The Forest of Forgotten Footsteps

The Forest of the Forgotten Footsteps

It wasn’t supposed to be a big hike.

Just a short loop behind the cabin, a chance to stretch his legs and maybe sweat out the whiskey. Charlie had come to the mountains to ‘reset,’ which was code for ‘avoid his inbox and cry in peace.’ He brought books he wouldn’t read, food he wouldn’t cook, and a journal he’d already lost.

The trail started fine. Birds chirped. Leaves rustled. His boots made satisfying crunches. But somewhere between the mossy boulder and the tree that looked like it was flipping him off, Charlie realised he was no longer on a trail.

“Okay,” he said aloud, trying to sound like someone who had watched survival documentaries. “No big deal. I’ll just retrace my steps.”

He turned around.

The forest had rearranged itself.

The boulder was gone. The rude tree was now polite. Everything was slightly… off. As though the woods had been shuffled while he blinked.

“Cool,” he muttered. “Love that for me.”

He walked. Not panicked – yet. Just determined. But the forest did not cooperate. Paths led nowhere. Trees leaned in like gossiping old ladies. A koala threw a gum tree branch at him with suspicious accuracy. Hours passed. His phone had no signal. His energy bar was now a memory. He sat on a log and tried not to cry. That’s when he heard the voice.

“Lost, are we?”

Charlie jumped. A woman stood nearby, wearing a cloak made of leaves and holding a staff that looked rather like a mop.

“Uh,” he said. “Yes?”

She squinted. “You don’t look like a hero.”

“I’m not.”

“Good,” she said. “Heroes are exhausting.”

She settled beside him, uninvited and unapologetic. Her cloak rustled with every shift, like old secrets pretending to be new. Her eyes were the colour of storm clouds.

“I’m Charlie.”

“I’m Maria. Forest witch. Part-time. Mostly retired.”

Charlie blinked. “Forest witch?”

She nodded. “I used to turn people into frogs. Now I just give directions.”

“Oh. Great. Can you help me get back?”

Maria sighed. “I could. But the forest bought you here for a reason.”

Charlie frowned. “I’m pretty sure it was just bad navigation.”

Maria snorted. “The Forest of Forgotten Footsteps doesn’t do random.”

He looked around. “That’s what this place is called?”

“Unofficially. Officially it’s just ‘The Forest.’ Boring!”

Charlie rubbed his face. “I came here to get away from everything. My job, my ex, my inbox. I didn’t mean to get emotionally audited by foliage!”

Maria stood. “Come on. I’ll take you to the cabin.”

“There’s a cabin?”

“There’s always a cabin.”

The cabin leaned slightly, as if burdened by secrets. It was cozy in the way forgotten places are – warm, cluttered, and steeped in the scent of cinnamon and old mistakes. A fox slept on the rug. A kettle whistled. Maria handed Charlie a mug of something that tasted like nostalgia.

“Why does this taste like my grandmother’s kitchen?”

“Because it is,” she said. “Sort of.”

Charlie sat by the fire. “So… what now?”

Maria shrugged. “Depends. Some people find answers. Some people find themselves. One guy found a talking mushroom that quoted Shakespeare and decided he’d peaked.”

Charlie stared into the flames. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to find.”

Maria poked the fire. “Maybe nothing. Maybe you just needed to be lost.”

That night, Charlie dreamed of a younger version of himself. He was barefoot, laughing, and chasing butterflies. His father was there, whole and smiling. His ex was there too, but they were happy, like they’d never broken each other.

He woke with tears on his face and the fox curled against his leg.

Maria was brewing something that smelled like damp leaves and old books.

“Did you dream?” she asked.

Charlie nodded.

“Good. The forest likes you.”

“Is that… good?”

She shrugged. “It’s better than what happened to the last guy.”

Charlie frowned. “What happened?”

She narrowed her eyes. “He asked too many questions.”

Charlie swallowed. “And?”

She leaned in slightly, voice low. “The forest keeps him now and unless you want to end up as an echo through the trees, maybe pace your questions.”

On the third day, Charlie found a mirror hanging from a tree.

It reflected not his face, but moments – his first heartbreak, his worst mistake, the time he lied to his mother, the time he forgave someone who didn’t deserve it…

He stared for a long time. Maria didn’t interrupt. When he finally turned away, the mirror was gone.

On the fifth day, he asked Maria if he could stay.

She looked at him for longer than felt comfortable. “You already have.”

Charlie frowned. “What do you mean?”

Maria stirred her tea, slow and absent. “You’ve been here a very long time, Charlie.”

“No, I just got here a few days ago.”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t even blink.

Charlie leaned forward. “Why did you retire?”

Maria sighed. “I broke the rules. Tried to help someone who wasn’t supposed to be helped.”

Charlie felt the air shift. “Who?”

She gazed at him. “You.”

The forest led him out the next morning. The trail reappeared and the rude tree waved goodbye. Charlie stepped into the sunlight and found the trailhead exactly where he’d left it. But something was different. The air felt older and the silence deeper. He walked toward the parking lot, but his car wasn’t there. Instead, a wooden post stood at the edge of the trail. It was weathered and covered with moss. A plaque was nailed to it.

IN MEMORY OF CHARLES ‘CHARLIE’ CAMPBELL

Lost to the forest, 2013

He was searching for something the world could not give

May the woods keep him eternally safe.

Charlie stared.

His name. His face etched faintly into the metal. A photo he didn’t remember taking. A date that didn’t make sense. Thirteen years ago. He stepped back, heart pounding. The forest behind him rustled gently, like breath. Marla stood at the edge of the trees, watching.

“You weren’t supposed to remember,” she said softly.

Charlie looked at her. “Why did you let me?”

She smiled. “Because you asked.”

He turned back to the plaque and ran his fingers over the metal and the weathered wood of the post.

“I don’t think I want to leave,” he said.

“Maria didn’t move. “Most don’t once they know.”

Charlie stepped towards her. “What happens if I stay?”

She tilted her head. “You stop being a visitor. You become part of the forest.”

“What does that mean?”

Maria’s stormy eyes darkened, but not with fear. With memories.

“It means the forest remembers you. You’ll walk its paths, whisper through its leaves, appear in the dreams of the lost. You’ll be a story. A shadow. A guide.”

Charlie looked down at his hands. They shimmered faintly, like sunlight through fog.

“Will I forget?”

“Eventually,’ she said. “But not all at once. The forest is gentle with its own.”

He nodded slowly. Behind him, the trailhead faded. The plaque remained. Charlie turned and walked into the trees. The forest closed around him, not like a trap, but more like a welcome. Somewhere, a hiker would get lost one day, and a voice would greet them.

“Lost, are we?”