It's strange how quickly laughter dies.
Just twelve hours earlier, we were six friends chasing a weekend thrill, laughing too loud, talking too much, certain the world was ours. But now, with the fire a heap of cold ashes and Mark's phone clutched in Kyle's shaking hands, we were five — and the forest felt infinite.
No one said anything for a long time. The night stretched on around us, every rustle and snap amplified a hundred times. Even the stars seemed to pull back, hidden behind a blanket of moving clouds.
"We're leaving," Jenna said suddenly, breaking the silence. Her voice trembled — the first time I'd ever heard fear from her. "I don't care if we have to drive all night. We're leaving now."
Rachel nodded quickly. "Yeah. He's probably gone back to the road. Maybe he's already waiting for us."
But Kyle didn't move. He just stared at the phone in his hands, the cracked screen dimly reflecting the firelight. "The blood," he muttered. "There's blood on it."
"It could be anything," I offered, though I didn't believe it.
He looked up at me then, and in the dying light, I saw something shift in his face. Kyle — always unshakable, always in control — looked lost. "We can't just leave him."
Sarah stepped forward. "Kyle, we don't even know where he went. It's pitch black. If we go out there now, we'll all get lost."
Her words settled over us like a heavy blanket. She was right. The forest wasn't just dark — it was a void, swallowing light whole. The idea of stumbling through it, blindly calling Mark's name, felt like suicide.
So we made a plan.
We'd wait until morning. At first light, we'd split into pairs, sweep the surrounding area, and head back to the road if we found nothing. It was the only plan that made sense — the only one that didn't feel like we were digging our own graves.
But that didn't mean we slept.
---
The night stretched on forever. I lay awake in my tent, staring at the canvas ceiling, listening. Every sound set my nerves on fire.
There — footsteps?
No, just the wind.
There — whispering?
No, the trees. Just the trees.
But then came the one sound I couldn't explain.
A tap-tap-tap, light and rhythmic, like fingers drumming against the fabric of my tent.
I held my breath. It came again. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Slow. Deliberate. Coming from just above my head.
I reached for my flashlight and clicked it on, but the moment light flooded the tent, the tapping stopped. Silence.
"Ethan?"
I nearly screamed. Rachel's voice came from outside, just a few feet away.
"Are you awake?"
"Yeah," I whispered back. "You hear that?"
"Hear what?" she asked. Her voice sounded small, fragile. "I can't sleep. Can I… come in?"
I unzipped the flap and let her crawl inside. She curled up beside me, knees to her chest, eyes darting around like a trapped animal's.
"I don't like this," she whispered. "I keep thinking I hear… something. Moving. Circling us."
I swallowed hard. "It's just the forest. Animals, probably."
She shook her head. "No. Not animals. Footsteps."
I didn't have an answer for that. Because deep down, I'd heard them too.
---
Morning came slow and gray, a thin fog threading its way through the trees. The fire pit was damp with dew, and the ground felt colder than it had any right to be.
Mark's tent still sat empty.
We didn't bother with breakfast. Kyle called us together, his voice tight and businesslike, like a soldier trying to keep command of his unit.
"Sarah and I will search north, along the river," he said. "Ethan, you and Rachel take the south side. Jenna, stay here and try to get a signal. If we don't find anything by noon, we regroup and head out."
We nodded. None of us argued — not even Jenna, though the idea of splitting up clearly terrified her.
I grabbed my pack and flashlight, though the morning light should have been enough. Something about the forest made me feel naked without it. Rachel fell into step beside me, silent except for the crunch of leaves beneath our boots.
We walked. And walked. And walked.
The deeper we went, the stranger the forest became. The air grew thicker, heavier, like it was pressing down on us. The trees stood closer together, their twisted roots breaking through the soil like skeletal hands.
"Do you think he's okay?" Rachel asked softly.
I didn't answer right away. "I don't know."
We moved on, calling his name every few minutes. No reply. No sound at all, except the forest itself — alive and yet utterly lifeless.
Then Rachel stopped so suddenly I nearly ran into her.
"What is it?"
She pointed ahead, to something half-buried in the dirt. I crouched down and brushed away the leaves.
It was Mark's flashlight. The glass was shattered, and the handle was sticky with something dark.
