Lake Taupō, New Zealand.
The dense woods surrounding the pristine lake were almost silent at dusk, save for the occasional flutter of a bird's wings or the whisper of leaves moving in the breeze. But beneath that calm, an unsettling stillness lingered, hanging heavy like a blanket over the quiet town nearby. The people of Taupō had always spoken about the place with a mix of reverence and wariness — a place of beauty, yes, but one that could reveal truths too strange, too dangerous to comprehend.
Emmy Stone, a travel writer from Auckland, had come to Taupō seeking a break from the noise of the city. She needed peace, a respite from the relentless pace of urban life. The allure of the untouched nature surrounding Lake Taupō had drawn her in, along with a promise of quiet solitude. What she didn't expect, however, was that the serenity of the place would come with its own set of horrors.
She arrived in the early evening, her bags barely unpacked before she set off to explore. The town, nestled on the edge of the lake, was peaceful. Its streets were dotted with quaint cottages and family-run shops that sold everything from woolen sweaters to local honey. But when she ventured further toward the lake itself, the landscape began to change. The once inviting green forests seemed darker, more oppressive. The towering pines seemed to form a wall, blocking any real sense of openness, closing her in.
But it wasn't just the physical surroundings that felt wrong. It was the air. It was thick, and as the sun dipped lower in the sky, the shadows stretched unnaturally long. Every now and then, Emmy swore she caught something in her peripheral vision — a flicker, a movement. But when she turned to face it, there was nothing. Her pulse quickened, and she attributed it to nothing more than exhaustion from the long drive.
She decided to return to the small, old-fashioned bed-and-breakfast where she was staying, hoping for a good night's sleep. The owner, an elderly woman named Rose, had been kind and chatty when she checked in. Rose was one of the locals who, like many others, had lived in Taupō for decades, and she had warned Emmy to avoid venturing too deep into the forest at night.
"Not everyone who comes here leaves," Rose had said cryptically, with a knowing look in her eyes. Emmy had thought little of it at the time, chalking it up to small-town superstition.
However, as Emmy sat in the dimly lit B&B, the shadows creeping up the walls and the sound of distant waves lapping at the shore, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. There was a pressure in the air, something inescapable and pressing against her chest. She checked the time — it was nearly midnight.
Then, she heard it.
A sound, low and almost imperceptible at first, but growing louder by the second. A high-pitched whine, like the screech of metal on metal, but there was something more to it. Something alien, almost inhuman. The sound reverberated through the room, as if coming from within the walls themselves.
Emmy stood up, heart hammering in her chest. She listened intently. The noise wasn't coming from outside; it was coming from the house itself. She crept to the window and peered out into the night, hoping to find the source of the sound. But all she saw was the inky darkness of the woods, stretching endlessly, with no sign of life.
A cold shiver ran down her spine. She couldn't take it any longer. She had to investigate.
She grabbed her flashlight and ventured outside, the cold night air biting at her skin. The sound was louder now, almost deafening. It seemed to echo from deep within the forest, pulling her toward the trees. Against every instinct that screamed for her to turn back, Emmy pressed on. Something compelled her forward, a force she couldn't explain.
The trees closed in as she walked deeper into the woods. Her flashlight flickered, casting long, jagged shadows across the path. Every step felt heavier than the last, as though the ground itself was resisting her. She heard the sound again — that awful screeching noise, now accompanied by what seemed like whispers. Low voices, like a chorus of unseen figures, murmuring just beyond the reach of her hearing.
She pushed through the thick underbrush, desperate to find the source of the noise. As she moved deeper into the forest, the air grew colder, and the whispers turned into faint cries. The sound of metal grinding against metal became clearer, sharper, like the screeching of an ancient machine that had long since been forgotten.
And then, she saw it.
The clearing was eerily silent, except for the relentless screeching that now filled the air. At the center of the clearing was a massive stone structure — part altar, part forgotten temple — covered in thick vines. It was ancient, weathered by time, and the stone had an otherworldly gleam to it. Emmy's breath caught in her throat as she approached, unable to look away from the structure. It seemed to pulsate, as if it were alive.
The air around it felt thick, almost viscous. The noise had reached a fever pitch, like a chorus of tortured souls screaming in unison. The whispers now sounded clearer, distinct — voices begging for release, pleading with her to leave.
Her flashlight blinked out, plunging her into darkness. The only light now came from the faint glow of the stone structure itself. She could feel the presence around her — figures, shadows, watching her, waiting.
And then she saw them.
In the periphery of her vision, figures emerged from the shadows, their faces twisted in agony, their forms flickering like half-formed memories. She blinked, and they were gone. She took another step forward, and there they were again, more distinct now. Their mouths moved as if they were trying to speak, but no sound emerged.
Something inside her snapped. She turned to flee, but her legs felt frozen, heavy. It was as though the very ground was holding her in place. The whispers grew louder, more frantic, and Emmy screamed, her voice swallowed by the oppressive darkness.
In the clearing, the stone structure trembled, the screeching noise now an unbearable crescendo. A single word echoed in her mind — leave. It wasn't her voice, but something else, something ancient. Something that had been here long before she ever arrived.
Emmy fought with all her might, her heart pounding as she willed herself to move. But the shadows closed in around her, and the last thing she heard before everything went black was the unearthly shriek that seemed to tear through her very soul.
---
The next morning, Emmy's body was found by a group of local hikers, her face frozen in an expression of pure terror. Her flashlight lay beside her, its beam still shining toward the stone structure in the woods.
Some said she had simply wandered too far into the woods, lost in the thick forest. Others whispered of the Te Aroha — an ancient Maori legend of a place where time, memory, and reality itself warped and twisted. A place that should never be disturbed.
But those who truly knew the land, who had heard the stories passed down through generations, knew better.
Some doors were meant to remain closed.