Whispering Pines

Part 1: The Arrival

There were seven of us—friends since college—craving adventure and escape from the noise of our busy lives. The mountains were calling, and we answered, planning a full week in the wilderness. We packed tents, food, torches, and spirits high with excitement. The first two days were pure bliss: laughter by the bonfire, warm cups of tea, and storytelling under a sky full of stars.

On the third evening, things shifted.

Dark clouds rolled in suddenly, as if summoned. Lightning cracked so close it made our bones rattle. Wind roared like a beast. Our tents tore away, spinning into the black sky like leaves. Rain hit us sideways. Chaos swallowed us whole. We grabbed each other, shouting through the storm. But the wind was stronger. It pulled us apart.

I was thrown hard. When I woke, I was lying near a dense forest, soaked, shivering. Only Saddam lay beside me, groaning. The others—Zaid, Talha, Bilal, Hamza, Danish—were gone.


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Part 2: The Forest

We yelled their names. Only silence replied.

Saddam and I decided to find shelter. The forest ahead was thick, its trees twisted like they had grown in pain. Stepping inside was like entering another world—no birds, no wind. Just the sound of our wet shoes sinking into the mud.

Soon, we heard it. Whispers. Like voices behind a thin wall. We turned. No one. The whispers grew louder but made no sense. Words without form. Sounds that crawled into our ears.

Then, we saw it: a wooden cabin wrapped in vines. Its roof sagged, its windows fogged. But somehow, it stood strong against the storm. The door opened slowly as we approached, creaking like a scream held too long.


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Part 3: The Cabin

Inside, the air was freezing, heavier than outside. Our flashlight flickered. Cobwebs clung to old furniture. A portrait hung crooked on the wall—a family of five, all smiling with eyes scratched out.

We lit a small fire and tried to dry off. Saddam dozed off. I sat, listening. The whispers returned. But now, they were inside the cabin.

Footsteps above us. Then, on the porch. Then… the door creaked again.

I blinked.

Saddam was gone.

His sleeping bag was still warm.

I screamed his name. Ran outside.

Fog had swallowed the forest. From the trees, a shape emerged. A man… Saddam? No. His eyes were pitch black, his smile stretched unnaturally wide.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he whispered, voice like dead leaves.

I backed away.

He vanished.


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Part 4: The Lost Ones

I wandered through the forest, calling for the others. Echoes returned, but twisted—mocking versions of their voices. I found Zaid, standing completely still, eyes closed. I ran to him. “Zaid!” I shook his shoulder.

He opened his eyes. “Too late,” he whispered. “The forest owns us now.”

His skin cracked like dry bark. He crumbled into a pile of leaves.

I screamed.

The forest pulsed. It was alive. Not metaphorically—truly. Every tree was watching. Every root whispered. We hadn’t wandered in. We had been invited. Chosen.

And it wasn’t done with me yet.


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Part 5: The Loop

Every path I took led me back to the same fallen log. My flashlight dimmed. My watch stopped. There was no night or day. Just grey.

I found a tree carved with names—ours. Beneath mine: “Not yet.”

Suddenly, I saw Danish. He was climbing a tree silently. “Danish!” I yelled.

He looked down. “Don’t speak. It hears you.”

“What is it?”

He pointed at the sky. “It used to be a god. Now it’s hungry.”

Then he vanished into the leaves, like he was never there.

I was breaking. My memories faded. My name felt strange on my tongue.


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Part 6: The Exit

On what I believed to be the seventh day, I saw a narrow trail lined with white stones. They glowed faintly, like moonlight trapped in rock. I followed, numb and trembling.

Suddenly, I was back on a road. A truck stopped. A man helped me inside. I tried to speak. Nothing came out.


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Part 7: Home?

Now, weeks later, I sit in my room, writing this. No one believes me. The others were never found.

Sometimes I see them in reflections. Sometimes I hear them calling me from the trees behind my house, though there are no forests nearby.

Last night, my mirror fogged up on its own.

In it, I saw Saddam.

He smiled. “You never left.”

And behind me, I heard the cabin door creak open again.