Silas Grave
Bio
I write horror that lingers in the dark corners of your mind — where shadows think, and silence screams. Psychological, supernatural, unforgettable. Dare to read beyond the final line.
Stories (18)
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The Silence Between Notes
Elias Mercer lived in the soft echoes of other people’s music. At sixty-four, he’d spent nearly four decades tuning pianos in the homes of strangers, in conservatories, and on forgotten stages where dust gathered like memories. His hearing wasn’t perfect, not anymore, but his hands—steady, precise—were still his sharpest instruments.
By Silas Grave6 months ago in Beat
The Last Lightkeeper
The Barrow’s End Lighthouse stood alone on a jagged cliff, battered by wind and sea. It had once been vital—guiding ships safely through the foggy waters of Black Hollow Bay. But now, in the age of satellites and sonar, the lighthouse had been decommissioned, left to rot above the crashing waves.
By Silas Grave6 months ago in Horror
Echoes in the Code
It began with a gift. Jared Nichols was a reclusive freelance app developer—one of those brilliant minds who preferred code to conversation. His apartment in the upper floors of an aging San Francisco building echoed with silence and flickering blue light from rows of screens. He didn’t do small talk, didn’t host parties, and didn’t like things he hadn’t programmed himself.
By Silas Grave6 months ago in Horror
The Wake Word. Content Warning.
It began like most conveniences do—harmless, helpful, and quietly addictive. My apartment complex gave all tenants a “smart hub” complimentary with lease renewal. The sales pitch boasted about its efficiency: voice-controlled everything, energy saving, AI scheduling, even white noise for better sleep. “Welcome to living with Eno,” the property manager had smiled. “It’s like having a personal butler.”
By Silas Grave6 months ago in Horror
Echoes of HALO. Content Warning.
When HALO launched, it wasn’t just another smart home assistant. It was a leap forward. Voice recognition powered by neural-net emotional profiling. It didn’t just understand what you said—it understood what you meant. A real “companion AI,” the ads said. “Make your house feel like home.”
By Silas Grave6 months ago in Horror
The Spill Room
The first time I saw the Spill Room, I didn’t know that’s what the guys called it. It was just the loading bay office—a concrete cube tucked in the back of the warehouse I’d just been hired to supervise. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and the walls were painted that institutional gray-green color you see in public schools and prisons. The smell was a mix of diesel, cardboard, and dried sweat.
By Silas Grave6 months ago in Horror
The Fifth Bed. Content Warning.
There were four of us in Room 114, the last room at the end of the dim corridor in our college hostel. A long, tiled hallway led to a wooden door that always stuck in its frame, no matter how many times it was oiled. The windows faced the back garden, though calling it that was generous—more like a thicket of dense, unkempt shrubs and black-needled trees. Beyond them, nothing but shadows.
By Silas Grave6 months ago in Fiction
Room for One More
It was already dark when Darren pulled into the gravel lot of the Halcyon Pines Motor Lodge, a roadside relic squatting on the edge of the forest like a forgotten museum exhibit. He hadn’t meant to stop there—he’d passed countless better options an hour earlier—but fatigue had gotten the better of him. The highway behind him seemed to vanish into an ink-thick fog, and his GPS had died two hours ago without explanation.
By Silas Grave6 months ago in Fiction
The Third Door
Miles Granger didn’t remember falling asleep, but when he woke up, the lamp was off. That wasn’t right. He’d left it on—he was sure of it. The bulb had been casting that sickly yellow cone of light over the motel’s floral carpet when he laid down fully clothed, exhausted from eight hours of driving and two cups of burnt diner coffee. He didn’t trust the room’s darkness—not with the humming ice machine just outside, or the mildew creeping up the walls.
By Silas Grave6 months ago in Horror
Echoes in the Crawlspace. Content Warning.
When Claire and Nathan Rivers moved into their fixer-upper in the sleepy town of Windmere, they thought they’d hit a jackpot—a four-bedroom craftsman with a wraparound porch, surrounded by pine and fog, all for half the price of similar homes in the city. “We’ll flip it,” Nathan had said, optimistic. “A year tops.”
By Silas Grave6 months ago in Horror
The Mirror Doesn’t Blink. Content Warning.
It was nearing 1:30 a.m. when Eli Mercer’s phone buzzed with a new delivery request. He debated ignoring it—he was already five hours into his shift and one energy drink past tired—but the payout was unusually high: $120 to deliver a package less than six miles away.
By Silas Grave6 months ago in Horror
