The whispering woods
escrita por kingsford2233
Capítulos 1
Palavras 580
Atualizada
Idioma Inglês
Categorias Crows
Gêneros Terror e Horror
In the heart of a small, forgotten village lay a forest, dense and dark. The villagers called it The Whispering Woods, a place woven with warnings and whispers of those who had disappeared there. No one ventured too close, especially at night, when the woods were said to come alive, whispering secrets that only the shadows understood.
Miriam was new to the village. She had come from the city to escape the noise, hoping for peace among the trees. When she asked the villagers about the woods, they exchanged nervous glances, warning her never to go inside. But Miriam was adventurous, and warnings only stirred her curiosity.
One crisp autumn evening, she decided to see the woods for herself. With her flashlight and a notebook to jot down any thoughts or sketches, she ventured toward the forest's edge. The towering trees loomed above her, blocking out the last remnants of sunlight. As she stepped over twisted roots and rustling leaves, an eerie silence settled around her.
The quiet was soon interrupted by whispers. Faint and indistinct, the murmurs floated between the trees, like voices struggling to be heard. Miriam paused, heart thudding. She told herself it was the wind, rustling through the branches. But the whispers grew louder, clearer, until they sounded like people speaking in hushed tones.
"Go back," one voice seemed to say. "Leave," another pleaded.
Miriam shivered. She called out, "Is anyone there?" But the woods only answered with more whispers, echoing her question in mocking tones.
She stumbled forward, feeling the presence of eyes on her, though she saw no one. Her flashlight flickered, and she cursed under her breath. The whispers changed, now circling around her, overlapping, as if a crowd surrounded her.
Then she saw them. Figures, shadowy and translucent, flitted between the trees. They were barely human—faces pale and gaunt, eyes hollow and lips stitched shut. Their ghostly forms seemed trapped in an eternal loop of agony. One specter drew close, and Miriam froze as she recognized the girl’s face from an old photo she had seen in the village. It was one of the missing.
The girl raised a trembling, spectral hand and pointed behind Miriam. With every ounce of courage, Miriam turned her flashlight, and what she saw made her blood run cold. A massive figure, cloaked in darkness and taller than any tree, loomed in the distance. Its eyes glowed a dull red, and its mouth split into a wide, toothy grin. The whispers turned into screams as the forest itself seemed to shudder in fear.
Miriam dropped her notebook and ran, her breath ragged, branches tearing at her skin. The whispers chased her, growing louder, desperate, as though trying to pull her back. She burst out of the forest, collapsing onto the village's cobblestone path. The whispers stopped abruptly.
Villagers rushed to her side, but they knew. The mark of The Whispering Woods was on her. Miriam was pale, her eyes forever haunted. The villagers helped her back to her cottage, but no one knew if she would ever truly return to herself.
Days passed, and Miriam barely spoke. Yet at night, villagers claimed to hear her whispering to someone in her room, speaking in the same ghostly tones that had called to her from the woods. And though she never ventured into the forest again, those who passed her cottage swore they saw shadows moving just inside the tree line, waiting, watching.
Waiting for the next curious soul.
Miriam was new to the village. She had come from the city to escape the noise, hoping for peace among the trees. When she asked the villagers about the woods, they exchanged nervous glances, warning her never to go inside. But Miriam was adventurous, and warnings only stirred her curiosity.
One crisp autumn evening, she decided to see the woods for herself. With her flashlight and a notebook to jot down any thoughts or sketches, she ventured toward the forest's edge. The towering trees loomed above her, blocking out the last remnants of sunlight. As she stepped over twisted roots and rustling leaves, an eerie silence settled around her.
The quiet was soon interrupted by whispers. Faint and indistinct, the murmurs floated between the trees, like voices struggling to be heard. Miriam paused, heart thudding. She told herself it was the wind, rustling through the branches. But the whispers grew louder, clearer, until they sounded like people speaking in hushed tones.
"Go back," one voice seemed to say. "Leave," another pleaded.
Miriam shivered. She called out, "Is anyone there?" But the woods only answered with more whispers, echoing her question in mocking tones.
She stumbled forward, feeling the presence of eyes on her, though she saw no one. Her flashlight flickered, and she cursed under her breath. The whispers changed, now circling around her, overlapping, as if a crowd surrounded her.
Then she saw them. Figures, shadowy and translucent, flitted between the trees. They were barely human—faces pale and gaunt, eyes hollow and lips stitched shut. Their ghostly forms seemed trapped in an eternal loop of agony. One specter drew close, and Miriam froze as she recognized the girl’s face from an old photo she had seen in the village. It was one of the missing.
The girl raised a trembling, spectral hand and pointed behind Miriam. With every ounce of courage, Miriam turned her flashlight, and what she saw made her blood run cold. A massive figure, cloaked in darkness and taller than any tree, loomed in the distance. Its eyes glowed a dull red, and its mouth split into a wide, toothy grin. The whispers turned into screams as the forest itself seemed to shudder in fear.
Miriam dropped her notebook and ran, her breath ragged, branches tearing at her skin. The whispers chased her, growing louder, desperate, as though trying to pull her back. She burst out of the forest, collapsing onto the village's cobblestone path. The whispers stopped abruptly.
Villagers rushed to her side, but they knew. The mark of The Whispering Woods was on her. Miriam was pale, her eyes forever haunted. The villagers helped her back to her cottage, but no one knew if she would ever truly return to herself.
Days passed, and Miriam barely spoke. Yet at night, villagers claimed to hear her whispering to someone in her room, speaking in the same ghostly tones that had called to her from the woods. And though she never ventured into the forest again, those who passed her cottage swore they saw shadows moving just inside the tree line, waiting, watching.
Waiting for the next curious soul.
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