The girl who talks to the silence
The graveyard was her favorite place in the world. Not because Lucy liked death she didn't. Not exactly, But the dead were quiet. They didn't snicker when she walked by. They didn't ask why her eyes looked like glass, or why no one ever adopted her. The dead didn't stare, They whispered.
Today, the wind carried their voices in low hums between mossy headstones. Lucy wandered her usual path past the stone angel missing a wing, past the row of infant graves with faded teddy bears. Her boots crunched on dry leaves as she moved, She stopped.
There was someone sitting on the tombstone marked Robert Clark. Beloved Son. 2002–2023, No one ever visited that grave, The boy was still, Pale Barefoot.
And breathing.
Lucy blinked. No not breathing. Not quite. His chest didn't rise and fall like normal. He looked paused. Like a statue carved from frost, She stepped closer.
Hi," she said, The boy turned his head slowly, as if it hurt. His eyes were cloudy gray like storm water. `You see me` Lucy tilted her head. "You're sitting in the middle of a graveyard in broad daylight. Not that hard He gave a slow, crooked smile. "Most people don't. A tingle ran down her arms. She'd felt this before a cold at the edge of her senses. But never this strong. Never this… human. What's your name she asked, Robert I think. It's been a while
She stared at the grave under him. Robert Clark. The dates lined up. You're dead. I was,he said softly. I think I still am.They sat in silence for a while. The wind stirred Lucy's messy black hair across her face. Robert didn't move. Just watched her with that too-still gaze, Then the whisper came. Kiss him.It wasn't her thought. It was the voice again the one that sometimes spoke in her sleep or hummed behind her ears when the moon was full. The one she never told anyone about, Why are you here she asked, to drown it out.
I'm m waiting, Robert said. I think I was supposed to leave. But something kept me, Lucy looked at his face. He wasn't scary. He looked lonely. Kiss him the whisper insisted again. Closer now. Wake him up.
Her heart pounded. She wasn't the kissing type She was the weird girl, the quiet one, says don't go near her orphan. But her body moved anyway, like the words were a command sunk in her bones. She leaned forward, Their lips met, Cold Like kissing snow. Like kissing silence And then, His eyes flew open wide.
He gasped, A real, sharp breath. The stone under him cracked. The grass around the grave yellowed. Somewhere, a dog barked in panic..Lucy staggered back, her mouth tingling. Robert clutched his chest, coughing. His skin flushed.. color returning like spilled paint. He was alive.And the world felt wrong. Robert didn't stop coughing for nearly a minute. Lucy stood frozen, arms stiff at her sides, her breath still caught somewhere between her lungs and her throat. Around them, the graveyard had changed subtly, but undeniably. The air felt heavier, like the sky itself was leaning down to watch, He fell off the tombstone and landed on his knees. Grass bent beneath him. Dirt clung to his fingers...He was real.
I...he gasped, staring at his hands like they were strange new I can feel I can breathe. Lucy stepped back, suddenly terrified of what she'd done. What are you she whispered...Robert looked up at her, his expression caught between awe and fear. I don't know. He reached for her not in anger, not to hurt her just a trembling hand, as if he needed her to stay close or he might vanish again..Lucy flinched. He stopped. Sorry.
They both sat in the grass, the silence around them sharper than before. Somewhere in the distance, church bells rang the hour, but the sound felt wrong off beat, like a record warped by heat.
think I remember dying, Robert said after a long pause. But it's like remembering a dream. Lucy didn't answer. Her pulse was loud in her ears. I didn't feel anything before you kissed me. Just..silence. Forever Lucy hugged her knees. That's not supposed to happen. Robert gave a hollow laugh. No. Probably not. She wanted to run. Run back to the orphanage. Pretend this was just a hallucination brought on by one too many skipped meals. But she couldn't. Not when he was sitting there, alive or something like it with cracked lips and bruised knuckles and a heartbeat she could almost hear.
And not when she realized something else, the shadows around the gravestones were moving. Not like they should in wind. They slithered. They twisted. Like they were watching.Robert noticed it too. Do you see that.
Lucy nodded. Ithink I broke something, No, he said, his voice low and distant. I think you opened it.
