The night had fallen too quickly. The last traces of sunlight vanished behind the jagged line of the trees, leaving the forest in an oppressive darkness. Aaron tightened his grip on the old flashlight, its faint beam barely cutting through the thick fog curling at his feet. He had heard the stories—whispers of voices calling from the shadows, luring people into the depths, never to return. But they were just that—stories.
Or so he thought.
The deeper he ventured, the more unnatural the forest seemed. The trees, tall and ancient, twisted at impossible angles as if contorted in pain. The air grew thick, damp, and cold, a shiver creeping up his spine with every step. But it wasn’t the cold that chilled him—it was the sound.
At first, he thought it was the wind. A faint rustling in the leaves overhead, almost melodic, like hushed voices just out of reach. But the further he went, the clearer they became. Whispers. Soft, overlapping murmurs that seemed to come from all directions, threading through the air like invisible tendrils.
He stopped, his breath catching in his throat. His flashlight flickered, and in the brief moments of darkness, he swore he saw something move. A shadow? No, something more. A figure, half-hidden in the mist, watching him from between the trees.
“Who’s there?” His voice echoed hollowly, swallowed by the dense woods.
No answer. Only more whispers. They were closer now, almost beside him, but the words were garbled, fragmented, just beyond understanding. The flashlight flickered again, and this time, when it came back on, the figure was gone.
Aaron’s pulse quickened. He could feel eyes on him—hundreds, maybe thousands. Unseen, yet watching. He took a step back, the leaves crunching beneath his boots, and the whispers grew louder. More urgent. They seemed to be calling his name now, clear but distorted, like a hundred voices layered together in a sickening harmony.
“Aaron…”
His stomach churned. He spun around, his heart hammering in his chest, desperate to find the way out. But every path looked the same—twisted trees and thick fog. His pulse raced as the whispers grew into a maddening cacophony, circling him, closing in. He stumbled forward, nearly tripping on a root, and that’s when he saw it.
Just ahead, barely illuminated by his failing flashlight, was a figure. It stood motionless between two gnarled trees, its head cocked unnaturally to one side. Its eyes—sunken pits of darkness—bore into him, but its lips, pale and cracked, moved rapidly, muttering in a language that made his skin crawl.
Aaron froze. The whispers stopped, plunging the forest into an unnatural silence. For a moment, he thought maybe it was over. Maybe it was all just in his head. But then the figure’s lips twisted into a grotesque grin, and it stepped toward him.
Suddenly, the forest erupted with sound. The trees groaned, the whispers screamed, and Aaron turned to run. His legs moved frantically, but the forest seemed to warp around him, the trees closing in, trapping him. The whispers were deafening now, flooding his mind with horrific images, faces twisted in agony, mouths open in endless, silent screams.
His breath came in short, panicked gasps as the flashlight finally gave out. In the darkness, he heard them—footsteps. Slow, deliberate. They were behind him.
He dared a glance over his shoulder and saw nothing but shadows. But the footsteps… they were still there. Following. Drawing closer.
He sprinted, weaving through the trees, his lungs burning, his heart pounding in his chest like a drum. But no matter how fast he ran, the footsteps never faltered. They were always just behind him, relentless.
The whispers changed, growing clearer, more menacing.
“Aaron… stay with us…”
His vision blurred with fear and exhaustion. He couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop. But the forest seemed endless, like it was swallowing him whole.
Finally, he stumbled into a small clearing. He collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath, the fog thick around him. The footsteps ceased, and for the briefest of moments, there was silence.
Then, from the shadows, the whisper came again, softer this time, almost a lullaby.
“Aaron… come back…”
But this time, it wasn’t just a voice. From the fog, hands—pale and twisted—reached out, grasping for him. One by one, they emerged from the ground, from the trees, from the darkness. Cold, skeletal fingers grazed his skin, pulling him down, deeper into the earth.
The last thing Aaron saw before the darkness consumed him was the figure. Standing at the edge of the clearing, smiling, its hollow eyes gleaming in the night.
And then, there was only silence.
In the days that followed, the villagers searched the forest. They found no trace of Aaron—only his flashlight, lying in the middle of an empty clearing. But they knew what had happened. The forest had claimed another victim.
And the whispers… they would soon call again.