The forest seemed endless. By the time Jacob realized he was lost, the sun had already dipped below the horizon, taking with it the comfort of warmth and light. The sky above was a fading bruise of purples and grays, smothered by the towering canopy of twisted branches that groped at each other, forming a dense, interlocking ceiling that let in only thin trickles of moonlight. Every direction looked the same: thick trunks and tangled roots, no trail in sight.

His breath came in short gasps, each exhale misting in the cooling air. He strained his ears, hoping to catch a distant car engine or the laughter of other hikers, anything that would guide him. But there was nothing—only silence that felt too deep, too thick, pressing against his eardrums, swallowing every rustle of leaves beneath his boots. The air was damp, thick with the earthy rot of fallen leaves, and something else—something metallic, sharp, that made his nose wrinkle.

He paused to take a breath, leaning against the rough bark of a tree, its surface damp and cool. His fingers brushed against something sticky, and he pulled his hand back with a shiver. In the dim light, he could just make out a dark substance smeared across his palm. He didn't want to think about what it could be. He wiped it on his jeans, trying to ignore the way his skin tingled where it had touched him.

It was then that he heard it—a whisper. Soft, barely there, like the rustling of leaves in a gentle breeze. He froze, straining to locate the sound, his heart leaping in his chest. It came again, from somewhere to his left, just beyond the reach of his vision, a voice hushed and distant.

"This way..."

Jacob’s heart thudded, a spark of hope kindling in his chest. He turned, squinting into the darkness, trying to see who was there. He called out, his voice cracking. "Hello? Is someone there?" The whisper responded, many voices now, overlapping, blending together, growing louder.

"This way... come this way..."

They seemed to drift through the trees, moving deeper into the forest. He hesitated, something in the back of his mind screaming that this wasn't right, that he should turn back, find the trail, wait for daylight. But the whispers grew more insistent, urging him on, promising to guide him home, and the fear of staying lost, alone in the dark, outweighed his hesitation. He stepped forward, and the voices seemed to recede, leading him deeper into the heart of the forest.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

The air grew colder as he followed, the dampness seeping through his clothes, chilling him to the bone. The trees around him seemed to change, their bark rougher, knotted, the branches above twisting in grotesque shapes that resembled gnarled hands, fingers outstretched, reaching. The whispers surrounded him now, a chorus of hushed tones, coming from every direction, yet always just out of reach.

"Almost there..."

The voices crooned, soft, almost soothing. Jacob shivered, wrapping his arms around himself as he pushed forward. The ground beneath his feet grew uneven, roots snaking across the path, tripping him, slowing him down. The whispers never stopped, never gave him a moment of silence, a moment to think. They filled his head, pushing out every rational thought until all that remained was the need to follow, to obey.

He stumbled, his foot catching on something thick and unyielding. He fell forward, his hands plunging into the wet earth, the mud sucking at his skin. He gagged as the metallic smell hit him again, stronger now, overwhelming, and he realized with a lurch of horror that the ground was soaked, not just with rainwater, but something thicker, darker. He pulled his hands back, staring at the dark streaks staining his skin, his stomach twisting.

The whispers were louder now, urgent, demanding.

"Don't stop... keep going..."

He looked up, his eyes widening. The trees had changed again. Their branches were no longer branches, but twisted limbs, skeletal arms reaching down, fingers brushing against his face, his shoulders. The bark was no longer bark but flesh, gray and mottled, covered in eyes that blinked, watching him, mouths that moved, forming the whispers that filled his head.

Panic surged through him, and he stumbled to his feet, his heart pounding, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He turned, tried to run, but the ground shifted beneath him, the roots twisting, coiling around his ankles, dragging him down. He fell again, the wet earth swallowing him, the metallic stench filling his nostrils, his mouth, choking him.

The whispers were deafening now, no longer gentle, no longer coaxing. They were angry, hissing, demanding. The trees closed in around him, their limbs wrapping around his body, their fingers digging into his skin, pulling him deeper, deeper into the earth. He struggled, tried to scream, but the mud filled his mouth, the cold, wet darkness swallowing his voice, his breath, his thoughts.

And then there was silence. The whispers stopped. The forest stood still, the twisted branches swaying gently in the breeze, the moonlight filtering through the gaps in the canopy. The only sign that Jacob had ever been there was the faint outline of his body, pressed into the wet earth, slowly filling with dark, metallic water, until even that was gone.