Somewhere down in the core of the old Blackwood Timberland, there was a spot local people tried not discuss — The Quiet Empty. Legends recounted when the Empty had been a clamoring town, yet something unholy had moved throughout, leaving only quietness afterward. The breeze wouldn’t wail through its trees, creatures stayed away from it, and no birds sang.
The Empty was where sound itself had kicked the bucket, and with it, anybody who wandered in. Scarcely any accepted the stories any longer, save for the more established age who had seen the repercussions, yet interest had an approach to attracting the clueless. Jake Marshall, a rush looking for voyager, was one such individual. He’d heard the narratives while visiting a close by town and had chosen to see the notorious Quiet Empty for himself. “All in all nothing remains to fear,” he consoled himself as he journeyed across the woodland.
The town ruins before long materialized — old, decrepit structures with disintegrating walls and rooftops collapsed by hundreds of years of disregard. The quiet appeared to swallow everything, and the world felt incredible, as though time had halted. Jake meandered through the vacant roads, his disquiet developing. He had come here hoping to track down a forlorn, shocking spot, yet this quietness was unnatural, frightening.
The sun was starting to set, projecting long, spooky shadows on the ground. Jake disregarded the disquiet crawling up his spine. He wasn’t one to have faith in phantoms or condemnations. As he approached the entry to the Empty, something odd occurred — his strides, once crunching noisily on the woodland floor, became suppressed.
With each step, the sound blurred more until there was… nothing. Complete and absolute quiet. The shortfall of sound was abusive, choking, like the very air would not convey it. Jake stopped, heart beating in his chest, however he was unable to try and hear that. He applauded, however no commotion followed. Alarm mixed inside him, yet he pushed it down. “It’s simply my creative mind. It’s simply an odd spot,” he thought, proceeding further into the Empty.
He took out his telephone to snap a picture, however when he tapped the screen, it showed an unusual mistake: “No signal. No sound.” His telephone vibrated viciously in his grasp, however no tone went with it.
Jake’s skin slithered. He set the telephone aside, reviling quietly. As he strolled beyond an old church, a glint of development grabbed his attention. Somebody — or something — was inside. His heart jumped, yet a similar harsh quiet encircled him, leaving him in a condition of uplifted dread. He moved toward the congregation circumspectly, venturing through its decaying wooden entryways. Inside, a figure remained at the special stepped area, back went to Jake.
It was a lady, her long, dark hair hanging down her back, unnaturally still. She was wearing a worn out, dated outfit, similar to somebody from an alternate time. The quiet felt thicker here, similar to something living squeezing against him. “Hi?” Jake attempted to say, yet the words never left his mouth. Alarm flooded through him. He opened his mouth once more, however no sound came. Maybe the quiet had taken his voice.
The lady started to turn. Jake’s senses shouted for him to run, yet his body felt frozen. At the point when she confronted him completely, her face was pale, skinny, and her eyes were empty pits of murkiness. She opened her mouth as though to talk, however no words came — just the shortfall of sound, a void that appeared to pull at Jake’s actual soul. Abruptly, the quietness around him changed. It was as of now not simply a shortfall of sound, yet a presence — a staggering, squashing force.
He felt it mauling at his psyche, pulling him toward that void. The lady connected, her fingers long and skeletal, enticing him to join her in the timeless calm. Jake turned and escaped, his feet beating against the ground, however there was no strong — no heartbeat, no breath, no frantic pants. Just quiet. The further he ran, the more the world obscured around him, the trees twisting, the air developing thick and weighty.
He ran until his legs gave out and imploded to the ground. There, on the edge of the Empty, he could see the line where the woods recovered its sound — the breeze in the trees, the stirring leaves.
In any case, he was unable to move any further. The quietness gripped to him, and with a frightening acknowledgment, he realized it wasn’t simply in the Empty any longer. It had saturated him. His voice was gone, his pulse a memory. Jake’s reality had turned into a peaceful jail, where no sound could at any point contact him once more.
He thought back towards the Empty and saw the lady remaining somewhere far off, watching him. Her mouth moved quietly, shaping the words he could never hear. The legend of Quiet Empty had guaranteed another spirit, catching Jake in the ceaseless bereft of soundlessness, where the quiet of death would rule forever.