Whispers of the Forgotten Pines

Ethan didn't move. His breath came fast and shallow as the last traces of the figure dissolved into the night air. The journal trembled in his hands. The words on the pages blurred as his mind raced, piecing together the impossible.

The girl in the woods. Eleanor.

She had known him.

She had tried to warn him.

And now, she was still here.

The forest rustled as if whispering its own secrets, and for the first time, Ethan felt watched in a way that sent ice through his veins. Whoever—or whatever—had just been standing behind him… it hadn't been human.

Not anymore.

He exhaled sharply, pushing himself to his feet, his grip on the journal tightening. He needed to get out of here.

His flashlight flickered as he turned, sweeping the ruins one last time. The broken foundation. The charred remains of what had once been a home. His home?

No. It couldn't be.

He forced his legs to move, stepping away from the ruins, his boots crunching against the damp earth. Each step felt heavier, as if the forest itself was reluctant to let him go. The wind carried distant whispers, not words, but something older. Something hollow.

By the time he reached the edge of the woods, the night air had grown even colder. His fingers were stiff from gripping the journal, and his mind was a tangled mess of unanswered questions.

How did Eleanor know him?

Why couldn't he remember her?

And what was she trying to protect him from?

When he reached the inn, the town was eerily quiet. The streets, empty. A single streetlight buzzed weakly, casting long shadows that seemed to shift when he wasn't looking directly at them.

Ethan hesitated outside his door, glancing over his shoulder.

He wasn't being followed.

At least, not in a way he could see.

Once inside, he locked the door, leaning against it as he caught his breath. His room felt different now. Smaller. Colder. Like the weight of what he had discovered had followed him inside.

He moved toward the desk, setting the journal down carefully, as if afraid it might disappear the moment he let go.

Pulling up a chair, he flipped back to the first page.

Eleanor Bell.

The ink was faded but deliberate. As if she had known someone—him—would read this someday.

He turned to the next entry.

August 22nd, 1998

I tried to warn him again today. He still doesn't remember. I don't know if it's because of them or because he refuses to.

But time is running out.

The longer he stays, the closer it gets.

And if he doesn't remember soon…

They will make sure he never does.

Ethan's chest tightened.

They?

A chill ran down his spine. Eleanor had been afraid of something. Someone.

And whoever they were, they hadn't wanted him to remember.

A knock at the door nearly made him jump out of his chair. His heart pounded as he turned toward it.

Three slow knocks.

No one called his name. No shadow passed under the door.

Just silence.

Ethan hesitated, his body frozen in place. His mind screamed at him to ignore it.

But his hand was already reaching for the doorknob.

He took a deep breath and pulled it open.

The hallway was empty.

Except for one thing.

A folded piece of paper, carefully placed just outside his door.

Ethan's fingers trembled as he picked it up, unfolding it with careful hands.

Only one sentence was written inside.

"Stop looking."

His blood turned to ice.

Someone knew.

Someone was watching.

And if Eleanor was right…

They wouldn't let him leave.