Whispers of the Forgotten Pines

Ethan's fingers tightened around the note as his pulse pounded in his ears. Stop looking. The message was clear, but it only made his determination burn hotter.

Who had left it? Who was watching him?

His eyes scanned the hallway, every shadow seeming to stretch and breathe in the dim light. The inn was eerily silent, as if the world had stopped just outside his door. No footsteps. No whisper of movement. Nothing.

Swallowing hard, Ethan stepped back inside, locking the door behind him. His breath was shaky, his mind racing. He turned back to the journal on the desk.

Eleanor had known.

She had been afraid of them.

And now, they knew he was searching.

Ethan rubbed a hand over his face, trying to ground himself. He needed to think. He needed help.

Clara.

She had lied before. About the girl. About knowing anything. But something in her eyes had told him she knew far more than she was letting on.

He grabbed his jacket, stuffing the note into his pocket before heading out into the cold night air.

The library was dark when he arrived. The old brick building loomed under the moonlight, its large windows reflecting nothing but emptiness. A single streetlamp flickered at the corner, casting erratic shadows over the sidewalk.

Ethan tested the front door. Locked.

Figures.

He stepped back, scanning the building for another way in. Clara had to be inside—she always worked late. And if she wasn't?

He wasn't leaving without answers.

His eyes landed on a side window, slightly cracked open.

Perfect.

Glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching, he moved quickly, gripping the edge of the frame and hoisting himself up. The window creaked as he pushed it open wider and slipped inside, landing quietly on the wooden floor.

The library smelled of dust and old pages, the air thick with a silence that felt too heavy.

He crept forward, weaving through the aisles of towering bookshelves. The dim emergency lights cast eerie glows on the spines, making the words unreadable.

Then, he heard it.

A faint shuffling sound.

Ethan stilled, his breath catching.

He wasn't alone.

He stepped toward the back room where Clara usually worked, his footsteps careful, his heart pounding against his ribs. The door was slightly ajar, a sliver of warm light spilling into the hallway.

Slowly, he pushed it open.

Clara sat at her desk, her back to him, head lowered over an open book. A small desk lamp cast long shadows over the pages.

"Clara," he whispered.

She jumped, slamming the book shut as she turned. Her eyes widened when she saw him.

"Ethan," she hissed, quickly standing. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I need answers," he said, stepping forward. "You know something. About Eleanor. About the people watching me."

Clara's jaw tightened. She glanced toward the doorway, as if making sure they were alone.

Then, with a heavy breath, she whispered, "You should have stopped looking."

Ethan froze.

His throat went dry.

"What do you mean?" he asked carefully.

Clara hesitated, her fingers gripping the edges of the book on her desk. Then, slowly, she slid it toward him.

"Read this," she said.

Ethan looked down. The book was old, its cover cracked and faded. But the title sent a chill through his veins.

The Vanishing of Eleanor Bell.

His breath hitched.

"This is a joke," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Clara shook her head. "It's not. This book was published twenty years ago."

Ethan swallowed hard as he opened the first page.

The words made his blood run cold.

Eleanor Bell disappeared on August 22nd, 1998.

Last seen near the ruins of her family's home in Whispering Pines.

Some believe she ran away. Others… believe she never left at all.

Ethan's hands trembled.

1998.

The date from the journal.

The date she had written her last entry.

Slowly, he lifted his gaze to Clara.

Her face was pale, her expression grim.

"She's not missing," Clara whispered. "Not in the way people think."

Ethan's stomach turned. "Then what happened to her?"

Clara hesitated. Then, her voice barely audible, she said:

"She's still here."

A breath of cold air swept through the room.

The lamp flickered.

And somewhere in the darkness of the library…

A whisper called his name.