{Psychological Thriller Release} All the Silent Bones by Gregory Funaro

All the Silent Bones by Gregory Funaro
on June 9th, 2025
Genres: Fiction, Adult, Horror, Psychological, Thriller
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When they were boys, Ray Dawley, Eddie Sayers, and Matthew Kauffman were the best of friends. Then new kid Bobby “Bones” Bonetti fell through the ice at Blackamore Pond. The other boys saved Bobby from drowning, but something else came out of the water that day, something dangerous that would tear their friendship apart and set one of them on a dark path.

Forty years after the incident on the ice, Ray, a retired college professor, has moved back into his childhood home. Eddie is a retired homicide detective, and Matthew is a successful investment banker. Bobby, who is on disability from his job as a corrections officer at a juvenile detention center, has a secret: the darkness that found him under the ice when he was a kid has made him do terrible things.

Following a reunion at Ray’s house, Matthew is found murdered in his car beside the old pond. The killer includes a chilling message that only the three remaining friends would recognize. Could one of their own be a murderer?

All the Silent Bones, a tense and disturbing thriller told from alternating perspectives of morally complex characters, explores the lasting impact of childhood trauma and its influence on adult relationships.

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Exclusive Excerpt from All the Silent Bones

From where she sat, Shelly could see little more than the fur of the animal on which it fed—gray and whitish in spots. A rabbit, most likely—roadkill that the crow had snatched up somewhere nearby. In another lifetime, Shelly might have searched for meaning in the bird’s decision to feed so close to her. The child in her would have seen it as something magical—a supernatural test, perhaps, in which the crow wanted to see if it could trust Shelly before revealing to her some important secret. The college student would have seen the bird as a metaphor, something to be used in a story about the brutal, methodical peck-peck-peck of death. The housewife, however, would have just worried that the crows had gotten into her bird feeder again back home, leaving the other birds to starve. The cardinals and the blue jays. The goldfinches and black-capped chickadees. The northern flickers, the Carolina wrens, the fox sparrows, the red- breasted nuthatches, and all the others that hung on through the coldest of New Jersey winters.

Strange, Shelly thought as she watched the crow. So very strange that she had once cared enough to know the names of all those birds. Same as she had once cared to know the person calling her now. Shelly felt the phone buzzing in her hand before she heard it ringing. And because the call was not coming from someone in Shelly’s contacts, the name scrolled under the number like spam. Natalia Morris. Shelly stared at the letters for a moment, unable to make sense of them, her brain slow to register, it seemed, that here was someone with whom she would like to be friends.

But caring about things like making friends was from another lifetime. Maybe even a life that had belonged to someone else—someone named Shelly Before. Shelly Before had been married to a man named Matthew Kauffman. Shelly Before had been dedicated to her children, to making a home for them like the one she’d never had. The kind of gal who kept the rooms neat and clean and sometimes cooked things just so the house would smell nice when everyone came home. The kind of gal who only wanted to make memories and cherished a cup of cocoa snuggled up on the couch more than any trip to the Bahamas. Yeah, that Shelly had always been there, had been strong, like the birds in her backyard that hung on all winter. Shelly Before never would have let her son officially identify her husband’s body at the morgue in Providence while she lay around half out of it in some hospital bed in Newport.

But it was Shelly After who had made that decision—that was, if Shelly After were capable of making decisions at all. Shelly After was a widow now and just sort of let things happen around her—just walked through life on autopilot, just gobbled down Xanax prescribed to her by the hospital doctor. Shelly After remembered Shelly Before, and felt, deep down, that she could be like her if she really wanted to. But Shelly After wanted numbness more—needed it like air, every breath of which felt like a dare.