Out Of The Woods

The Forest Was Too Quiet

Not peaceful. Not untouched. This was the kind of quiet that pressed against your ears, made your heartbeat hammer like a drum in the deep of the forest. A quiet so heavy it felt alive, judging every misstep, every breath, every flutter of curiosity that drew me forward.

I had wandered off the trail that morning, chasing sunlight that danced through the canopy like a promise. Wind teased the leaves into a frenzied shuffle, as if laughing at my curiosity. I paused to touch a tree, rough bark under my fingers, feeling the pulse of life beneath its surface.

“Shortcut,” I whispered, more to myself than anyone else.

The forest laughed back.

By noon, the trees had changed. Maples gave way to oaks twisted like gnarled hands, their bark cracked like dry skin stretched over ancient bones. Roots clawed at the earth, tangling underfoot, testing my resolve. The air smelled faintly of smoke—sweet, curling, alive. Even the birds were silent, as if the forest itself held its breath.

I slowed my steps, straining to hear the wind through the leaves. Each snap of a twig underfoot sounded too loud. My pulse hammered in my ears. Every step felt weighted, heavy with an unnamed fear. Sunlight above flickered strangely, casting moving patterns across the forest floor.

Then I saw it: the FIRE.

Not a wildfire. Not destructive. Dancing. Twisting. Licking the ground and drawing back from the trees, leaving patterns that felt deliberate—hungry, watching, almost sentient. My pulse spiked. I should have turned. I didn’t.

A scream tore through the stillness.

High-pitched. Trembling. Human. A girl’s voice.

“Hello?” My own voice sounded alien. Only the FIRE answered.

I stumbled forward, branches scratching, thorns tearing at my sleeves. The forest shifted under my feet. Mossy roots writhed like serpents. Shadows lunged and recoiled in time with my heartbeat. Shapes flickered at the edges of vision. The forest watched.

Then I saw her: a girl, hollow-eyed, fading into mist.

“Come,” she whispered.

I didn’t want to. Every instinct screamed to turn back, but curiosity, dread, and something deeper—something I could not name—pulled me forward.

I stopped by a twisted oak, gripping the rough bark. Memories of childhood hikes, of laughter in sun-dappled woods, flickered briefly. That memory felt distant, fragile, and wrong here. The forest swallowed the warmth and left me cold.

I pressed forward. Each step was careful, calculated. Moss softened my footfalls, but the uneven ground threatened to send me tumbling. Leaves clung to my legs; brambles tore at my sleeves. I could hear whispers, or thought I could—rustling sounds that almost sounded like words, half-formed syllables carried on the wind.

The path ended at a wall of thick branches. At first glance, it was just a thicket, impenetrable. But then… a door appeared. Not wood. Not metal. Branches, thick and interwoven, glowing faintly. My chest tightened. The air hummed. My instincts screamed. I stepped through anyway.

Light blinded me for a heartbeat. When my eyes adjusted, the world had shifted. Sunlight streamed through leaves that shimmered unnaturally, gold and green, shadows stretching at impossible angles. The FIRE hovered at the edge, distant but aware.

I took a step. Then another. Every leaf, every branch, every whispering shadow seemed to guide me—or perhaps watch me fail.

The girl was gone.

I followed footprints that weren’t mine, twisting through the trees. Every snap of a twig, every rustle of a leaf, sounded louder than it should. The forest breathed around me. Whispered. Watched. Shadows moved like liquid, curling along the ground, pausing when I paused.

Time stretched. Hours, maybe minutes—hard to tell. The sun dipped low. Colors bled into one another. Strange markings carved into bark: spirals, arrows, symbols I didn’t understand but felt compelled to follow. Mushrooms glowed faintly in clusters at the base of twisted roots. A crow’s distant caw echoed too many times, sending a shiver down my spine.

I paused by a cluster of oaks, heart hammering, chest heaving. The girl appeared again, silently beckoning.

“Do you see it now?” she whispered.

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure I did. She turned, gliding through the trees like mist, leaving faint echoes of laughter in the rustling leaves.

Branches bent back as I ran, roots attempting to catch my feet. Leaves scratched my face. Every so often, I caught glimpses of movement—figures between the trees, watching. The forest was alive. Every leaf, every shadow, every puff of wind seemed orchestrated, deliberate, sentient.

Twilight deepened. Shadows reached long fingers into the clearing. A chill slid over my shoulders. I stumbled over a root and caught myself on a mossy stone, breathing hard. My legs ached. My arms trembled.

The fire’s edge flickered along the forest floor, distant, like a predator circling. Shapes shimmered in the smoke, twisting into faces that weren’t quite human. My lungs burned, chest heaving, and still I followed.

Branches bent back to block false paths, roots rose like barriers, guiding me or testing me. Every moment stretched. The wind whispered threats, promises, names I did not know.

Then I saw the pool.

A pool of still water reflected not the canopy above but stars I knew weren’t there. My reflection shimmered, flickered, split. My breath caught.

The girl appeared again. Hollow eyes that seemed empty yet knew everything.

“It’s this way,” she whispered, pointing toward a door in the ground. Circular, woven from roots, glowing faintly.

Vibrations ran up my arm when I touched it. The FIRE flared, stretching along the forest floor, then receding as if acknowledging my passage. The forest exhaled.

I stepped through.

Sunlight.

Normal air. Grass under my palms. Trees ordinary, still. Birds sang.

I was out of the woods.

Hours passed before I found the trail back to the cabin. My knees were scraped, my shirt torn, and my hands bore faint burns from touching the glowing roots. I stumbled home, exhausted.

No one believed me, of course. Smoke in the air, branches bent oddly, footprints that led nowhere. Just another day, another forest, another story nobody would believe.

But I remember.

The FIRE. The whispers. The hidden door.

And the girl.

I will never forget.

Even now, the memory lingers. The air smells faintly of smoke sometimes. Shadows feel longer at the edges of my vision. And I know, deep down, that the forest waits. Patient. Eternal.

Though I am out of the woods, it will always follow me.

THE END