The Whispering Tree

Beneath the leaves where shadows creep,

A whisper calls you in your sleep.

Do not follow, don't draw near,

Or you'll forget who brought you here.

Trad./Anon.

"Do you hear it?" she whispered, barely audible over the rustling wind.

I turned my head toward the woods that bordered her grandmother’s old farmhouse. The tall grass danced beneath the pale light of a half-dead moon, and beyond them, the trees… they murmured. At first, I thought it was just the wind. But then, I heard it again—soft, beckoning, almost like a lullaby.

"Stop joking," I said, but my voice cracked. She wasn’t joking.

She was already standing, bare feet crunching the fallen leaves, drawn to something I couldn’t see. "We have to go," she said.

"Where?"

She didn’t answer. She just pointed—into the woods.

The trees loomed higher the deeper we went. The path behind us seemed to disappear, swallowed by the forest. I reached for her hand. It was cold. Damp. But she didn’t flinch.

Then we found it—the tree.

It stood alone in a small clearing, gnarled and twisted, bark blackened like it had been struck by lightning centuries ago. Ribbons hung from its branches, tattered and colorless, whispering as they swayed in a wind that didn’t touch our skin.

She stepped closer. Too close.

"Don't go near it!" I snapped.

She turned slowly, her face unreadable. "It called me when I was a child. I followed then too. But I came back."

"You’re scaring me."

"You should be scared."

The whisper grew louder, clearer. A voice, but not hers. Not mine.

“Come home,” it said.

She looked at me—eyes empty now, like something had already left her. "It remembers everyone who comes," she murmured. "It never forgets."

"Who are you talking about?" I shouted.

She reached out and placed her palm against the bark. It groaned, deep and low, like the ground itself was waking.

The ribbons twisted violently. The air went still. A shadow slid down the trunk—then another. Hands, too many to count, pushing out from the bark, grabbing, holding.

She didn’t scream. She smiled.

And then she was gone.

I tried to run, but my legs wouldn’t move. The tree was humming now, whispering just for me. The ribbons fluttered and I could hear them chanting, again and again:

“Do not follow, don't draw near—

Or you'll forget who brought you here.”

And I did.