Whispers of the Forgotten Pines

Ethan stood frozen in the empty curio shop, the weight of the book pressing against his palms. His pulse pounded in his ears. He could still hear the voice—clear, close, impossible.

The door creaked behind him, and a cold draft swept through the room.

He turned sharply, expecting to see someone standing in the shadows. But there was no one.

His fingers tightened around the book's worn leather cover. The passage he had read still echoed in his mind:

"Some doors, once opened, can never be closed."

He needed answers.

Tucking the book under his arm, he stepped out of the shop and onto the street. The door swung shut behind him with a quiet thud. When he glanced back, the shop's window was empty, its interior dark—as if it had been abandoned for years.

But that wasn't possible. Was it?

Shaking off the unease creeping up his spine, he hurried back to the inn.

Back in his room, Ethan dropped the book onto the desk and flipped on the small lamp. The glow cast long shadows across the walls as he ran his fingers over the faded cover. No title. No author.

He hesitated, then opened it.

The first few pages were blank. But then—handwritten words filled the next page, scrawled in ink that had bled into the parchment over time.

"To the seeker of truth, beware the cost. Whispering Pines does not forget."

His stomach twisted. Was this some kind of warning?

He flipped further, scanning the dense text and old sketches of the forest. Strange symbols were etched alongside notes in the margins. Some were in English. Others… weren't.

Then he saw it.

A drawing.

His breath caught. It was her.

The girl from the woods.

Her pale hair fell over her shoulders, and her dark eyes stared straight ahead, hauntingly familiar even in ink. Below the sketch, a name had been scribbled in hurried script: Lillian.

Ethan swallowed hard. Someone had known her. Someone had documented her existence. But how? And why was she in this book?

He turned the page, but before he could read further—

A knock.

Sharp. Urgent.

Ethan snapped the book shut and turned toward the door.

For a second, he didn't move. He didn't even breathe.

Then, slowly, he rose to his feet and stepped forward.

Another knock—louder this time.

Ethan's hand hovered over the doorknob. Something in his gut screamed at him to be careful.

He turned the handle and pulled it open.

Clara stood there, her expression unreadable. But her eyes—there was something in them that made his skin prickle.

"You need to come with me," she said, her voice low. "Right now."

Ethan's grip tightened on the door. "What's going on?"

Clara glanced down the hallway as if making sure no one else was listening. Then she looked at him, her voice barely above a whisper.

"They know you've been asking questions."

A chill crawled up his spine.

"Who's 'they'?" he asked.

Clara's jaw tightened. "Just grab your things. We don't have much time."

Ethan hesitated. But then he remembered the book, the warnings, the feeling of being watched since he arrived in this town.

He didn't need to be told twice.

He grabbed his jacket, shoved the book into his bag, and stepped into the hallway.

Clara locked eyes with him. "No matter what happens, stay close. And whatever you do…"

She swallowed, her voice barely audible now.

"Don't trust the whispers."

A cold knot twisted in Ethan's stomach.

He followed her, his mind racing with questions.

But one thing was clear—whatever was happening in Whispering Pines, it was bigger than he had imagined.

And now, there was no turning back.