Out of the Woods

The night the storm hit, Mara didn’t plan on driving into the woods. She’d only meant to leave the city—to breathe, to escape the heavy silence of her apartment that still smelled like her ex’s cologne. But somewhere between her grief and the winding backroads, she took a wrong turn, and the road took her somewhere it shouldn’t have.

The rain came down like it had a vendetta. Sheets of it, hammering the windshield until the wipers gave up. Her GPS died, her phone lost signal, and the forest swallowed every trace of civilization behind her.

That’s when her car stalled.

A single curse left her lips, the kind that carried exhaustion rather than anger. She tried the ignition again—nothing. The engine coughed once, then fell silent, the headlights dimming until the world outside her windows turned to ink.

No sound but rain. No light but the faint pulse of her dashboard.

And in that moment, she realized: she was truly alone.

The Stranger in the Pines 🌲

For a long while, she sat still, half-expecting a passing car. None came. Instead, the forest grew louder—the hiss of rain blending with something else. A sound that didn’t belong.

Crunch.

Mara froze.

Footsteps. Slow, deliberate. Moving toward her car.

She reached for her phone, flashlight flickering weakly in her trembling hand. Through the streaked glass, she caught a shape—a tall silhouette, unmoving among the trees.

“Hello?” she called, voice cracking more from fear than the cold. “Can you help me?”

The figure tilted its head, just slightly, before stepping closer.

When the beam of her flashlight finally landed on it, she saw a man—bearded, wearing an old jacket soaked through. His eyes were unreadable in the glare.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” he said quietly. “Not tonight.”

Mara hesitated. “My car—won’t start.”

He nodded once. “There’s a cabin not far from here. You can wait out the storm.”

It should’ve sounded comforting. It didn’t.

But she had two choices—stay and freeze, or follow the stranger into the forest.

So she did what desperate people always do: she trusted hope over fear.

The Cabin in the Clearing 🕯️

The man’s lantern bobbed ahead of her as they moved through the woods. Branches clawed at her jacket. Mud sucked at her boots. The storm had no mercy, and neither did the terrain.

Finally, they emerged into a clearing where a cabin stood—small, weathered, half-swallowed by vines. Smoke rose from its chimney.

He pushed open the door, the hinges creaking like old bones. “Get by the fire,” he said, setting his lantern on the table. “You’re soaked through.”

Mara hesitated, taking in the room. One window, one exit. A kettle over the hearth. A stack of books on a wooden table.

And on the far wall—drawings.

Hundreds of them. Crude sketches of people. Faces, mostly. Some smiling. Some screaming.

“Are those yours?” she asked, forcing her voice to stay steady.

The man looked up from the kettle. “Memories,” he said simply.

The Storm Within ⚡

As the fire warmed her, the tension in her shoulders slowly gave way to fatigue. The man handed her a mug of tea that smelled faintly of pine and smoke.

“You’re lucky I found you,” he said.

She smiled weakly. “I guess I am.”

He studied her for a moment before nodding toward the drawings. “They were all lost once, too.”

Her pulse quickened. “Lost?”

“People who wandered into the woods.” His voice was low, almost gentle. “The forest doesn’t like letting go.”

Something in the way he said it made her uneasy. “And you?” she asked quietly. “Are you lost too?”

He smiled then, a small, crooked thing that didn’t reach his eyes. “Not anymore.”

The Door That Wouldn’t Open 🚪

Hours passed. The storm outside showed no sign of mercy. Mara’s eyelids grew heavy, but unease kept her from sleep.

When the man excused himself to fetch more wood, she stood and tried the door.

It didn’t move.

Locked. From the outside.

Her heart began to pound. She checked the window next—it wouldn’t budge either. Nailed shut.

Her gaze darted back to the wall of drawings. She hadn’t noticed before, but several faces looked eerily similar. Same eyes. Same hair.

Same expression of panic.

Then she saw it—an unfinished sketch near the edge of the wall.

A woman with wet hair and wide eyes.

Her.

The Forest’s Secret 🌑

When he returned, she was sitting by the fire again, pretending nothing was wrong. He dropped the wood beside the hearth and looked at her with something like sympathy.

“You found the drawings.”

She nodded. “Why do you keep them?”

He stared at the flames. “Because they can’t leave.”

Her voice broke. “What do you mean?”

He turned to her, eyes reflecting firelight. “The woods don’t just trap you. They remember you. If they decide to keep you, no one ever finds you again.”

She stood, backing away. “You’re insane.”

But he didn’t move toward her. He just sighed. “I tried to warn you. The forest doesn’t let you out once it’s chosen you.”

Mara darted for the door, slamming her shoulder against it. Locked. Again and again, she hit it until her palms bled. The storm outside howled like laughter.

And then—silence.

The kind that makes your spine go cold.

When she turned back, he was gone.

The Voices in the Wind 🌬️

The fire flickered low. Shadows stretched long across the cabin walls. She picked up the lantern and stepped outside.

The storm had calmed to a drizzle, but the trees looked different now—closer, thicker. Like they’d moved while she wasn’t looking.

“Mara…”

The voice was barely a whisper.

She spun around. The man stood at the treeline, half-hidden by mist. But his face—his face was fading, blurring at the edges like smoke.

“You’re part of it now,” he said softly. “You’ll understand soon.”

She ran. Through mud, through branches, through pain. Her breath tore through her lungs. The trees seemed endless, looping, rearranging themselves into an impossible maze.

Everywhere she turned—more forest.

Every direction—back where she started.

And just when she thought she couldn’t go on, the trees parted.

A light. Headlights.

Her car.

Out of the Woods 🌄

When Mara stumbled back onto the road, dawn was breaking. Her car sat exactly where she’d left it—no sign of the storm, no damage, no mud on her boots.

Her phone buzzed suddenly, alive again. 6:47 a.m.

She laughed through tears, gripping the steering wheel like it might disappear too.

She drove until the trees thinned and the sun broke free of the horizon. Every mile felt like pulling herself out of a nightmare.

By the time she reached the main highway, she’d almost convinced herself it hadn’t happened at all.

Almost.

The Return 🌫️

Two weeks later, Mara went back.

Call it closure. Call it curiosity. Maybe the woods hadn’t really let her go after all.

The road was the same. But when she reached the spot where her car had stalled, there was nothing but trees. No clearing. No cabin. Just unbroken forest.

She would’ve left then—should’ve—but something caught her eye.

A scrap of paper pinned to a tree trunk, soaked and faded.

A drawing.

Her face.

And beneath it, scrawled in uneven handwriting:

“No one ever really gets out of the woods.”

Epilogue 🌘

The next driver to take that road a week later would swear he saw a figure standing among the trees—a woman with dark hair, holding a lantern.

The forest has a strange way of keeping what it loves.

And every now and then, when the wind rustles through the pines just right, you can almost hear a voice whispering through the leaves—soft, lost, and hauntingly familiar.

“Out of the woods… out of the woods…”

But no one ever really is.