Whispers in the Woods

The village of Black Hollow had always been surrounded by dense, ancient woods. The trees were gnarled, their twisted branches reaching skyward like skeletal fingers. Few dared to venture into the forest, especially after dark. Legends spoke of whispers carried on the wind, voices that lured travelers to their doom.

Elena had never believed the stories. A practical woman of 25, she scoffed at superstition. But when her younger brother, Sam, failed to return from the woods after sunset, fear gripped her heart. Armed with only a lantern and a hunting knife, she ventured into the forest, determined to bring him back.

The woods were unnaturally silent. The usual chorus of chirping crickets and rustling leaves was absent, replaced by an oppressive stillness. Elena’s boots crunched against the brittle leaves underfoot, the sound unnervingly loud in the quiet.

“Sam!” she called, her voice trembling.

No response.

The further she went, the thicker the fog became, swirling around her like ghostly tendrils. Shadows danced in the lantern’s light, and Elena could have sworn she saw movement out of the corner of her eye.

“Sam!” she tried again.

This time, a faint sound answered—a soft, indistinct whisper that sent chills down her spine.

“Sam?” she called hesitantly, following the sound.

The whisper grew louder, though the words were unintelligible. It seemed to come from all directions, weaving through the trees like a living thing. The air grew colder, and Elena’s breath fogged in front of her.

“Who’s there?” she demanded, clutching her knife tightly.

Suddenly, a figure emerged from the fog—a young boy, his face pale and his eyes wide with terror.

“Sam!” Elena gasped, rushing toward him.

But as she drew closer, she stopped short. Something was wrong. Sam’s mouth was moving, but the whispers she heard didn’t match his lips. They came from behind her.

She spun around, her lantern casting frantic beams of light. The fog parted to reveal shadowy figures standing between the trees. Their forms were indistinct, shifting and writhing as though made of smoke. Dozens of them surrounded her, their faces obscured, their voices merging into a cacophony of whispers.

“Stay back!” Elena shouted, brandishing her knife.

The shadows didn’t move closer, but their whispers grew louder, filling her head like a swarm of insects. She pressed her hands to her ears, but it did no good.

“Elena…” a voice said, clear and familiar.

She turned to see Sam, his face pale and blank. His hand reached out to her.

“Come with us,” he said, his voice layered with others.

“No!” she screamed, stumbling backward.

The shadows closed in, their whispers becoming a deafening roar. Elena slashed wildly with her knife, but it passed through them as if through air. The lantern flickered and went out, plunging her into darkness.

The next morning, the villagers found her knife and lantern near the edge of the woods. There was no sign of Elena or Sam—only the faint sound of whispers on the wind.

---