short fiction · 2026-10-08

The Listener

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

In the hollow of an abandoned house, silence settled like dust on the floorboards. It did not merely absence of sound; it was a presence, thin and patient, ears made of stillness. It listened to the creak of the old stairs as if they were sighs, to the whisper of wind through cracked panes as if they were confessions. When a mouse scurried behind the wainscot, silence leaned in, its attention a soft pressure that made the tiny paws hesitate. It heard the heartbeat of the house itself—the slow, wooden pulse of beams settling—and counted each throb as a secret kept. In the quiet, thoughts of those who had once lived there rose like steam: laughter half-remembered, arguments swallowed, lullabies hummed without voice. Silence gathered them, not to judge, but to hold, cradling each fragment in its soundless palms. And when a newcomer stepped inside, breathing shallow, silence listened to the fear in their chest, then offered, without utterance, the gift of being heard.