The last time I saw Emily, she was laughing her bright red hair catching the afternoon sun as we walked home from school. We were talking about the upcoming Halloween dance, debating whether to go as witches or vampires. Classic teenage stuff. She clutched a worn copy of *Wuthering Heights*, her nose scrunching slightly as she pointed out some melodramatic passage. It was a Tuesday. Ordinary. Forgettable.


Now it feels like a lifetime ago.


That night, her house was too quiet. Not the usual end-of-the-day calm, but a thick, suffocating stillness. Her parents normally a whirlwind of noise and warmth sat hollow-eyed at the kitchen table. Frozen statues of grief. Emily’s room looked untouched: bed neatly made, clothes folded, books still alphabetized on the shelf. The only thing out of place was her missing backpack.


The police came. Grim-faced, clipped in tone. They asked all the usual questions, methodical and cold. Where had she been last? Who’d she talked to? Did she mention anything odd? Their words were like needles—each one probing deeper into a wound I didn’t even know I had.


They found her backpack the next morning at the edge of the woods. Just sitting there, straps coiled like a sleeping animal. Sheriff Mallory, who always seemed to carry the weight of Hollow Creek’s forgotten mysteries in the slump of his shoulders, stood near the tree line. He warned us the way someone might talk about a loaded gun.


“Stay outta there,” he said, low and rough. “There are things in those woods. Things you don’t understand.”


It was the kind of statement you'd expect in a horror movie but the glint in his eyes made it feel dead serious. Hollow Creek has always had its whispers. Missing hikers. Half-seen things skulking in the shadows. But we’d laughed it off, like everyone else. Until Emily.


I tried to tell myself there had to be an explanation. But the silence in her room wasn’t just absence it was a presence, like something holding its breath. Like something had stepped in and claimed her. The police treated it like a missing-persons case. But I knew better.


She wasn’t just missing. She was taken.


The search went on. Days melted into nights. Helicopters circled, dogs barked, flashlights danced along the outskirts of those cursed trees. But nothing ever came back out. The town held its breath one long, aching pause. Everyone hoped. Some prayed. But the woods... they kept their secrets.


That quiet out there wasn’t natural. It was a silence that pressed on your lungs. Something old was waiting. Watching.


So, I went in.


I brought only a flashlight, a decades-old map of Hollow Creek, and a gut-level certainty that Emily needed me. My parents begged me not to go. They didn’t understand I couldn’t just sit and do nothing. Not when I could feel her, somehow, out there. Not lost. Trapped.


Fog clung low to the earth, wrapping around my ankles as I entered the woods. Branches arched overhead, forming a canopy that swallowed the sky. The trees loomed tall and twisted like bones petrified in a scream. The usual night sounds crickets, owls, rustling leaves were gone. The silence wasn’t just the absence of sound. It was alive.


I walked. My flashlight barely pierced the mist. Every step forward deepened the dread. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something moved with me just beyond the edge of sight. I stopped often, listening to what wasn’t there.


Sometimes I thought I heard something: a shuffle. A creak. A breath not my own. But every time I swung the light, I saw only fog and gnarled wood. Just shadows. Just trees. Nothing real. Nothing you could name.


Still, I kept going.


The trees grew tighter, closer, the path thinning to a thread I could barely follow. My heartbeat was loud enough to drown out everything else. The air stank of damp rot and something... wrong. Old. Like the earth itself was exhaling secrets.


Then I saw it.


The cabin.


It stood hunched among the trees like a wound in the world. Its roof sagged, boards curled with age and mildew. A faint light flickered in a window sickly and wrong, like it didn’t come from any normal flame.


And that’s when I heard the growl.


Low. Deep. Wet. A sound that vibrated through my bones.


I froze.


My flashlight shook in my hands as I turned, slowly. Two eyes glared from the dark. Glowing red, low to the ground like coals in the belly of something cruel and patient.


And they were staring right at me.


Right through me.


I ran.