I don't remember the exact moment we realized we weren't in control anymore.
Maybe it was when Kyle stumbled into a clearing and found… nothing. Not the stream, not the trees we'd passed, not even the path we'd been following. Only the same twisted, gray fog, rising like a living thing between the trunks.
By then, the sun was almost gone, and the cold had started crawling into our bones. Rachel and I were silent, holding onto each other for warmth more than anything else. Kyle tried to speak, tried to sound confident, but every word he said was swallowed by the oppressive forest.
We knew we were being watched.
---
The first night alone was worse than I imagined.
We tried to stay together. No one went more than a few feet away from the other. Every step we took, every breath we drew, echoed like a gunshot in the still air. It was almost too quiet, like the forest itself had paused to watch.
And then it began.
Footsteps.
Soft, deliberate. Circling us. Sometimes close. Sometimes just at the edge of the fog. Always moving.
We didn't speak. We didn't dare. The sound was enough to make your chest tighten until you couldn't breathe.
Rachel whimpered. "They're here. They're coming. I know it."
I swallowed hard. "We'll be fine. We just… have to wait until morning."
She shook her head. "No! Morning won't save us. It won't help!"
I wanted to argue, wanted to tell her she was wrong, but deep down I knew she was right. The forest wasn't normal. And the things inside it… they weren't normal either.
---
Hours passed.
We huddled against a large pine tree, trying to keep out of sight. Kyle scouted briefly, but always came back, eyes wide, hands shaking. Every so often, the whispers returned. Names. Our names. Calling us. Taunting us.
"Ethan…"
I spun around. Nothing.
"Rachel…"
She froze. Her face went pale. "Did you hear that?"
I nodded. "Yes."
We didn't move for what felt like forever. The whispers grew louder, overlapping, almost chanting. It wasn't human. Not entirely.
And then we saw them.
Figures. Just at the edge of the fog. Twisted, elongated shapes, moving unnaturally. Watching. Waiting. One of them tilted its head like it was studying us.
I froze. Rachel grabbed my sleeve, shaking me. "We have to move. Now!"
I didn't argue.
---
We ran.
Branches clawed at our faces, roots snagged our boots. Every step felt heavier than the last, like the forest was pulling us down, slowing us, keeping us inside. The figures followed, darting from shadow to shadow, always just out of reach, but always there.
Kyle screamed something—Rachel, a name, a warning—but it was swallowed by the darkness.
We stumbled into a clearing. A small, decayed cabin stood there. Not much more than four walls and a collapsed roof, but it was shelter, and we were desperate.
We rushed inside. The air smelled of rot, mold, and old wood. Something had been here recently. I could feel it.
We barricaded the door as best we could with fallen beams and furniture.
And then we waited.
---
The cabin offered no comfort.
The whispers followed us. Even inside, we could hear footsteps circling outside, scratching at the walls, rustling through the debris. Something tapped on the window, slow and deliberate, like a knuckle against glass.
Rachel was crying quietly, rocking back and forth in a corner. Kyle stared at the floor, muttering under his breath, over and over. I didn't know what to do, didn't know what to say.
Time stretched. Minutes felt like hours. Hours felt like days.
Then the first touch happened.
Something brushed my shoulder as I reached for a beam. Cold. Damp. Unnatural. I spun around. Nothing. Just shadows.
Rachel screamed, pointing. I turned just in time to see a figure in the corner of the room, pale, barely visible, but its eyes… they glowed. And they weren't human.
It smiled.
I froze. My mouth went dry. The thing stepped closer. No sound, just a slow, deliberate movement.
Kyle lunged at it with a broken chair leg, but it phased through him. Phased through him like he wasn't there, his scream swallowed by the cabin.
Rachel and I ran into a back room, slamming the door behind us. But the whispers followed. "Ethan… Rachel… come play…"
I pressed my back to the wall. She clutched my arm. I could feel her trembling. "What… what do they want?"
I didn't answer. I didn't know.
---
Hours later, exhausted, shaking, and soaked with cold sweat, we finally fell into a fitful sleep.
But sleep in Hollow Pines is a lie.
I dreamed of Mark. Not the Mark I knew. This one had hollow eyes, grinning, his arms outstretched like he was inviting me into the trees. Around him, dozens of figures danced, twisted and contorted, whispering and laughing.
I woke with a scream caught in my throat. Rachel was gone.
I spun around, heart hammering. The door was slightly ajar. Outside, the fog swirled like smoke, and the forest waited.
I ran.
---
I never saw Rachel again.
By morning, it was just Kyle and me. Exhausted, terrified, broken.
We scavenged what we could from the cabin, water from a murky bucket, some moldy bread that might as well have been poison.
We had a plan: survive. Wait until the sun was higher, try to find a path out.
But deep down, we both knew the truth: the forest wasn't letting anyone leave. Not Mark. Not Rachel. Not the rest of us.
Hollow Pines didn't just take. It claimed.
And that night, Kyle and I realized something even worse.
The forest doesn't just collect bodies.
It collects fear.