Whispers of the Forgotten Pines

The whisper slithered through the dimly lit library, sending a shiver crawling down Ethan's spine. His breath hitched, his fingers tightening around the edges of the book.

He turned sharply, scanning the aisles behind him.

Nothing.

But he knew what he had heard.

Clara stood frozen beside him, her face pale, her hands gripping the desk like she was trying to steady herself. The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

Then, the whisper came again.

"Ethan..."

Soft, almost playful, yet laced with something wrong.

Ethan's pulse thundered. His instincts screamed at him to run. But he forced himself to stay put. He needed to understand what was happening.

Clara's voice was barely above a whisper. "We need to go."

Ethan shook his head. "No. Someone's here."

Clara grabbed his wrist, her grip like ice. "That's not someone."

The lamp on the desk flickered again, the light casting wild, erratic shadows against the bookshelves. A cold wind rustled through the library—from nowhere. The air turned heavy, pressing against Ethan's chest like a weighted hand.

Then, from between the shelves, a shadow moved.

Not like a trick of the light.

Like something alive.

Something watching.

Ethan took a step back, pulling Clara with him.

"What the hell is that?" he whispered.

Clara's lips parted, but no sound came out. Her fingers dug into his wrist.

The shadow shifted, stretching, twisting.

Then, a voice.

Low. Hollow. Wrong.

"You're looking for Eleanor."

Ethan's body went rigid.

Clara yanked him back toward the door. "We have to go. Now."

Ethan hesitated—but only for a second. He turned and ran, Clara right beside him. Their footsteps pounded against the wooden floor as they sprinted down the hall, past the rows of ancient books and the whispering dark.

The air around them grew colder, like the library itself was closing in.

Then—BANG.

The front door slammed shut before they could reach it.

Clara skidded to a stop, eyes wide with panic. "No, no, no—"

Ethan grabbed the handle and yanked.

Locked.

He pounded on the wood. "Let us out!"

Silence.

Then, the lights died.

Darkness swallowed them whole.

Clara's breathing was sharp, uneven. Ethan could feel her trembling beside him.

Then—footsteps.

Slow. Deliberate. Coming from the darkness behind them.

Click.

A single light flickered on behind the counter.

Ethan turned, his heartbeat hammering in his ears.

And there—standing just beyond the glow—was Eleanor.

She looked exactly as she had in the forest. Pale. Unmoving. Her white dress too clean for someone missing for decades. Her dark eyes locked onto his.

But something was different this time.

She wasn't just staring.

She was smiling.

"Ethan," she whispered.

The way she said his name sent ice through his veins.

He tried to step back, but his body refused to move.

Clara's voice came out as a strained whisper. "She's not real."

Eleanor's head tilted slightly.

Then, she moved.

Not walked—glided.

One second she was by the counter. The next, she was inches from Ethan.

His breath caught in his throat.

She smelled like the forest. Damp earth and pine.

Her lips barely moved when she spoke.

"You're close."

Ethan swallowed hard. "Close to what?"

Eleanor blinked slowly. "The truth."

His mind reeled. The book. The journal. The warnings. The note.

Stop looking.

Eleanor took another step forward, her fingers reaching for him.

Ethan stumbled back, crashing into Clara.

Eleanor's dark eyes flickered with something… amused.

Then, her voice dropped to a whisper.

"But the truth has a price."

A sudden force slammed into Ethan's chest, sending him flying backward. He hit the ground hard, the air knocked from his lungs.

The library shook. Books tumbled from the shelves. The windows rattled. The whispering grew louder.

Eleanor was gone.

Clara was screaming.

And in the chaos, through the storm of sound and darkness—

Ethan heard something else.

Something that wasn't a whisper.

Something that sounded like laughter.