The city's never-ending noise dulled into an oppressive silence as the old sedan rattled deeper into the thick woods. Alex pressed his forehead against the cold glass, watching trees crowd in like ancient sentinels. Their gnarled branches forged a dense canopy that swallowed the fading light whole, shadows twisting as the road wound on.
Since age twelve, ever since the crash that stole his parents, Alex's life had been a blur of new cities, new schools, and new faces. His uncle Grey—stern, distant, and silent—had been his reluctant guardian. He never stayed long enough in one place to root himself, making friends became a cruel game of catch-and-release. That loneliness had shaped him, a quiet armor he wore even now.
Alex's thoughts drifted, tangled in memories of his mother's laughter and his father's sudden absence. His uncle drove on without a word, eyes flickering anxiously to the rearview mirror like shadows might chase them down this forgotten road.
The small village they sought lay distant and forgotten, an island of stillness surrounded by unyielding woods. Alex's mother and father had grown up here—a fact Grey reminded him of only with rare, quiet mentions that felt like relics from a past Alex never knew.
The cabin appeared suddenly, as if born from the mist itself. Its weather-beaten wood leaned with age, vines like fingers clutching the sides, windows clouded and hollow as if they kept secrets. A faded wreath clung stubbornly to the door, its colors long leached by sun and storm.
Grey parked, hands shaking slightly as he took the keys. "Here we are," he said, voice low and rough, forcing a tight smile.
"Home for now."
Alex pushed open the door, boots crunching on loose stones. The air, thick with pine and damp earth, tugged a shiver down his spine. From the edge of the trees, shadows flickered—watchers unseen but felt.
Inside, dust and lingering smoke wrapped around them like a shroud. Old photos lined the walls, faces frozen in sepia tones—his mother's bright smile, his father's familiar gaze, ghosts of a family lost to time.
Grey's voice was barely above a whisper."It isn't much. But it's what we have. We'll make it work."
Alex nodded, eyes distant, the weight of unease pressing deep in his chest. This village—this cabin at the woods' edge—felt less like refuge and more like a cage.
The worn hinges groaned as Grey pushed open the cabin door, the scent of damp wood and old smoke washing over them. Dust floated like tiny ghosts in the fading light spilling through threadbare curtains. There was a silence thick enough to swallow words, as if the house itself held its breath.
Grey flicked on a flickering overhead bulb, revealing a cramped but sturdy space. "I'll show you around," he said quietly, voice rough from travel and years spent in unspoken grief.
Alex trailed behind, eyes scanning the cabin's sparse details—a cracked stone fireplace, a creaking dining table scarred with stains, faded portraits hanging crooked on the walls. They passed through a small living room, the kitchen cluttered with rusted utensils and aged appliances that buzzed weakly to life.
Grey led the way to a modest staircase, narrow and worn, that climbed to a dusty attic with cobwebs stretched like silvery lace over forgotten trunks. "Your mother's old room is here." He pointed to a closed door at the end of the hall, its peeling paint revealing layers of decades. "Figured you might want to take it."
Alex hesitated but didn't argue. The master bedroom was larger, on the other side of the cabin, and Grey nodded toward it. "I'll take the master. Figured you'd find this one... more familiar."
Inside his mother's old room, sunlight struggled through a cracked window, catching motes of dust that drifted in stillness. The walls wore faded wallpaper patterned with tiny flowers, and in one corner stood an antique wooden dresser. The floorboards creaked beneath his boots, but for the first time in years, something felt like a fragile thread connecting him to a past lost long ago.
They spent the rest of the afternoon scrubbing floors, clearing dust from forgotten shelves, and unpacking the boxes Grey had brought. Alex unfolded his few belongings, lining them carefully on the rickety table.
When he opened an old bookshelf drawer, something slipped out — a small, weathered diary tied with a faded ribbon. Without a word, Alex tucked it beneath his shirt, the leather cold and worn against his skin.
The hands of the clock on the peeling wall had spun far beyond morning by the time they stopped. It was close to six in the evening now, and a rumble stirred in Alex's stomach—a sharp reminder he'd skipped lunch during the drive.
Grey hesitated before grabbing a battered lantern. "Dinner's early tonight. We'll make do with what we have."
Alex nodded, the cabin settling around them like a slumbering beast. Outside, the shadows stretched longer, darkness bleeding its way closer to the edge of the woods.
The cabin felt colder now as dusk pressed heavier shadows into the corners. The stale air clung to and settled around them while Grey stoked the small fireplace, the faint crackle struggling to lift the silence. A modest meal of stew and bread sat steaming on the chipped wooden table, the warmth of the food slightly offsetting the chill in the cabin.
Alex sat across from Grey, a tightening in his chest that wasn't from hunger. He pushed a spoon through the thick stew, eyes flicking to his uncle's stoic face. The silence stretched too long before Grey finally spoke."Hungry?" Grey's voice was gruff, and it felt less like a question and more like a reminder.
Alex nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat. "Yeah. Skipped lunch 'cause of the drive."Grey grunted. "Long drive. Could've eaten something before we left."
Alex's fingers tightened around the spoon. He wanted to say something—anything—but the words caught in his throat like cold shadows. It was always like this. Trying to build something from scraps of silence, but ending up with fractures.
"So," Grey said, shifting in his chair, eyes distant, "how are you holding up?"
Alex lifted his eyes. "I don't know." A pause. "It's... different here. I don't think I like it."
Grey's gaze hardened for a moment but softened quickly. "It's not the city. I get it." He chewed the edge of his lip.
"But this is where your folks grew up. It's... home."
Alex looked down. Home was a word he barely recognized anymore. A ghost from a life stolen, buried beneath years of moving and chaos. "I don't know how long we'll be here," he said quietly.
"Long enough," Grey replied, voice low. "We need to get through this. Together."
The words hung heavy in the air, as if testing their fragile bond. Alex wanted to believe him, but the distance between them was like the forest outside—deep, dark, and impenetrable.The fire flickered, casting long shadows on the walls. Alex's stomach rumbled again, louder now, breaking the tension. He forced a small, tired smile.
"I'm starving."
Grey chuckled softly, a rare sound. "Good. Eat up. We've got a long road ahead."For a moment, the room felt less like a cage and more like a beginning.
After the last bite was swallowed and the quiet clinks of plates and spoons echoed, Grey stood and grabbed a damp cloth. He began wiping the chipped wooden table with deliberate slow strokes, the fading light catching sweat on his furrowed brow.
Alex pushed back his chair and started collecting the empty bowls and the crusty bread plate. They worked side by side in silence, the only sound the soft rustle of cloth and the occasional creak of the cabin.
As Grey put down the cloth, he fixed Alex with a steady gaze. "Listen, Alex—there's something you need to know before this gets any darker."Alex paused, a damp plate in his hands. "What is it?"Grey's eyes darkened, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. "Don't go out into the forest after sunset. Not until sunrise."Alex raised an eyebrow, curiosity mixed with defiance stirring inside him. "Why not? Just wild animals, right?"Grey exhaled heavily, as if weighing his words carefully. "Yeah, wild animals—boars, maybe wolves. Things that don't take kindly to strangers wandering their territory at night." He paused, then added quietly, "There... could be other things. Things best left alone."Alex caught the way Grey's jaw tightened. He sensed his uncle was holding back something, not telling him the whole truth.He studied Grey's guarded expression and decided not to press. "Okay... I won't go in the forest after dark."Grey gave a curt nod. "Good. It's dangerous. And not just because of the animals."
The unspoken warning hung in the air, thick and heavy — like the woods themselves were watching, waiting.