The air hung heavy and wet, clinging to Sarah’s skin like a cold, second skin. Every step crunched through the mulch of rotting leaves, each sound unnaturally loud in the graveyard silence. The forest, once filled with whispers of wind and life, now listened. Only her heartbeat broke the hush a frantic thud echoing through her ribs like a warning bell.


Her flashlight trembled in her grip. Its weak beam barely sliced the fog that slithered between the trees, coiling low like it meant to trip her. This wasn’t weather it was something else. The mist felt aware, its damp breath pressed against her, clinging, weighing.


Doubt coiled in her gut like a cold serpent. Sheriff Brody, her parents, even sweet Mrs. Henderson had begged her not to go. They’d whispered warnings, told her to leave it to professionals, to trust that some darkness wasn’t meant to be disturbed. But Emily was gone. Not just missing gone, like the stories said. And stories didn’t leave behind backpacks.


She moved forward, flashlight darting across twisted branches that clawed out like skeletal hands. The smell of rot grew thicker, laced with something metallic sharp and tangy, like old blood and rusted iron. Sarah pulled her jacket tighter, but the cold bit deeper than cloth could fight. It sank into her bones.


Still, she walked on.


With every step into that bleak maze, the woods grew more oppressive. Trees crowded closer, the darkness thickened. Then, her ankle gave way on a gnarled root. She fell hard, a cry slipping free, but it was eaten immediately by the silence.


Flat on her back, she blinked up at branches that looked like prison bars. But then something caught her eye.


A light.


Dim. Blue, white. Pulsing.


She pushed herself up, biting back the pain. It wasn’t firelight. It shimmered too coldly for that. Limping, she followed the faint glow, pushing through brush and fog until she reached a clearing.


There, nestled between moss-choked stones, grew a small cluster of strange fungi.


They looked like tiny lanterns carved from ghost bone, their caps translucent and veined, glowing with a soft, bluish rhythm like breath caught in stillness. They grew in no natural pattern, as if arranged with intention. The air around them felt colder, like it recoiled from their light.


And behind them: the cabin.


Slumped and crooked, its wood bowed with age. The windows were black pits. That eerie glow maybe not the mushrooms alone seeped from within, painting long, twitching shadows across the clearing.


Sarah took a step.


A growl shattered the quiet low, wet, and near. Her heart spiked. She froze, raising her light.


Eyes glinted from the dark.


Red. Watching. Waiting.


They were far too low to belong to anything human… and far too knowing to be just an animal.


Her stomach flipped, nausea rising in a wave. The stories were true. The Whispers weren’t just wind in the trees. They had eyes. Teeth. Purpose.


The growl deepened. Something moved in the brush.


She should run. But she didn’t. Something pulled her forward fear and stubborn hope tangled together. Maybe Emily had been here. Maybe she still was.


Sarah inched toward the cabin. The front door sagged open, inviting and ominous. The blood scent intensified, thick and metallic. She hesitated at the threshold, her hand trembling on the splintered wood. A heavy scraping sound echoed behind her something dragging across the ground. Closer now.


For Emily.


She pushed the door open.


Inside, the glow thickened, bathing the cabin in ghost light. The air reeked of mold and something far worse something rotted long before it died. The room was a shattered relic of life: broken furniture, cobwebs strung like bone lace, strange symbols carved deep into the walls. The fire in the hearth hissed and popped, casting flickers like things trying to climb out of the shadows.


Then she saw it.


A backpack.


Emily’s.


Sarah nearly collapsed, a cry catching in her throat. Relief surged and curdled just as fast. If Emily had been here…, where was she now?


She stepped toward the bag. As her fingers brushed the worn fabric, the fire blinked out.


Instant darkness.


The silence that followed wasn’t empty it was crowded.


And then came the whisper.


It slid through the dark like a blade.


It knew her name.