Entry 356: The Quiet Ones Home

This is a quaint part of town

Quieter than most

So small you’ll likely never notice it

If you blinked as you drove…

It’s a quiet place

Because we do not speak

You notice us not

Because we are more transparent than most…


If you should happen this way,

Perhaps you’ll be the voice of this place?

Stick around for a day or two,

Maybe you’ll discover where disappeared

The Radio’s tune?

It is on, sure,


No matter the station

It plays, nothing…

You may ask, why we don’t speak

To be fair,

That’s a another mystery


That’s the least of the oddities in place

As sometimes we see something on the horizon…

It looks a storm,

The sky is black,

It never grows night

Where we are at…


There it sits

On most days

Never really growing closer

…Or so it seems…

Then there’s the mystery of the umbrella graveyard

That’s what we call it anyways…

That is the place all the umbrella’s in town


To this day, they still remain…

It makes no sense,

You can not remove them from their place

They sit in a suspended animation

Unreachable to us…

There are other oddities afoot in this town

At noon every day

A man appears

Pale as a ghost

Old as the oldest person we’ve seen

He stands for 1 minute

Before vanishing

This town has no name

We are rarely ever seen

Should you join us however,

Perhaps you could solve its many mysteries…

We are a place all our own

We’ve likened to calling the place…

-The Quiet Ones Home-

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