The next morning, I woke up with the strange feeling that I had left something unfinished. My sketch from the night before lay on my desk, the hooded figure surrounded by the twisting forest. The drawing pulled at me, its lines whispering questions I didn't yet understand.
I decided to bring it to Dr. Price.
When I handed her the sketch during our session, she studied it in silence, her fingers lightly tracing the edges. "You're exploring something here," she said finally, her voice measured.
I shifted in my seat. "I don't know what it is. It's like… the figure isn't me, but it feels connected to me. Like they're caught in the same pull I am."
She nodded. "The forest is significant. It's dark, but it's not empty. There's life in it, movement, even if it feels threatening."
Her words hit something deep inside me. "I've always thought of the forest as a place where things get lost," I admitted. "But maybe… it's also where things can be found."
Dr. Price smiled faintly. "Exactly. What do you think this figure is searching for?"
I didn't have an answer, and I told her so.
"That's okay," she said. "The important thing is that you're looking."
After the session, I walked home with the drawing tucked under my arm. The streets felt brighter, more alive, as though the world itself had shifted slightly.
When I got home, I found my mother in the living room, sorting through an old box of photographs. She looked up and smiled. "I thought it was time to do some cleaning," she said.
Curious, I sat beside her and began sifting through the photos. Most were from before my father's death: family outings, birthdays, vacations.
Then I came across a picture that stopped me cold.
It was a photo of me as a child, standing at the edge of a dense forest. My father was beside me, his hand resting on my shoulder, his face alight with laughter.
"I remember this day," my mother said, her voice soft. "Your father loved that forest. He used to say it was full of secrets waiting to be discovered."
Her words sent a shiver down my spine. "Do you know where this is?" I asked.
She nodded. "It's about an hour's drive from here. The forest near Lake Hollow. We used to go there all the time."
That night, I couldn't stop thinking about the photo. The image of my younger self standing at the forest's edge felt eerily similar to the drawings I had been making.
I retrieved the photograph and pinned it next to my latest sketch. The parallels were undeniable—the stance, the tension, the sense of being on the verge of something unknown.
It wasn't a coincidence.
I made a decision.
The next morning, I packed a small bag and told my mother I was going out for the day. She didn't question me, her focus still on the boxes of memories she was sorting through.
I took the bus to Lake Hollow, the photograph in my pocket. As the vehicle wound through the countryside, the air grew fresher, the surroundings quieter.
When I arrived, the forest loomed in the distance, just as dense and mysterious as it had appeared in the photo.
Standing at the edge, I felt an odd sense of déjà vu. The trees seemed to recognize me, their branches swaying gently in the breeze as if beckoning me forward.
I stepped into the shadows, the air growing cooler with each step.
The forest was alive with sound—the rustle of leaves, the distant call of birds, the occasional crack of a branch underfoot. But beneath it all was a stillness, a waiting presence that seemed to match the tension I had been feeling for weeks.
I walked deeper, my senses sharpening with every step. I didn't know what I was looking for, but I knew I would recognize it when I found it.
Then, in a small clearing, I saw it.
A makeshift wooden bench, weathered and covered in moss, stood beneath an ancient tree. Something about it felt familiar, though I couldn't place why.
As I approached, I noticed a small carving on the bench's surface. Leaning closer, I realized it was a name.
"James."
My father's name.
The sight sent a jolt through me, my chest tightening with emotion I couldn't fully comprehend.
Who had carved it? And why?
I sat on the bench, the weight of the forest pressing around me. For the first time, I felt the faintest flicker of something other than darkness.
It was curiosity, yes, but also something warmer. Something like hope.
________
🚨 Chapter Locked!
To read the next chapter:
🔗 Copy this link: https://unlockcontent.net/cp/i/q8320?preview=1
📖 Chapter will unlock right after. Enjoy the secrets!