I drop to the ground with a soft thud, flattening myself against the side of the house like I'm in a spy movie and not just sneaking out to meet a mysterious texter under a hollow tree.
For two minutes, I barely breathe. Every creak of wood and shifting shadow could be my mom waking up and catching me mid-escape. Honestly? That descent was more nerve-wracking than the time I cliff-jumped in Hawaii—at least then I knew what was waiting at the bottom.
Once I'm sure she has not woken up, I bolt across the yard, cutting through the side gate and sprinting straight for the woods. My heart thuds harder with every step, not from fear… okay, maybe a little from fear. But mostly from adrenaline. And something I would rather not name yet.
The first bush I crash into tries to eat my cardigan. Thorns tug at my hair, yanking strands loose until they fall around my shoulders in a tangled mess. My jeans catch on something sharp, and I curse under my breath. Classic horror-movie behavior: run blindly into the woods at night with no flashlight and zero survival plan.
Brilliant.
I trip over a rock approximately the size of a toddler, regain my balance, and curse once more. This is my shortcut—I should know every twist, root, and spiteful stick by now. I practically grew up out here. These woods are more familiar than my house.
And yet here I am, tripping over everything like I'm new.
I stop, panting, brushing leaves off my jeans. The moon is trying its best to guide me, but clouds are rolling in and the trees are closing ranks overhead. Shadows stretch long and uncertain across the forest floor.
And, of course, I forgot my little pink flashlight—the one that actually works.
Perfect.
I press on, slower now, eyes adjusting to the dark. Every rustle makes me tense. Every snap of a twig could be an animal… or something worse.
Creeps. Wild animals. Hobos with axes.
Great job, Angela. You're basically writing your obituary.
And yet, I keep going.
Something about that message—Meet me at the hollow tree—pulls me forward.
It feels like a thread is wrapped around my ribs.
And tonight… I'm not ready to cut it.
The hike to the hollow oak takes just under twenty minutes if I'm quick, and I make it by 11:12 PM—barely on time, heart pounding like I'm being hunted, and I don't know why.
I slow my steps as I near the clearing, tiptoeing over dried leaves that crunch underfoot like they're personally trying to betray me. Every few feet, I stop. Listen. Scan the darkness for movement, breath held.
Nothing.
The breeze moves through the bushes and trees, and the soft rustling of the trees sounds like whispers of things they'll never repeat.
As I walk along, deeper into the woods, the massive oak tree looms ahead, ancient and twisted like something out of a storybook. Seeing it again steals the breath from my lungs, like it always does.
I first stumbled across this tree when I was thirteen, back when the world still made sense in black and white, and I didn't know what heartbreak felt like. My parents had just started fighting regularly, and home felt like a war zone. I needed an escape, and this tree became it. My hiding place. My second skin.
It's wide enough to shelter two people inside, maybe three if we're pressed close. I carved out a small ledge years ago and stocked it with books, flashlights, and old spiral notebooks filled with half-formed poems and secrets I never meant to tell anyone. I even left a blanket folded in the corner in case the cold came early.
No one ever came here. That's what I loved about it. The location, nestled deep in the woods, is too remote for casual hikers and too eerie for thrill-seekers. Spanish moss drips from the trees, like the forest is trying to grow curtains. During the day, birds chatter constantly like woodland gossip—but occasionally, everything just… stops. The silence is complete. No wind. No crickets. No sound at all.
That's how I always knew the woods were watching.
Like the trees were guardians—sentinels who knew how to keep a secret. Or hide one.
I glance around the clearing again, unease prickling down my spine. The gnarled limbs of nearby trees hang low and heavy, like outstretched arms ready to grab anyone who gets too close.
No one would wander this far into the woods by accident.
Which means if someone is here…
They came for a reason.
And now, so did I.
The first time I ran into these woods, I wasn't looking for peace or freedom.
I was running for my life.
My sister had friends over that day—loud, older, and too cool for rules. One of them brought his younger brother, Jonathan. He was my age, and from the second we were alone, I knew something was off. I told him I wasn't interested. He didn't care.
He cornered me in the basement. He told me he'd take whatever he wanted.
No one was around. Not my parents, not my sister. Everyone else was outside, laughing and grilling, like nothing bad could happen inside our house.
I remember the heat of my fear more than anything—how my whole body went cold while my skin burned. I slammed my knee into him with everything I had. Right in the groin.
He crumpled, groaning, gasping, and swearing words I'd never heard before. As he reached for me, I dodged, bolted past him, and ran.
I didn't look back.
I could hear him, though—his voice echoing behind me, calling my name, promising he'd find me. That no one would stop him. That I'd be alone.
I ran faster.
I don't remember how long. Just the sound of my breath. The wild beat of my heart. The branches clawed at my arms as I crashed through the trees. And then—
A flicker of light.
It stopped me cold.
Just up ahead in the forest, through the thicket, was the tree.
It looked monstrous. Gnarled and ancient, with a hollow in its trunk like a wound. Big enough for me to hide inside. I didn't even think twice.
It could've been full of snakes, raccoons, or some other rabid forest creatures. At that moment, I would have preferred to be bitten on the arm by a snake or raccoon rather than face what I had just escaped.
I squeezed into the crevice and crouched low, pressing my back against the cool wood. My breath came in ragged gulps. I prayed—really prayed—that he wouldn't find me. That I'd disappear into the bark and moss and be forgotten.
At some point, I fell asleep.
When I woke up, the sky was dark and heavy with storm clouds. I heard my mother calling my name—her voice trembling, scared.
I crawled out of the tree, covered in dirt and leaves, face streaked with dried tears, and followed her flashlight beam through the trees.
I didn't tell her about the tree. I didn't tell her how the tree had become something sacred to me during those few stolen hours. That tree didn't just hide me—it protected me.
When I reached her, I threw my arms around her and held on like I hadn't seen her in years. She hugged me tight, even though she's always hated the woods at night. She says that bad things happen to white witches in the dark.
I cried. Again.
Told her everything.
She was furious. Not at me—but at my sister, her friends, and the whole situation. Jonathan was never allowed near our house again. My sister was forbidden from seeing that group altogether.
She's never forgiven me for it.
To this day, she swears I ruined her life.
But honestly? She can blame whoever she wants.
The only thing I regret… is not hitting him harder.
Now, standing in front of the same tree all these years later, it still feels the same.
Ancient. Watchful. Like it remembers.
Placing my hand on my tree, I feel that the bark has thickened, but I can still see the marks of my carved initials, messy and shallow, just above the hollow.
I run my fingers over the grooves, worn smooth with time, and breathe in the scent of moss and damp earth and realize this tree has kept more secrets than any person in my life. I used to come here after school and just sit in silence, wrapped in a blanket, reading or pretending I was someone else—someone braver.
Tonight, it feels different.
Heavier.
Colder.
The air shifts suddenly, like something holding its breath.
I freeze.
For a heartbeat, all I can hear is the wind brushing through the moss overhead. Then… nothing.
No birds. No crickets. There's not even a whisper of leaves.
The woods have gone quiet.
Too quiet.
My pulse quickens.
I take a slow step back from the tree and scan the clearing, my eyes straining in the low light. I tell myself it's just the nerves. The dark. The ghosts of old memories cling to my spine.
But then—
A crunch.
Not mine.
Behind me.
Close.
I whip around, heart in my throat, eyes wide.
No one was there.
But I know what I heard.
Someone's here.
Watching.
Waiting.
And they're not hiding anymore.