Secrets of St Mary's

The village of St Mary's was a place where time seemed to stand still. The stone cottages sat low against the hillside, their windows catching the last of the afternoon light. Smoke rose from chimneys in thin grey threads. The lane that wound through the centre was quiet, as it always was at this hour. It was the kind of place people described as peaceful. And it was — on the surface. But peace in St Mary's was not the same as calm. It was closer to silence. The kind of silence that exists not because there is nothing to say, but because everyone has agreed not to say it.