Whispers of the Forgotten Pines

Ethan couldn't shake the feeling that he was being followed.

As he left the library, the midday sun did little to dispel the cold unease curling in his gut. The streets of Whispering Pines were mostly empty, the occasional townsfolk passing by with quiet nods, their gazes lingering just a little too long.

He turned onto a side street, taking the longer route back to the inn. If someone was following him, he wanted to know who.

The footsteps came first—light, almost careful, but not careful enough.

Ethan tightened his jaw and slowed his pace. The sound behind him matched his rhythm. Whoever it was, they weren't trying very hard to hide.

With a sharp inhale, he pivoted suddenly, expecting to catch someone mid-step.

But the street was empty.

His eyes darted over the old brick buildings, the wooden signs swaying in the light breeze. No movement. No shadows ducking out of sight. Just the distant rustling of trees.

Then, from the corner of his eye—

A figure.

A glimpse of dark fabric disappearing around the bend.

Ethan's pulse spiked. Without thinking, he sprinted after it.

His boots pounded against the pavement as he rounded the corner, scanning the alley ahead. Nothing but crates stacked against a weathered fence and an old wooden door slightly ajar.

He hesitated. Every rational part of his mind told him to stop, to turn back. But he had ignored rationality the moment he stepped into this town.

Slowly, he approached the door and pushed it open.

The inside was dimly lit, the scent of old paper and dust hanging thick in the air. Shelves lined the walls, filled with aging books and trinkets. A curio shop.

"Can I help you?"

Ethan flinched.

A man stood behind the counter, his face shadowed beneath the brim of a hat. His eyes, however, gleamed with something sharp—something knowing.

"Uh, yeah," Ethan said, trying to steady his breath. "I thought I saw someone come in here."

The man didn't blink. "No one's come in but you."

Ethan clenched his jaw. He knew what he saw.

Instead of arguing, he glanced at the shelves, his fingers brushing over the worn spines of books. His gaze landed on an old, leather-bound volume, its title faded with age. Something about it tugged at him.

He pulled it free and turned it over in his hands.

"Good choice," the man murmured.

Ethan frowned. "I haven't even—"

The book fell open on its own, pages flipping wildly before stopping on a single passage. Ethan's breath hitched as he read the words:

"The forest keeps its secrets well, but those who seek the truth must tread carefully. Some doors, once opened, can never be closed."

His mouth went dry.

"What is this?" he asked, looking up.

But the man was gone.

The shop was empty.

The only sound was the soft whisper of pages turning… as if the book was reading itself.

And then—

A voice, right behind him.

"You shouldn't have come here."

Ethan spun, heart slamming against his ribs.

But there was no one there.

Just the book in his hands… and the feeling that something had just changed forever.