My stomach twisted.
"There's more," Rachel whispered.
I followed her gaze. About twenty feet away, something hung from a branch. At first, I thought it was another wooden totem — until I saw the fabric.
It was Mark's hoodie. Torn. Stained. Hanging like a warning.
"Jesus Christ…" I muttered, my heart hammering.
Rachel stepped back. "We have to go. Now."
"Wait," I said. "Look."
The ground beneath the tree was disturbed — footprints, deep and erratic, leading deeper into the woods. Some were Mark's. But there were others too. Bare feet, large and uneven, like someone — or something — had been dragging its weight along the forest floor.
"We're not alone," I said, the words tasting like ash.
Rachel grabbed my arm. "Ethan, please. We have to go back. Tell Kyle. We're not equipped for this."
I should have listened to her. But something tugged at me — curiosity, fear, something primal that whispered closer.
And then I saw it.
A smear of blood on a tree trunk, low to the ground, leading in the same direction as the prints.
I tightened my grip on the flashlight. "We follow it."
Rachel stared at me like I'd lost my mind. "Are you insane?"
"Just a little further," I said. "If he's hurt, we need to help him."
---
We followed the trail deeper and deeper until the trees grew so thick the light barely touched the forest floor. My lungs burned, my legs ached, and every instinct screamed to turn back.
That's when we found it.
A clearing. Small, circular, ringed by stones carved with symbols I didn't recognize. In the center stood a wooden structure — not quite a cross, not quite a stake. Tied to it was a bundle of something wrapped in shredded cloth.
My heart stopped.
It wasn't Mark. It wasn't a body. But it was human. Bones, carefully arranged, bound together with sinew and rope, decorated with feathers and scraps of clothing.
A shrine.
Rachel clapped a hand over her mouth. "What the hell is this?"
I stepped closer, every nerve in my body screaming. The bones were old — too old — but the blood on the ground beneath them was fresh. Still wet.
Then, from the shadows beyond the clearing, something moved.
I spun, flashlight beam slicing through the gloom. For a moment, I saw nothing. And then — eyes.
Dozens of them. Watching. Unblinking. Too high off the ground to be animal, too still to be human.
"Ethan," Rachel hissed. "We need to go."
The eyes blinked. And then they were gone.
We ran. No plan, no direction — just blind panic, branches clawing at our faces as we tore through the forest. I didn't stop until I saw the faint wisp of smoke from our campfire.
Kyle and Sarah were already there. Jenna was pacing near the tents, phone in hand, tears streaking her face.
"Where the hell were you?" Kyle shouted. "We were about to go looking for you!"
"Bones," I gasped, doubling over. "A shrine. Someone's out there. Watching us."
"What are you talking about?"
Rachel was shaking so hard she could barely speak. "We saw eyes. Human eyes. Dozens. They were waiting."
Silence fell over the camp.
And then, from somewhere in the distance, came a sound that turned my blood to ice.
A scream.
Mark's voice.
---
We didn't think. We ran. All five of us, crashing through the trees toward the sound. It came again — closer this time — a raw, animal cry of terror.
"Mark!" Kyle shouted. "We're coming!"
The forest seemed to twist around us, the paths shifting, trees closing in. I swear the ground itself was different — familiar landmarks gone, replaced by gnarled roots and strange carvings etched into bark.
The scream cut off. Just like that. Silence.
"Where is he?" Jenna whispered.
We reached a small hollow, empty except for a single object lying in the dirt.
Mark's shoe. Torn, smeared with blood.
Sarah started sobbing. Jenna backed away, shaking her head over and over. "No. No, no, no…"
And then — whispering.
Low. Inhuman. Coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once.
"Leave…"
The word slithered through the trees, too distorted to be a voice, too human to be wind.
"Leave…"
We ran. We didn't talk, didn't think — we just ran. Back to the camp, to the SUV, to anywhere that wasn't this nightmare.
But when we broke through the treeline, lungs burning, hearts pounding, we stopped dead.
Our camp was gone.
The tents. The fire pit. The car. Every trace of us. Vanished.
And hanging from the tree at the edge of the clearing, swinging gently in the breeze, was another wooden totem.
This one had a face.
Mark's face.