The cabin wasn't just shelter.
It was a warning.
Kyle and I stumbled into it at dusk, legs trembling, muscles screaming, hearts hammering like war drums. The fog had thickened, curling around the broken windows like fingers trying to drag us back into the forest. Every step we took, the floorboards groaned beneath our weight. Every shadow seemed to twitch.
I could feel it the moment we crossed the threshold — this place had been lived in. Or at least… used.
The walls were etched with symbols. Strange, jagged lines that twisted and turned, forming shapes I couldn't comprehend. Some looked like letters, some like hands reaching out, and some… faces. Small faces, screaming silently, eyes hollow.
Kyle ran a hand over one, his fingers trembling. "What… the hell is this?"
I swallowed hard. "Not sure. But it's old. Really old. And whoever made it… they weren't normal."
---
We explored cautiously.
The floor was littered with debris: broken furniture, rotting food, scraps of clothing. But there were signs of more recent activity too — a journal, tied together with twine, and a wooden box with a rusted latch. I picked up the journal, brushing off the dirt.
The pages were yellowed and brittle. Kyle leaned over my shoulder as I began to read aloud.
"The forest remembers. The Watchers are patient. They take those who wander too deep. Those who hear the whispers are already chosen."
Rachel's scream echoed faintly in my memory. I swallowed hard, flipping the page.
"Do not try to escape. They do not forgive. They do not forget. Offerings are required. Blood, fear, despair. The forest grows stronger with each soul it claims."
Kyle shook his head violently. "This… this is insane. It's a story. Someone's insane."
I didn't answer. I couldn't. Because the journal smelled like something rotten, like death, and yet… fresh. As if someone had been here recently.
---
We found more.
A box of bones, arranged neatly, like trophies. Feathers and scraps of clothing intertwined with the skeletal remains. I choked back a sob.
"This… this is what happened to them," I whispered. "Mark, Rachel… Sarah… maybe others…"
Kyle swallowed hard, silent. His face went pale. "We need to get out. Now."
I nodded, but my mind wasn't on escaping. Something gnawed at me — a feeling, deep and primal, that we were being watched. That the forest had eyes everywhere. That the Watchers, whoever or whatever they were, knew we were here.
And they were patient.
---
As night fell, we tried to secure the cabin. I barricaded the doors while Kyle kept watch with a broken chair leg.
The whispers started again. Soft, barely audible. Names. Our names. Ethan… Kyle… Ethan… Kyle…
I pressed my back against the wall, shaking, and listened.
Then came the tapping.
Slow. Steady. On the roof.
I could hear it moving, circling. I tried to convince myself it was branches, raccoons, anything but what I knew it was.
"Stay calm," I whispered to Kyle. "It's just the forest. It's… not real."
He didn't answer. He just stared into the shadows, eyes wide, muttering under his breath.
---
Hours passed like this.
The forest pressed against the cabin, whispering, tapping, scratching. Every sound made my stomach knot, every shadow felt alive.
And then Kyle screamed.
I spun just in time to see him lifted off the floor. Not by human hands — by something invisible, weightless, yet impossibly strong. He clawed at the air, flailing, hitting the walls, but the force didn't relent.
And then… he vanished.
No mark. No sound. Just gone.
I screamed, my voice tearing through the cabin. I ran, tearing at the walls, kicking at the floor, searching, but he was gone.
And that's when I saw the shadows.
Figures, dozens of them, moving in impossible ways. Limbs stretched, faces twisted, eyes glowing red. They circled me, chanting faintly in a language I didn't know.
"Ethan…" the whispers hissed. "Play…"
---
I ran.
I don't know how far, how long. The cabin disappeared behind me, swallowed by fog and trees. The forest itself seemed to shift, guiding me somewhere — or maybe trapping me further.
Eventually, I stumbled into a small clearing. There, I saw something familiar.
A small shrine. Bones. Clothing. A single shoe.
I recognized it instantly. Rachel's.
I fell to my knees, stomach heaving. I shouldn't have looked. I knew I shouldn't have.
But the forest had already marked her. And now, I was next.
From the shadows, something emerged. Not fully human, not fully animal. Twisted. Dark. Its eyes reflected the pale moonlight, and it smiled.
I ran again, heart pounding, lungs burning, never looking back.
---
By dawn, I was alone.
The journal, the cabin, the Watchers — all gone. Swallowed by the forest, leaving no trace.
I knew one thing: survival wasn't enough. Not in Hollow Pines.
I had to escape.
Or become the next offering.