Soundless Book Novels & Stories

The expression on Don's face was the expression of someone recognizing something he had known but had not yet heard spoken. Ernest said: "You said we are the fifth book. But the five books are: The Inside Account, The Ground Keeps, The Emergent World, The Ordinary Morning, and the journals. The journals are the fifth book. The unwritten book that the four written books approached. The journals are the inside account at its most inside — the building happening in the writing, not the writing about the building." Don was quiet for a long time. The fire settled. A piece of coal shifted, sending a small spray of sparks up the chimney. The February light had shifted again — the cloud had passed,

~15 years ago~ A little guy at the age of 5 was busy reading a book under an old tree but still stood tall and look Almighty. His low grade cheap glasses make a silent noise whenever he turned his head to look at the next page. He reads very quietly that if one make a slightest noise around him, that noise will be transferred through his ears, like the light footstep at the back of the tree he was currently reading his psychological book in and that was heading its ways to him.

There was a lot of noise around me, a lot of panicked screaming and crying but it was as if despite all of that, I could sense something…different. It was as if for a while everything else was muted, turned into white noise while the distinct sound I had heard earlier now became a whisper. It was like a light caress on my mind, on my body and I wondered where was it coming from. And my gaze traveled down to the book in my hand. It was dark, ominous but I don’t think it had ever spoken to me before. Hell, it had not even spoken to Celia before when she was supposed to break the curse.

Kennedy POV. The weather was bad, but I needed to get that new book, it's Robert birthday gift, who'd knew a grown up man would kill for the newest werewolf love book. I got into my car, drove carefully toward the local book store, they had the new book reserved for me. It was supposed to one quick drive, until I walked into the library. A girl was sitting on a bean bag, her blond hair was covering her eyes with overgrown bangs, she tried to huff them away from her face but to no use. She looked young, maybe she's just here with her parents, looking down at the book she had in her hands it was a kids story. Does she read for the local kids? Or is it just for her?

“ Meara!” The whispers started again, soft but notable. I tensed, my eyes snapping open. I scanned the field, but there was no one in sight. The sound seemed to come from the tree itself, from the rustling of its leaves. I pressed my palms against the rough bark and closed my eyes, focusing on the whispers. " Come... find... me..." The words were faint but distinct. My heart raced. Was I losing my mind, or was there something more to these whispers? I stood up, brushing the dirt off my jeans, and took a few steps back. The whispers grew louder, more insistent.

he weakly uttered as he sniffled softly. Kelvin pulled the birthday boy into a hug. "You're welcome. You're happy, right?" Kinsley nodded vigorously in response. "Good." The older boy chuckled. From a distance, by one of the windows of the school building, someone is gritting his teeth. "Tsk. He's too happy and crying over an effing phone,” he muttered. * * * "The great deaf is here!" One young werewolf announced as Kinsley entered a large room for the monthly meeting of the aspiring hunters, trackers, and warriors, even healers of the pack. The pack members in this group are ages twelve to seventeen, who will soon be given their rank.

~15 years ago~ A little guy at the age of 5 was busy reading a book under an old tree but still stood tall and look Almighty. His low grade cheap glasses make a silent noise whenever he turned his head to look at the next page. He reads very quietly that if one make a slightest noise around him, that noise will be transferred through his ears, like the light footstep at the back of the tree he was currently reading his psychological book in and that was heading its ways to him.

⸻ The ballroom shimmered under golden chandeliers, each crystal dangling like a captured star. The sound of polite laughter and whispered gossip swirled around the space, a carefully orchestrated symphony of wealth and influence. Damien moved through it as if the room itself had been built around him. Every step was deliberate, every gesture measured, every smile precise. To the untrained eye, he was perfection incarnate: the Alpha, untouchable, magnetic, and commanding.

A little whisper of an echo darting through the darkness. Both of us tensed, our wolves alert and ears scanning for any trace of sound. Staying quiet was one of the lines in the poem, but we had no other way to communicate. Quiet did not mean silent, and I wondered if we might get away with lowering our voices. A musty smell wafted through the shelves; it smelled of dust, bones, and dry leather. It wasn’t the most disgusting thing I had smelled, but was bad enough to make Helena and I wrinkle our noses. I pointed towards the unending rows of bookshelves.