Is A Quiet Place Based On A Book Novels & Stories

She is married and has one child. Her hobbies include kayaking, crafting and of course, writing novels. House of Quiet Screams is her debut novel, loosely based on true events and written to give voice to the silence many carry. Dedications For every woman who was told to stay silent. For those still living in quiet screams—you are not alone. For Daylen Bradley Harbin, My first true miracle— You made me a mother, and in doing so, gave my life deeper meaning. Your light, your spirit, and your love inspire me to be stronger, braver, and better every single day.

It’s quiet here… It’s always quiet in here, but not the kind that feels abandoned, empty. Just settled, I mean a bookstore shouldn’t be noisy either, so being used to the kind of quiet that sits comfortably in your chest instead of pressing against it is kind of my normal. We get a few regulars enough to keep the lights on, enough to remind me the place still matters to people other than me.

The park was never, anyway, quiet. Late afternoon, even, it buzzed with its own murmurs of the mothers to the kids, pigeons cooing, sitting on lookout for crumb scraps of bread, and a fountain splashing where coins are spat on the sidewalk. To Leya, though, who sat on the lap of a maple tree, the world's quietest place. Her scarf had been blown from its path by the gust, her hair flowing on her head. She didn't care. Flesh warmed, and no Blackwood telling her to stand, sit, or breathe differently.

It was like I able to understand the world, that I wasn't the only one who have the same reaction towards this thing! “Books...” My eyes wander inside, searching for a soul to fully sigh in relief. Yet, nothing. Only the well-design shelf and the classics of a books greet me. And the silence cause a heaviness in my heart, and it worst from here and then. Deep within me though lies a hope that a place such as this wouldn't be possibly wondrous if no one to cater and makes it to happen. I have thought the worst when mom told me that the silent place like this was strange in itself. And it was like fill with chaos and wreckage all over the place.

He hesitated, looking thrown. Then, softly, "Babe... did you pick up my phone this morning?" His brow creased. Waiting. Watching. The longer I said nothing, the more nervous he got. "What did you hear?" I looked away, drained. "Nothing. Your phone was across the room. I knocked it off by accident." He exhaled, all relieved, and tucked the blanket around me like everything was fine. Then, real quiet, he asked, "If our baby doesn't make it... could we adopt?"

I couldn’t speak until I was eight years old. Everyone in the Sterling family called me dumb. Even my mother would secretly wipe away tears, convinced she had given birth to an autistic daughter. Whenever my father looked at me, his eyes were filled with nothing but disappointment. However, for the sake of the family’s reputation, he could never bring himself to send me away to a special education school. Then came the day someone from a prominent hedge fund company arrived to acquire our family company, Sterling Group. He was so arrogant that he chewed out everyone in the boardroom until all of them hung their heads low. The room full of corporate executives fell silent, too terrified to

The morning light that filtered through the sheer linen drapes of Selah’s bedroom was soft, pale, and washed clean by the autumn storm. The quiet of the brownstone was absolute, punctuated only by the faint, distant chirp of city birds in the damp maples outside. Selah woke slowly, sinking into the deep, luxurious warmth of her mattress. For the first time in years, the phantom didn't wake up with her guard fully raised. There was no immediate scanning of her security feeds, no instant mental catalog of the day's threats.

"A shell of her former self, eh? That's spot on, Grandpa. Let's just focus on ourselves from now on. They're nothing to us." He nodded in agreement. "I won't get worked up because of her anymore. We'll live well together." Jolene dropped by not long after. She came bearing gifts for Bruce, but didn't plead for Leon. "Bruce, I'll get to the end of this. I'm just glad you're alright." Bruce didn't give her a warm response. She felt guilty and left on her own. However, she felt an odd sense of emptiness growing inside her as she walked away, leaving her increasingly uneasy. She lit a cigarette—something she hadn't touched in a long time.

When she finished, she wiped her mouth with a napkin, glancing around the apartment. “You live here alone?” “Yes.” “No friends?” He huffed lightly. “Not the kind that visit.” “Oh…” She swung her legs softly. “I like your house. It’s… quiet.” Quiet. Yes. Because it was built for a man who never expected to shelter a child. Ethan motioned toward the living room. “There’s something you might like better than quiet.” She slid off the stool and followed him. Ethan picked up a leather-bound sketchbook from the coffee table, hesitated for a split second, then placed it gently in her hands.

Raegan stood there for a moment after Bryer stepped inside, fingers still tracing the worn edge of the book like it might vanish if she looked away. The door clicked shut behind him, and the sound echoed through the apartment more loudly than it should have. Not because the space was big, but because it had been holding so much quiet lately. The kind of quiet that presses against your skin. The kind that reminds you you’re alone even when you’re trying not to think about it.