Aug 6, 2026 · 35 min · 8 segments
**The Study of Quiet Things is a serialised gothic folk-horror mystery, written & narrated by Harriet Loveluck.** Sophie Hamilton's twin is missing, and the last trace of her leads to a crumbling…
Her converse trainers sink in mud.
She's long since given up tiptoeing her way through.
She doesn't even sigh when the brackish water squelches over the top and soaks her already sodden socks.
What is a little more water when she is already soaked through and shivering? She sucks her foot out onto drier land and a branch snaps beneath her sole, prompting a flapping of wings and a wild caw overhead.
Sophie's jumpy and she flinches, looking up at a magpie watching her every move.
But something else catches her eye, a flash of black rippling in her peripheral vision.
And she hears it now, like the snapping of flags.
She spins.
Tattered black fabric ripped into strips whip in the wind.
It's a mournful dance that turns sinister as Sophie's eyes follow the tattered ribbons upwards.
The flailing rags are part of a black hooded cloak hanging in the trees like a crucifix.
An effigy of sorts.
Darkness where the face should be.
Sophie stares up dumbfounded and notices more, tens more, a valley of hanging, faceless scarecrows swaying with erratic jolts.
Her hand finds purchase on a tree as she steadies herself, but the bark feels wrong beneath her palm.
It is engraved with a crude etching that reads, There is great power in silence.
The investigator in her can't help herself.
She pulls out her phone, taking several photos, considering if this is a sign or an omen, it's not a very good one.
When she lowers her phone, she notices a dwelling in the distance hidden behind overhanging limbs.
Whispers of lime-washed painted walls peek through the undergrowth, ghostly white against the darkening sky.
She wonders who would live in a place like this and although curiosity beckons her closer, time is ticking.
She has to get to the meeting.
Besides, the late autumn light is fading and Sophie knows if she doesn't keep going, the forest's darkness could swallow her up whole.
Finally, sometime later, Sophie emerges from the skeletal trees with their empty spindly branches.
They've long lost their autumn leaves, as if winter starts earlier in this part of the world.
Her converse trainers sink in mud.
She's long since given up tiptoeing her way through.
She doesn't even sigh when the brackish water squelches over the top and soaks her already sodden socks.
What is a little more water when she is already soaked through and shivering? She sucks her foot out onto drier land and a branch snaps beneath her sole, prompting a flapping of wings and a wild caw overhead.
Sophie's jumpy and she flinches, looking up at a magpie watching her every move.
But something else catches her eye, a flash of black rippling in her peripheral vision.
And she hears it now, like the snapping of flags.
She spins.
Tattered black fabric ripped into strips whip in the wind.
It's a mournful dance that turns sinister as Sophie's eyes follow the tattered ribbons upwards.
The flailing rags are part of a black hooded cloak hanging in the trees like a crucifix.
An effigy of sorts.
Darkness where the face should be.
Sophie stares up dumbfounded and notices more, tens more, a valley of hanging, faceless scarecrows swaying with erratic jolts.
Her hand finds purchase on a tree as she steadies herself, but the bark feels wrong beneath her palm.
It is engraved with a crude etching that reads, There is great power in silence.
The investigator in her can't help herself.
She pulls out her phone, taking several photos, considering if this is a sign or an omen, it's not a very good one.
When she lowers her phone, she notices a dwelling in the distance hidden behind overhanging limbs.
Whispers of lime-washed painted walls peek through the undergrowth, ghostly white against the darkening sky.
She wonders who would live in a place like this and although curiosity beckons her closer, time is ticking.
She has to get to the meeting.
Besides, the late autumn light is fading and Sophie knows if she doesn't keep going, the forest's darkness could swallow her up whole.
Finally, sometime later, Sophie emerges from the skeletal trees with their empty spindly branches.
They've long lost their autumn leaves, as if winter starts earlier in this part of the world.
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