John Silence Stories Novels & Stories

She was my mother in every sense of the word, and I loved her deeply. But now Monica was gone, and the farm, once a place of love and laughter, had become a prison of grief. I couldn't escape the memories of her that were at every corner of the house. To make matters worse, I had started hearing strange whispers, voices that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. They were faint, but persistent. Sometimes they sounded like my mother, sometimes like strangers. It was enough to make me question my sanity.

Silas lifted his head when he saw someone pulling a chair in front of him. "What are you doing?" Jet interestedly asked. He scanned the books' covers and stunned to see what are they about. They're about the history of Red Woods, werewolves, and human psychology. The one Silas is reading is probably about Earth. His fingers are hiding the words on the cover but the image of the planet is visible. Realizing that the reader is paying zero attention, Jet gently grabbed the book Silas is holding. The latter tightened his grip on the book, finally paying attention to the person in front of him. "I think Saint has something to say to you. He's in the kitchen," Jet said.

Chapter 12 – Hyacinth The moment Silas walked away, the tension he left in his wake felt like a storm hovering just above the horizon, ready to unleash chaos at any moment. I sat there, frozen on the stone bench, the sunlight now a warm contrast to the icy chill he'd left behind. His words echoed in my mind: "You’re not ready for my truths." The arrogance. The nerve.

The air in the living room felt like it had been turned into stone. Silas Hale stood by the open door while the rain misted behind him like a silver curtain; he didn’t look like a man who was almost a hundred years old. Instead, he resembled a statue made of ancient wood: thin, hard, and impossible to break. His eyes were not like Jason’s, for Jason’s eyes were full of heat and anger, whereas Silas’s eyes were like two pieces of glass at the bottom of a frozen lake. They saw everything, but they felt nothing.

"I didn't want to burden you with the truth when you were younger, but now you need to know. You need to understand why we can't let them win.” Her face screwed up a little more as her mind whirred on: her father died by the White Fang pack. It was simply too out of this world. Yet that ring of assurance in Silas's tone would just not allow any room for doubt to take over her mind. "What do you want me to do?" she asked, small, smaller. Silas leaned back in his chair again; the smug gleam was back in his eye. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vial filled with clear liquid. "This," he said, laying it on the table between them.

Tom stumbled along behind them as he shouted loudly for his mother. Dad bound Judy up in silver chains and marched her up to my gravestone. "You killed Ray. Stay in front of her grave to atone for your sins!" The silver chains burned her skin, and she kept howling in pain. But Dad didn't even blink. He completely ignored her suffering. However, I clearly remembered how Judy had once come to our home and tripped on purpose in front of Mom. She had even falsely accused Mom of pushing her. She hadn't even gotten a scratch. It had only been slightly red and swollen, but Dad had felt so sorry for her that he insisted on bringing her to the Healing Hut.

"You never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory." I believe that behind every person, there is a story. A story that makes them who they are. The story may be hidden or on display to the world. A story about his/her fight; a story about how she survived. A story of her fight in silence.

"We can stay longer." "No. I need to... I need to Pretend this didn't happen." Maya nodded. "Okay. Let's go." They walked back to campus slowly. The sun was setting. The air was cool. Halfway there, Jess said, "He never even explained. That's the worst part. Not the standing up. The silence." Maya didn't have words for that. So she just walked beside her. --- When they got back to the room, Jess sat on her bed and stared at the wall.

Jonah's name slid another inch. The boy whimpered. Silas crouched stiffly, bringing himself to Jonah's level. He did not smile. Did not soften his voice into something fake. "I am Silas," he said. "Apparently." Jonah blinked. "Apparently?" "Long answer. Bad people with machines." "I don't like machines." "Smart." The name slowed again. Silas held out his hand, palm up. "Tell me one thing about Bite." Jonah glanced at me. Then at Mira. Then at the toy.

“But mostly… It makes them stupid.” One of the men near the table shifted uncomfortably. Even they could feel it. Kailen’s patience was cracking. “You built your life around a ghost,” Silvio continued. “A story told to grieving children who never bothered asking the right questions.” Kailen’s fingers curled slowly at his sides. Silvio leaned forward slightly despite the restraints. “Tell me something, boy,” he murmured. Kailen didn’t respond. “Did you ever once ask yourself why your father suddenly started moving money in secret?” Silvio’s voice softened.