Sep 24, 2026 · 32 min · 10 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…
Elongated footprints smeared crimson across a muted green and cream tiles.
A bloodied handprint stains the wall beneath the flicker of fluorescent strip lights blinking on and off along the narrow, colourless corridor.
Muffled screams echo and undulate, travelling away from Sophie, becoming distant but no less harrowing.
Beneath the buzzing lights, Sophie tiptoes towards the hollers, holding her breath like a child, hoping the quieter she is, the less chance she has of being caught.
When the lights flicker back on, Sophie makes a conscious effort to avoid looking at the blood beneath her feet and stares ahead, curiosity like a magnet pulling her forward.
Her heart pumps double time as she reaches the end of the corridor.
She stops, peeking around the corner to get a glimpse, but the lights, as if consorting with the mystery, fizzle out and stay out this time.
There is nothing but a host of dark shadows scuffling at the end of a rabbit-warren passageway.
She stares into the darkness, counting.
Six men wrestle with the captive writhing within their gasp.
When the stark lights finally flicker back on, they burn Sophie's retinas and she is forced to squeeze her eyes shut.
And that's when she hears it.
The scratching, the squirming, the erratic scrapes lacerating her mind.
She's heard this sound before, when waking from her nightmare.
Sophie blinks in quick succession and her sight returns, and there they are, tiny and minuscule, scratching and scarpering.
Ants, millions of them, marching towards the sound of screams in single file.
Ahead, the police pull and push the concealed figure into a cell and Sophie follows the trail of ants, the yells and screams.
Female screams.
Hovering outside the cell, Sophie goes unnoticed in the unfolding chaos, but she staggers backwards with the ferocity of the policeman's violent handling and slips on something that might be blood.
The hair on the back of Sophie's neck stands on end.
A strange sensation of goose flesh rippling across her cheeks and down her spine.
Ahead of her, the huddle of officers parked just enough for Sophie to discover their captive.
It's a girl.
The goth girl from the bus, from the park, from outside the pub.
"'Old still, Joe!' one officer yells." Joe catches Sophie's stare and holds her gaze with one dark eye.
Elongated footprints smeared crimson across a muted green and cream tiles.
A bloodied handprint stains the wall beneath the flicker of fluorescent strip lights blinking on and off along the narrow, colourless corridor.
Muffled screams echo and undulate, travelling away from Sophie, becoming distant but no less harrowing.
Beneath the buzzing lights, Sophie tiptoes towards the hollers, holding her breath like a child, hoping the quieter she is, the less chance she has of being caught.
When the lights flicker back on, Sophie makes a conscious effort to avoid looking at the blood beneath her feet and stares ahead, curiosity like a magnet pulling her forward.
Her heart pumps double time as she reaches the end of the corridor.
She stops, peeking around the corner to get a glimpse, but the lights, as if consorting with the mystery, fizzle out and stay out this time.
There is nothing but a host of dark shadows scuffling at the end of a rabbit-warren passageway.
She stares into the darkness, counting.
Six men wrestle with the captive writhing within their gasp.
When the stark lights finally flicker back on, they burn Sophie's retinas and she is forced to squeeze her eyes shut.
And that's when she hears it.
The scratching, the squirming, the erratic scrapes lacerating her mind.
She's heard this sound before, when waking from her nightmare.
Sophie blinks in quick succession and her sight returns, and there they are, tiny and minuscule, scratching and scarpering.
Ants, millions of them, marching towards the sound of screams in single file.
Ahead, the police pull and push the concealed figure into a cell and Sophie follows the trail of ants, the yells and screams.
Female screams.
Hovering outside the cell, Sophie goes unnoticed in the unfolding chaos, but she staggers backwards with the ferocity of the policeman's violent handling and slips on something that might be blood.
The hair on the back of Sophie's neck stands on end.
A strange sensation of goose flesh rippling across her cheeks and down her spine.
Ahead of her, the huddle of officers parked just enough for Sophie to discover their captive.
It's a girl.
The goth girl from the bus, from the park, from outside the pub.
"'Old still, Joe!' one officer yells." Joe catches Sophie's stare and holds her gaze with one dark eye.
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