Whispers of the Silent Jungle

Whispers of the Silent Jungle

Written by Mirza

Ayan and Meher had been together for three years, bound by a love that grew stronger with every shared sunset, late-night talk, and spontaneous plan. Both city dwellers from Milan, Italy, they longed to escape the buzzing noise of daily life. Ayan, a nature photographer, proposed a weekend getaway to the Val Grande National Park—Europe’s largest wilderness area and one of Italy’s most isolated jungles.

Meher, though hesitant about wild nature, agreed. She trusted Ayan. And besides, what could possibly go wrong?


he Arrival

They arrived on a Friday afternoon, driving hours through forest-lined roads until they reached a wooden cabin far from civilization. No neighbors. No phone signals. Just the chirping of birds and the endless rustle of leaves.

“It’s beautiful,” Meher whispered as she stepped out of the car.

Ayan smiled, adjusting his camera strap. “It’s only the beginning.”

They spent the first few hours exploring nearby trails, laughing as Ayan took silly pictures of her pretending to be an explorer. The evening was calm. They cooked together, watched the stars, and curled up in a hammock tied between trees.

But as the sun vanished behind the hills, the jungle grew... quiet. Unnaturally quiet.

No birds. No wind. Only silence.



Nightfall

Sometime past midnight, Meher woke up to a distant whisper.

“Ayan?” she whispered.

He stirred beside her. “What?”

“Did you hear that?”

They both sat up, holding their breath.

A faint sound—like footsteps crunching on leaves—came from the dense trees nearby. But when they flashed their torchlight, nothing was there.

“Probably a deer,” Ayan muttered, though he didn’t sound convinced.

They tried to sleep again, but the whispers returned. This time, closer.

And they weren’t random sounds.

They were voices.

Low. Echoing. Speaking in a language neither of them could understand.

“Turn on the fire,” Meher begged.

Ayan lit the lantern and built a small fire. The voices stopped.

But then something else happened.

The trees began to sway.

No wind. No storm.

Just... movement.

As if something was walking through the forest, pushing branches aside.



Into the Jungle

The next morning, Ayan wanted to investigate. “We’ll just check the trail cameras I installed yesterday. Maybe it caught something.”

Meher disagreed. “We should leave, Ayan. This place doesn’t feel right.”

But he was already deep into his curiosity. “Fifteen minutes. I promise.”

They walked into the jungle with Ayan’s GPS watch guiding the way.

After a while, they reached one of the trail cameras.

The display showed a series of photos.

A bird

A deer

A shadow

A tall, figured silhouette watching the cabin... at 3:03 AM


Ayan’s hand shook. “That’s not a deer.”

Suddenly, the GPS watch glitched. The arrow spun in circles. The battery bar vanished.

They were lost.


he Forest Doesn't Want Them to Leave

Trying to retrace their steps, they walked for what felt like hours. But no landmarks looked familiar.

Then Meher gasped. “Look.”

Their cabin.

But it was burned down.

Charred. Broken. Blackened wood.

“No… this can’t be real. We just left it!” Ayan cried.

But the smell of smoke was strong. It wasn’t old.

A chill ran down Meher’s spine. “Ayan… maybe it’s not the cabin. Maybe… we’re somewhere else.”

They turned around—and saw the same trail camera they had just checked—this time hanging upside down, the strap shredded like claw marks.

The trees began to whisper again.

Meher screamed. “We’re going in circles!”




The Final Chase

The whispers turned into growls.

Low. Guttural.

Then something darted across the path ahead—a blur of pale grey limbs and hollow eyes.

Meher ran.

Ayan followed, heart pounding, stumbling through vines and roots.

Suddenly, they broke into a clearing—and there it stood.

A stone circle, ancient and crumbling, covered in moss and symbols.

Inside the circle, the whispers stopped.

They didn’t know why. But they sat there, crying, shaking, holding each other.

They waited.

Hours passed.

When the sun finally rose, they walked.

And this time, the forest let them go.

Milan, Meher couldn’t sleep. Ayan refused to look at the photographs he took.

But curiosity overtook him one night.

He connected the camera to his laptop.

Click.

Click.

Click.

One photo stood out.

It was them—in the hammock.

But behind the tree...

A shadowy figure was watching.