Whispers of the Forgotten Pines

Ethan stood frozen at the edge of the ruins, his pulse a deafening drum in his ears. The two figures—the girl and the shadowed figure—were gone. But the weight of their presence still lingered, pressing against his chest like unseen hands.

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to take a step forward. The Bell Estate had been abandoned for decades, but now it felt anything but empty.

Somewhere within these ruins, the truth was waiting for him.

And something—or someone—didn't want him to find it.

Ethan crouched down, running his fingers over the blackened stone. Even after all these years, the remnants of the fire still tainted the air. The wind whispered through the hollow remains, carrying with it a sense of something unfinished.

His fingers brushed against something hard. Metal.

Frowning, he dug deeper into the rubble, clearing away debris.

A rusted locket.

His stomach clenched. Carefully, he pried it open. Inside, a faded photograph—so worn he could barely make out the faces.

But the name inscribed on the back was still clear:

His breath hitched.

She was real. She had been here.

And now she was watching him from the forest.

A chill crawled up his spine.

Before he could process it, a sound cut through the silence.

Someone else was here.

Ethan spun around, eyes scanning the ruins. The trees at the edge of the estate loomed like silent sentinels. The wind had died. Even the birds had stopped singing.

A second footstep.

Closer.

Too close.

Ethan's hands tightened into fists. He wasn't alone.

"Who's there?" he called out, his voice steady despite the ice in his veins.

Silence.

Then, a whisper.

Low. Raspy. Right behind him.

"You need to leave."

Ethan whirled around—but no one was there.

His heart slammed against his ribs. He took a shaky breath, forcing himself to stand his ground.

Whoever—or whatever—was trying to scare him off was making a mistake.

Because now?

Now, he wasn't leaving until he got answers.

The sun was sinking by the time Ethan made it back to town. His hands were still clenched, the locket burning in his palm. He needed to talk to Clara.

When he stepped into the library, she was waiting for him.

Like she had been expecting him.

"You found something," she said quietly.

Ethan didn't bother with small talk. He held out the locket. "Recognize this?"

Clara's face paled. She stared at it, her fingers curling against the desk. "Where did you—" She stopped herself. "Never mind. I already know."

Ethan narrowed his eyes. "Clara, stop lying to me. You know exactly what's going on, don't you?"

She looked away, exhaling sharply. "I warned you, Ethan."

"I don't need warnings," he snapped. "I need the truth."

Clara was silent for a long moment. Then, finally—she looked up.

And what Ethan saw in her eyes wasn't annoyance.

It was fear.

"You think you're chasing a mystery," she whispered. "But you're waking up something that should have stayed buried."

Ethan's pulse quickened. "Who was Eleanor Bell?"

Clara hesitated. Then, softly—

"She was murdered."

The words hit like a sledgehammer.

Ethan's grip on the locket tightened.

The fire wasn't an accident.

Eleanor Bell hadn't just died.

She had been killed.

And now, somehow—

She was trying to tell him something.

Ethan leaned forward. "Who killed her?"

Clara exhaled shakily, her hands trembling as she reached for a book.

She flipped to a page. A newspaper article.

Ethan's blood ran cold.

Because right there, beneath the headline about Eleanor Bell's death—

Was a name he never expected to see.

His own.

ETHAN CROSS: MISSING BOY FOUND NEAR BELL ESTATE – NO MEMORY OF PAST

The room spun.

What the hell was this?

Clara's voice was barely above a whisper.

"You've been here before, Ethan."

His breath caught in his throat.

This wasn't just a mystery.

This was his past.

And now?

It was coming back for him.