliot stood before the bank of monitors in the control room, his reflection a grim mask in the glass. On the screens, six young men lay on simple cots in a sterile white room, each with a dull metallic bracelet clamped around one wrist. “We’re missing one,” Elliot said, his voice low. Amy stood beside him, her tablet in hand. “Yes, sir. The seventh signature. It’s… erratic. Fades in and out. The profile fits the historical parameters for the entity code-named ‘Shadowalker.’ How do we find him?”