The Whispering Forest
Ethan Parker had always been skeptical about the legends surrounding Blackwood Forest. The townsfolk spoke of eerie whispers that lured people deep into the woods, never to return. It was said that the trees held the souls of the lost, whispering their sorrow to those who dared to enter. Ethan, a freelance journalist, saw it as nothing more than an old wives’ tale, perfect for a spine-chilling feature story.
One crisp autumn evening, armed with a flashlight and a voice recorder, Ethan ventured into the dense foliage. The deeper he went, the quieter the world around him became. The rustling leaves and distant hoots of owls faded, replaced by an unsettling stillness. He paused, turning on his recorder. “October 14th, 9:32 PM. Entering Blackwood Forest. No signs of anything unusual yet.”
As he pressed forward, the whispers began.
At first, they were soft, like the wind threading through the branches. Then, distinct words emerged—his name. Ethan spun around, flashing his light in all directions. No one was there. His heartbeat quickened, but he rationalized it. Maybe the wind had carried distant voices from the town.
Then he heard it again, closer this time. “Ethan… leave…”
His pulse thundered in his ears. The whisper was unmistakable. It was a woman’s voice, fragile yet insistent. He swallowed hard and pressed on. He had come for a story, and he wasn’t leaving empty-handed.
His flashlight flickered, and the batteries died, plunging him into darkness. He cursed, fumbling for his phone. Before he could turn on the flashlight, the whispers grew louder, overlapping, frantic. Dozens of voices. Begging. Warning.
Something moved in the shadows ahead.
A silhouette emerged—a woman with hollow eyes and a face twisted in agony. Her lips moved, but no sound came. The whispers surged around him, deafening. Ethan stumbled back, his breath coming in sharp gasps.
Then he felt it—a hand on his shoulder.
Spinning around, he found no one there. Panic gripped him as the darkness thickened, swallowing his surroundings. He ran, branches clawing at his clothes and skin. The voices screamed now, shrieking his name, their despair pressing into his skull.
His foot caught on a root, and he tumbled forward, slamming onto the damp earth. Pain shot through his wrist as he scrambled to his feet. The whispers were all around him, inside him. He could feel them, their sorrow seeping into his bones.
Then—silence.
Ethan turned, gasping. The woman was inches away. Her sunken eyes stared into his soul, and her decayed hand reached for him. He tried to move, to scream, but his body was paralyzed.
She leaned in, her breath ice-cold against his ear. “You should have listened.”
Darkness consumed him.
Days later, a search party found Ethan’s voice recorder lying near the forest’s edge. His last words trembled through the static:
“They are real… The whispers… They took me…”
Ethan was never found.
0 Comments