The Dare
Back at the orphanage, Lucy sat in the dark. The old radiator hissed softly beneath the window. Outside, fog clung to the lawn like a second skin. Everyone else was asleep or pretending to be. Lucy could still feel the ghost of the kiss on her lips. She hadn't told anyone. Not Miss Halley, the tired woman who ran the orphanage. Not the other girls, who already thought she was creepy enough. Especially not Jessa the ringleader, who once dared Lucy to eat a spider just to see if she would.
It was Jessa's dare that had started this. You're so in love with ghosts, Lucy. Go kiss one. I dare you.
Jessa had laughed when she said it, flicking her shiny nails like she cast spells with them. Lucy hadn't planned to take it seriously. But the whisper, the one that followed her home from dreams it had agreed with Jessa. And now Robert Clark was breathing. The next day, Lucy skipped school.
She walked straight to the graveyard, past the bakery, past the post office, her hood up. The town was quiet too quiet, even for a sleepy place like Ravenhill. Robert was waiting by the statue of the angel with one wing. I couldn't sleep, he said I don't think I can anymore, She didn't know what to say.
He looked different, Still pale..still strange, but less dead. Color had crept back into his face, but it was off a shade too gray. And his fingernails were darker than before. His smile flickered like a weak lightbulb. I remember falling, he said suddenly. Off..a bridge. But I don't remember who pushed me. Lucy's stomach turned. You think someone killed you! He nodded slowly. And now they don't remember I existed. Lucy stared. What do you mean? Robert looked at her with wide, almost frightened eyes. I went to my house. It's still there. Same porch, same swing. But there's no grave in the yard anymore. My mother didn't recognize me. My room is gone. Lucy's breath caught. He wasn't just undead. He had been erased. Later, in her room, Lucy stood before her cracked mirror and opened her mouth to speak. But someone else's voice came out. It wasn't a full sentence just a whisper, slithering like wind through leaves
"The door is open"
She touched her lips, her fingers came away dusted in gray. Lucy get angry..she couldn't say a word things getting darker for Lucy.. everything about her is falling apart, Robert was late.
Lucy sat on the stone steps of the chapel ruin at the edge of the graveyard, fingers twisting her sleeve, eyes scanning the mist. The fog had thickened overnight, curling around headstones like hungry fingers. When he finally appeared, Lucy's breath caught. He looked worse. His skin no longer pale, but gray. His lips were chapped, and when he moved, something in his neck cracked faintly, like dry wood bending. Robert, she whispered, rising to meet him. What happened? He tried to smile, but it faltered I think I'm rotting.
Lucy stepped closer despite the chill pouring off him. His eyes were still human wide and uncertain. That mattered. She reached out to touch his hand. The moment their skin met, something changed, His color deepened. His breath steadied. A faint warmth returned to his skin. You, he said, staring at her fingers in his. You stop it. Stop what
The decay, They both stood still, the air around them frozen in time. I don't know what I did Lucy said. I just kissed you. It wasn't just a kiss, he said. It was a key. That night, Lucy's dreams twisted into something darker. She stood in a hallway made of bones. Candles flickered along the walls, but they didn't burn they whispered. Every flame hissed her name: Lucy. Lucy. Lucy. At the end of the hallway stood a door. Black wood. No handle. It pulsed, like a heart.
Something behind it wanted out. When she woke, her window was wide open. A dead bird lay on the floor. Its feathers were arranged in a perfect circle around her bed. Robert met her the next morning with news. I remembered something else, he said, his voice rough like gravel. What There was another girl. The night I died. She…she pushed me. Lucy's skin prickled. Not someone you knew I think so. But her face is blurry. He looked down at his hand two fingers were turning black again. You need to stay near me, Lucy said.
I can't live just because you're close, he replied. "That's not living. That's… borrowing. They sat in silence again, like they often did, except now every breath felt stolen. I don't think I was the first one you brought back, he whispered. She looked up sharply. "What do you mean He nodded toward the fog.Something else came through the door.
The Door Pulsed
Not with light. Not with sound. But with something older a memory, raw and wet and screaming. It sat at the far end of the ruined corridor of the orphanage's east wing, half-rotted, the wood swollen with the breath of rain and rot. Lucy had found it behind a collapsed wall, as though the house itself had tried to bury it.
