The village of Merrow’s End had not seen a visitor in over fifty years—not because of its location, but because no one who entered ever returned. Maps slowly erased it. Locals in nearby towns warned travelers to stay away, whispering only one phrase:
“Silence lives there.”
In the fall of 1984, a curious historian named Elias Rowan ignored the warnings. Driven by rumors of a forgotten civilization, he ventured into the forest until a thin mist opened into a clearing… revealing Merrow’s End exactly as old accounts described.
Small wooden cabins. A dried-up well. An abandoned chapel with shattered stained-glass windows.
But not a single sound.
Not the rustle of leaves.
Not the chirp of a bird.
Not even Elias’s own footsteps.
It was as if the air itself swallowed noise.
As he walked deeper, he noticed something stranger: every door in the village was open, as if the people had walked out mid-day… and never returned.
Inside one home, dust-covered plates were still set on the table. A chair lay on its side, suggesting someone had stood up abruptly. A cold shiver crawled up Elias’s spine.
At the center of the village stood a tall stone monolith covered in runes he couldn’t recognize. The moment he touched it, the silence cracked.
A faint whisper curled around him:
“Finally… another voice.”
Elias stumbled back, heart racing. The monolith pulsed with a soft, ghostly glow. The whisper grew louder, shaping into words:
“The village paid the price for breaking the vow…”
A gust of icy wind blew past him, carrying shadows that stretched unnaturally across the houses. The empty village suddenly felt watched.
Elias tried to leave, but the path he’d entered through was gone, replaced by an endless row of houses. Panic rose in his chest.
From behind one of the cabins came a soft tapping.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Then… the unmistakable sound of someone breathing directly behind him.
He turned slowly.
There was nothing.
Silence again—except this time it felt heavier, suffocating.
At the edge of the well, Elias saw movement. A figure—pale, thin, and silent—stood staring at him with pitch-black eyes. Then another emerged from behind a broken fence. And another. Their mouths were open, but no sound escaped.
The villagers.
Trapped between worlds. Condemned to eternal silence.
They reached for him, their hands trembling—begging for help or begging for company. Elias couldn’t tell.
He ran.
He didn’t stop until he reached the monolith again. A final line of runes glowed bright red:
“Speak the vow or join the silent.”
His throat tightened. He tried to scream, to say anything—but no voice came out.
The silence had taken him.
The next morning, a passing traveler noticed the mist in the forest seemed a little thicker than usual.
And in the center of the village of Merrow’s End…
A new pale figure stood among the silent ones.
Elias Rowan was never seen again.
