The Madness

The Madness

It began with a whisper.

No one in the town of Eldenwood could say exactly when the madness started. At first, it was small—barely noticeable. A man forgot his own name in the middle of a conversation. A woman walked into the market barefoot, clutching a broom like a child. People chuckled, brushed it off. “It’s the heat,” they said. “Too much sun this year.”

But the sun had always been bright in Eldenwood. This—this was different.

It spread quietly. The schoolteacher, Miss Elara, began writing nonsense on the blackboard—strange symbols that no one could understand. When asked what they meant, she stared blankly, then smiled in a way that made your skin crawl. Soon after, she disappeared. Her house was found locked from the inside, her belongings untouched. But she was gone. Simply vanished.

Then came the dreams.

Almost everyone in town began reporting the same nightmare: a tall figure cloaked in shadows, standing at the edge of the forest, whispering their names. The figure never moved. It never spoke out loud. Yet the whisper—cold and hollow—lingered in the air long after they awoke.

Father Brennan from the old chapel tried to hold a gathering, urging the people to pray and resist fear. The very next day, he was found in the bell tower, his eyes wide open, mouth filled with soil.

Panic swept through Eldenwood like wildfire.

The mayor imposed a curfew. No one was to leave their homes after sunset. People obeyed—but it didn’t help. The madness crept into their homes like smoke. Some screamed in the night, tearing at the walls. Others sat in silence, humming lullabies from their childhood, rocking back and forth until their minds were lost.

At the heart of the town, seventeen-year-old Liora watched it all unfold. Her parents, once strong and warm, now stared at each other like strangers. Her younger brother talked to shadows, laughing with invisible friends. But Liora—Liora could still think clearly. She felt the madness like a fog pressing in, but it hadn’t consumed her. Not yet.

She began to keep a journal, noting patterns, strange behaviors, symbols seen in dreams. It all pointed to the woods. The forest that bordered the town, ancient and silent, where the trees were older than memory itself.

One night, unable to resist, Liora stepped outside. The moon was hidden behind thick clouds, and the wind carried the faintest whisper.

She walked toward the forest.

Each step felt heavy, like the ground didn’t want her to come closer. But something pulled her—an instinct, maybe, or a voice inside her that wasn't hers. The trees stood like sentinels, unmoving and dark. As she stepped beneath the canopy, the whispering grew louder—not outside her ears, but inside her head.

And there it was.

The figure from the dreams.

It stood still, faceless, its form shifting like smoke in the moonlight. Liora didn’t speak, but her thoughts were loud. What are you? Why are you doing this?

The answer came, not in words, but in emotion. Hunger. Loneliness. A deep, ancient sorrow. This… thing, whatever it was, had been forgotten by time. Buried in stories, dismissed as myth. And now it was waking, starving for recognition—for minds to dwell in.

It had no body, no voice. It existed only in thoughts, memories, dreams. It was madness itself.

Liora understood, in that moment, that the only way to stop it was to become the vessel. To contain it. To hold it within her own mind.

She stepped forward.

A cold breath touched her soul. Darkness filled her vision. But she stood firm. She welcomed it.

And then… silence.

When she woke up, she was lying at the edge of the forest. Morning birds sang overhead. Eldenwood was quiet—but peaceful. The air felt lighter. The shadows no longer whispered.

People returned to their senses. Memories of the madness faded like fog in sunlight. No one could explain it. No one remembered the figure or the dreams.

But Liora remembered.

She carried it now—the madness, the hunger, the sorrow. Locked deep within her.

And sometimes, late at night, when the wind is just right, she hears the whisper again.

But she doesn’t let it out. Not yet.

Not ever.