The Quiet Earth Novel Novels & Stories

He went up to his room, appreciating the comfort of silence as he curled up by the window with a book in hand. He was about a hundred pages in when his phone suddenly rang. A bit hesitantly, he picked it up to notice that it was none other than Earth. He carefully set the book face-down to mark the page he was in, before picking up his phone and laying on the bed. “Earth?”

Jennifer felt defeated, her sighs coming out weak and breathless. When she looked up, our eyes met from across the second floor. She quickly looked away and scurried out of sight. I put my wine glass down and headed downstairs. In the shadows, Jennifer was standing alone, taking a deep, weary breath. "What are you doing here?" I asked, even though I knew the answer. Jennifer stood there, stiff as a board. "Nelson..." Seeing me again, her usual pride and self-importance had all but vanished, replaced by a look of careful vigilance.

"I got the house back. And every single person who hurt you is going to pay." Outside, the winter wind howled, and the cries of Aunt Zoe and Quinn began to fade. Inside, the heating was on full blast. I took a long, deep breath, feeling the weight that had crushed my chest for 20 years finally begin to lift. But I didn't expect Quinn to actually have the nerve to send over a text full of arrogant taunts.

Clutching her phone, she felt a wave of numbness wash over her. Behind her, the door chimed, and footsteps grew louder as they neared. Suddenly, her phone was plucked from her grasp by the man behind her and tossed aside with an indifferent flick of his wrist. He gripped her wrist tightly, pinning her against the window. She looked down, his warm breath on her ear sending shivers down her spine. "Been waiting long, my dear?" he murmured.

Leaning in close to my ear, Mary whispered, "I know it's really warm and comfortable, but don't fall asleep yet, okay? We haven't escaped the storm yet." I murmured softly in response.

45 — The Quiet Place Nori couldn't sleep. The safehouse was quiet. The laundromat below had long since settled into silence, the last machines finished with their endless turning. Beside her, Tharien slept with one arm draped across her waist, his breathing slow and even against her shoulder. The bond between them rested warm in her chest. Anchored. Present. Chosen. It should have been enough. Instead she kept hearing Lena's voice. *We're safe here.*

So on top of my normal duties I'm doing the work of three more people which has led to mistakes being made and has caused some small, silent break downs. With all of this going on and issues I'm having with this app and my "editor" still I have decided to not continue writing at all. It truly is with a heavy heart that I say this to you because writing used to bring me so much joy but now it just feels like another chore that I'm being bogged down with. I know there are authors who go through things like this and just abandon the stories they are currently writing which isn't fair to the readers. That is why I'm writing all of this to explain so you hopefully understand why I have decided to

Then to the silver-eyed boy. Then to Lyra. And finally to Mara. “I created the eye.” Silence. Absolute silence. No one breathed. Nobody spoke. Then a huge earthquake shocked the city. The darkness behind the door laughed. This time. Triumphant. Yeah. The door wings opened. Much more. And for the first time something went out. No shape. No monster. Just a shadow. But when he touched the ground, his memories disappeared. Streets were extinguished. Building collapsed.

Terence held Winona's hand as they left the airport together and got into a car. He frowned as he checked his WhatsApp. The screen lit up and dimmed dozens of times. However, even after half an hour, his WhatsApp remained silent. Something felt off. Celeste had always been one to chatter—she could flood him with messages even if he never replied. Yet during his five-day trip to Astora, she'd never once texted him. He scrolled up, belatedly realizing that she'd last texted him a month ago. When had things changed? Why had he never noticed?

The quiet is the loudest thing I’ve ever heard. It’s not the silence of the Anti-Chorus, that hungry void. It’s not the tense stillness of the balance. It’s the quiet of a machine that has finally finished its work. A soft, humming peace. There are no more crises. No more gods knocking at the door. The Sanctuary runs itself, a self-perpetuating ecosystem of the interesting and strange. Our son is out there, somewhere, building his own story. The house is empty.