The Whispering Woods

The town of Maple Hollow had a legend that no one spoke about too loudly. Deep in the heart of the nearby forest, a place known to locals as the Whispering Woods, children went missing. Not every year, not every decade even, but when they did, the town was struck by grief that never seemed to fade.

Everyone knew the rule: don’t go into the woods after dark. It was more than a warning; it was a quiet, unwritten law. And for most, it was easy to follow—except for Jenna.

Jenna had always been headstrong, with a fierce curiosity that sometimes felt like a burden. She had heard the stories all her life, and though she’d never say it out loud, she didn’t believe them. Ghost stories were meant for scaring children, and at 17, she was far too old to be spooked by fairy tales. Besides, her little brother, Max, had disappeared a year ago. The police had given up, her parents had accepted it, but Jenna couldn’t. She needed answers, and she was going to get them—no matter what.

One chilly autumn evening, when the wind carried whispers through the trees, Jenna made up her mind. Armed with only a flashlight and her determination, she slipped out of her house and headed towards the Whispering Woods.

The trees were dense, looming like giant shadowy figures, and the deeper she went, the more she could feel a presence. It was as if the forest itself was watching her, waiting for her to make a mistake. The wind rustled the leaves above, but the sound felt wrong. It wasn’t random—it was deliberate, like voices hiding just out of reach, too soft to understand, but constant.

She pressed on, refusing to be scared by the rustling sounds. She called out for Max, her voice trembling but insistent, echoing into the thick darkness. For a long while, there was only the sound of her breath and the crunch of leaves beneath her feet.

But then, she heard it.

A whisper.

"Jenna..."

Her heart jumped. It was faint, but clear—her name, carried on the wind. She spun around, shining her flashlight in all directions, but there was no one there. The trees swayed, but the night was still. Then she heard it again, this time more distinctly: "Jenna... help me."

Max.

She ran towards the voice, her flashlight flickering as the air seemed to grow thicker, colder. The woods closed in around her as if the trees themselves were shifting, blocking her path. But she pressed on, certain that she had heard Max calling for her. The whispers grew louder, merging into a cacophony of voices, all overlapping, each one seeming to beg for help, to be heard.

"Help me... Jenna... please."

Finally, she reached a clearing. At its center stood a lone tree, larger than the others, gnarled and ancient, its bark twisted like the face of something alive. Something wrong. The whispers were coming from there. Jenna's hands shook as she approached, her flashlight casting long shadows across the tree’s knotted roots. And then she saw it.

Tangled in the roots, partially buried, was Max’s favorite blue jacket.

"Max!" she screamed, dropping to her knees and clawing at the earth around the jacket. It was half-buried in the dirt, stiff and cold to the touch. As she dug deeper, she found more—a small hand, pale and unmoving.

Jenna gasped, tears streaming down her face as she pulled Max’s tiny, lifeless body from the ground. He looked exactly as he had the day he disappeared, his face peaceful, eyes closed. It was as if he had been frozen in time.

But then, his eyes opened.

"Jenna..." His voice was soft, hollow, like the wind through the trees. "You shouldn’t have come here."

Jenna’s blood ran cold as she stared into his eyes. They were wrong—empty, like glass marbles reflecting nothing. She scrambled back, horror overtaking her as Max slowly sat up, his movements jerky, unnatural.

"You can’t leave now," he whispered, his voice blending with the wind. "They won’t let you."

Before Jenna could move, the tree’s roots shot up from the ground, wrapping around her ankles and wrists, pulling her towards the base of the ancient tree. The whispers grew deafening, filling her mind with voices, each one pleading, crying, begging for escape. Faces began to emerge from the bark—twisted, ghostly faces of children who had gone missing over the years, their eyes wide with terror. Max was among them now, his face merging with the wood, his eyes vacant as the tree consumed him.

She screamed, thrashing against the roots, but the more she struggled, the tighter they held. The last thing she saw before darkness overtook her was Max’s face, now part of the tree, his lips barely moving as they whispered, "I’m sorry, Jenna."

Days later, the town searched for Jenna, but just like the others, she had vanished without a trace. They whispered about her, just as they had whispered about all the others who had gone into the woods and never returned.

The old legends remained, passed down from parent to child: don’t go into the woods after dark, or the trees will take you, and you’ll become one of the whispers.

And in the heart of the forest, the ancient tree stood tall, its bark etched with the faces of the lost, forever whispering, waiting for the next one to join them.