Whispers of the Forgotten Pines

Ethan's vision blurred as he stared at the newspaper article. The words burned into his mind, each letter twisting his reality into something unrecognizable. His name. His face. A story he had no memory of.

A missing boy. Him.

He swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around the brittle paper. "This—this can't be right," he murmured, shaking his head. "I would remember something like this."

Clara's expression remained unreadable, but there was something behind her eyes—something like pity. "Would you?" she asked softly. "Memories have a way of slipping away when they're too painful to hold."

Ethan looked back at the article, his heart hammering against his ribs. The words swam in his vision.

"Ethan Cross, age seven, was discovered near the Bell Estate late last night. Authorities confirm the child had no recollection of his identity or how he arrived at the scene. The estate, once home to the Bell family, has been abandoned since the tragic fire that claimed the life of Eleanor Bell. Investigators have found no link between the boy and the Bell family, but speculation continues to surround the circumstances of his discovery…"

A chill ran through him. His seven-year-old self had been found alone at the site of a fire that killed a girl.

Had he seen something? Had he been there when it happened?

He forced himself to look up at Clara. "Did my parents know about this?"

She hesitated. "They must have. But you were adopted shortly after. Maybe they thought it was better if you didn't know."

Ethan's stomach twisted. His entire life, his past had been a blank slate. And now, piece by piece, it was unraveling.

He pushed the paper away. "You knew, didn't you?" His voice was quieter now. "That's why you've been acting so strange since I got here."

Clara exhaled slowly, closing the book with a quiet thud. "I suspected. But I didn't want to be the one to tell you."

"Why?" His voice was sharp, laced with frustration.

"Because if the past brought you back here..." She met his gaze, something dark flickering in her eyes. "...then maybe it means it's not finished with you yet."

A heavy silence filled the room. Ethan's skin prickled.

Before he could respond, the old grandfather clock in the corner struck eight. The chimes echoed through the library, slow and deliberate.

He suddenly felt like something was watching.

Clara seemed to feel it too. She stood abruptly, gathering the book in her arms. "It's late. You should go."

Ethan frowned. "Clara—"

"Go, Ethan." Her voice was firm this time. "And whatever you do, stay out of the forest tonight."

Ethan ignored her warning.

The moon hung high above the Whispering Pines as he made his way back toward the Bell Estate. Every logical part of him told him to wait until morning, but he knew he wouldn't sleep. Not after what he had just learned.

He needed more.

His breath came in slow, measured exhales as he stepped through the trees, his flashlight cutting through the thick darkness. The further he walked, the heavier the air felt—like the forest itself was pressing down on him.

Something was different tonight.

The whispering was louder.

It wasn't just the wind.

He gritted his teeth and pushed forward, following the now-familiar path to the ruins. The stones were cold under his fingertips as he ran his hand along the crumbling wall, his mind racing with questions.

What had happened here the night Eleanor died?

And more importantly—what had he seen?

He crouched down near the spot where he had found the locket earlier. His fingers dug through the dirt, searching for anything else, any clue that could tell him why this place was tied to him.

Then he felt it.

A shift in the air.

Not the wind.

Not an animal.

Something else.

Slowly, he looked up.

A shadow stood at the edge of the ruins.

His breath hitched. His pulse roared in his ears.

The figure was tall—too tall to be the girl from before. And it wasn't moving. Just standing there. Watching.

Ethan's grip on his flashlight tightened. "Who are you?" His voice came out steadier than he expected.

No answer.

The figure took a step forward.

Ethan stumbled back, his heart slamming against his ribs. His flashlight flickered.

Another step.

The air turned ice-cold. Ethan could see his breath now, each exhale curling into the night like smoke.

The whispering grew louder.

Not the wind. Not the trees.

Words. Voices.

Then—

A sudden burst of static screamed through the air, as if the very fabric of reality had been torn open.

Ethan fell to his knees, clutching his ears. His flashlight slipped from his grip, rolling across the dirt.

The shadowed figure loomed closer.

And in that moment—he remembered.

Not everything. Not yet.

But a single word echoed in his skull.

A name.

A name he hadn't spoken in years.

A name he had forgotten.

Eleanor.

The second he whispered it, the wind stopped.

The figure vanished.

And from deep within the forest—

A girl's voice, soft and distant, called his name.

"Ethan..."