Something has been moving through Bellaire, Michigan.
It has no inside. It leaves no evidence. It finds the people who see most clearly — the ones who say true things when rooms want comfortable ones — and it drains them quietly until they are found in chairs facing windows with their coffee still warm.
Harlan Gage has known about it since he was nine years old in a corn field. He spent sixty-two years being less than he was to stay hidden from it. Then his neighbor Gerald died and the notebook surfaced from the basement and his six-year-old granddaughter Wren looked at the corner of his living room and said it’s there.
Wren has never learned to be less.
She is the most dangerous thing the darkness has ever encountered.
The Quiet Ones is a thriller about what happens when the people who have been doing the right thing alone their entire lives finally find each other. Patterned after the quiet dread of Dean Koontz at his best, told in the dry unflinching voice of a man who has outlasted everything that tried to diminish him, this is a ghost story for people who have always felt the gap between what the world says and what it means — and have been paying for the seeing their entire lives.
The field has always been there.
Someone just needed to write it down.
Weaver's Laugh 
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