She stood before it, her fingertips inches from the surface. It was cold.
Are you sure,whispered the voice behind her ear thin, like wind through bones
She didn't flinch. She was used to them now.
Lucynodded once.
And opened the door.
Inside was silence.
Not the silence of an empty room. The silence of too many voices trying to speak at once.
The moment the door creaked open, the air shifted, heavy and wet like a storm trapped in glass. Shadows stirred along the walls not moving, but remembering movement.
And then they came.
They poured from the corners, from beneath the floorboards, from inside the walls pale figures, translucent and flickering, their faces blurred like smeared ink. Some reached for her with open arms, others stayed back, eyes glowing faintly, watching.
And then came the voices all at once.
You hear us.
You brought him back.
Why him, Why not me
She opened the Door. She opened it.
Ican taste my name again. I REMEMBER!
Lucy pressed her hands to her ears, but the voices weren't heard they were felt, like worms in her mind.
Stop, she whispered. One at a time.
A few of the spirits obeyed. The room dimmed, and some of them stepped forward calmer, almost smiling. Children with eyes too old. Old men missing half their jaws. A woman whose mouth was sewn shut but who bowed her head in thanks.
You're a bridge now, one of them said, a girl no older than ten, her feet hovering just above the floor. You let us through.
I didn't mean to, Lucy said. I kissed him because I didn't want him to be gone.
That's how it always starts, said another. His voice was gravel, thick with hate. One death undone and the rest follow.
From the dark corners, the angry ones emerged.
Burnt. Torn. Eyes hollowed out. Some with wounds still dripping, impossibly real. Their rage stank like smoke, blood, and injustice.
You think this is mercy one of them snarled. You think letting us talk again FIXES ANYTHING.
Lucy stood firm. I'm m not trying to fix anything. I just want to know the truth.
A hush.
Then came a whisper, chilling and sharp:
The truth is, we were murdered.
Several spirits nodded slowly, as if waking from long dreams.
They said it was sickness.
They said it was an accident.
They buried me under the wrong name.
No one even looked for me.
They left me in the walls.
Something shifted behind Lucy the door began to close on its own. But she turned, placed her hand on it, and kept it open
You want justice, she said softly.
Some of the spirits came closer.
We want blood, said one.
We want to be heard, said another.
We want them to suffer.
Lucy stomach turned. Who is them.
The room seemed to darken as that question echoed through the crowd of dead.
Then, from the back, a broken woman with wrists wrapped in chains raised her hand and pointed toward the ceiling.
The ones still living in the light.
A chorus rose behind her.
The ones who buried the truth.
The ones who smiled at the funerals.
The ones who sent us down and walked away clean.
Lucy backed up a step. The air was growing thick again, oppressive.
Not all the spirits agreed some wept softly in corners, grateful to have a voice again, whispering names of loved ones. But others others whispered plans.
Names.
Faces.
Addresses.
Let us use your hands.
Let us wear your face.
Let us show them what it feels like to be forgotten.
Lucy gritted her teeth. No.
A pause. Then a wail piercing and angry.
Then YOU will feel what we felt.
The wind screamed through the broken room. Shadows clutched at her legs, dragged across her arms, whispering their sorrow, their fury. Lucy fell to her knees, shaking, as faces came close too close empty eyes and gaping mouths trying to crawl inside her soul.
Then
A voice.
Soft.
Familiar.
Enough.
The spirits froze.
From the doorway came the boy the one she brought back. Still pale, but now breathing. His eyes dark and endless looked past her and into the sea of ghosts.
She didn't open the door for vengeance, he said. She opened it for love.
The shadows recoiled.
And Lucy trembling, stood again.
I'll listen, She said. I'll hear your names. Your stories. But I won't be your weapon.
The spirits watched her some with grief, some with rage, some with something that might have been admiration.
Then one by one, they began to vanish, slipping through the walls, into the night.
But not all of them.
A few stayed behind.
Watching.
Waiting.
Planning.
And far beneath the orphanage, in the Hollow, the Silent Crown stirred.