The wind that night carried whispers. Long before Steve and his friends stepped into the shadowed woods, the land itself had carried secrets—old ones, buried in the silence of time.
Flashback — The Village of Ashen Creek
Long ago, before the city grew, this forest was not feared but worshipped. The villagers of Ashen Creek lived in wooden cottages that leaned against each other like tired old men. They believed the forest was alive—not just with animals, but with spirits that never crossed into heaven.
The elders spoke of a girl named Elira, a child with pale skin and long black hair who was found crying near the creek one autumn night. No one knew her parents, nor her past, but she was taken in by the village. Elira grew quickly, but she never smiled. Her eyes always glistened as though she carried sorrow too heavy for her small shoulders.
One winter, the cattle died. Crops turned to ash in the field. Children grew pale with hunger. The elders said the spirits were angry. And whispers spread that Elira was the reason.
On the night of a full moon, the villagers gathered near the old house at the forest's edge. It was a crooked thing, with walls blackened by rot, and they locked Elira inside. Some said they heard her sobbing. Some said they heard her laugh. The house was set ablaze, but when the fire ended, the body of the girl was never found.
From that day, the villagers abandoned the place. But children who wandered too close sometimes returned, whispering of a girl in white, crying in the dark, asking only one thing—save me.
And so the forest became cursed, and the house became a wound in its heart.
Present Day — The Forest Path
The flashback ended like the fading of smoke, and now, beneath the bright gaze of the full moon, Steve and his friends stepped carefully under the canopy of black trees. The air was damp, carrying the musk of wet leaves and something sharper—something like iron.
"Listen," Maya whispered, gripping her jacket close. "Do you hear that?"
A long, mournful howl rose from deep within the woods. Wooooo. The wolves were restless tonight.
Steve clenched his fists. His dreams had warned him. He had heard the shushing voice before, always in fragments. But now, standing here, he felt it crawling into his ears like a cold finger.
Shhhh.
Liam walked ahead, his posture sharp, his eyes scanning the path. "It's just wolves," he muttered, but even he didn't sound convinced.
Tom tried to laugh. "Or maybe Raihan's gang already got scared and ran off." But his voice cracked, betraying him.
They walked deeper until the trees thinned, revealing a clearing. And there it was.
The old house.
It leaned forward as though it wanted to fall, its roof broken like a cracked skull. The windows were gaping mouths, black and empty. A crooked fence circled it, though half the wood had rotted to splinters. The moonlight spilled over it, but the shadows inside the house remained thick, untouched.
Steve's breath shivered out of him. His chest tightened. It was the same house he had seen in his dream.
"We shouldn't be here," Maya whispered. Her voice was sharp, trembling.
"We came to find answers," Steve said, though even as the words left his mouth, doubt pulled at him.
The Tension Builds
As they approached, the forest seemed to shift. The howls grew closer, circling. Leaves rustled without wind. Somewhere behind them, a branch cracked.
"Don't look back," Liam muttered, almost like an order. "Keep your eyes forward."
They reached the fence. Steve touched one of the splintered posts. It was damp. Sticky. When he pulled his hand back, his fingers were streaked with something dark. At first he thought it was sap. But when the moonlight touched it—red.
Blood.
Steve's throat tightened. He wiped it quickly on his jeans, pretending not to notice, but his friends had already seen.
"Please, Steve," Maya whispered, her eyes glistening. "This is wrong."
Steve looked at her. For a moment, he wanted to turn back. To forget it all. But then, in the still air, came the voice.
Steve… save us.
It was faint. Childlike. Desperate. And it came from inside the house.
Steve froze. His skin prickled. His friends stared at him, their faces pale.
"You heard it too, didn't you?" Steve asked, his voice cracking.
Nobody answered. But their silence was enough.
Inside the House
The door creaked open with a push. Dust and rot rushed into their lungs. The floorboards groaned under their weight, as if the house remembered footsteps and hated them.
Cobwebs hung like torn curtains. Faded pictures clung to the walls, their faces scratched away by time—or by something else. The air was heavy, thick, pressing against their skin.
Tom whispered, "It's colder here. How is it colder inside?"
"Because this place doesn't belong to us," Liam replied, his voice low.
Steve's eyes caught movement. At the far corner, a chair rocked gently, though no wind touched it. His stomach twisted.
"Look." Maya pointed at the stairs. They spiraled upward, swallowed by shadow.
And then—soft, fragile, breaking through the silence—
Sob… sob…
A child crying.
It came from upstairs.
Steve's knees almost buckled. The sound dug into his chest like claws. He knew that cry. It was the same one from his dream.
Liam grabbed his arm. "We leave. Now."
But Steve shook his head. His throat was dry. "If we leave, it won't stop. It'll follow us. It's calling me."
"Don't be a fool," Liam hissed. "Whatever's up there isn't human anymore."
But Steve stepped forward. His hand brushed the railing. The wood was icy, wet, as though it had been crying along with the voice.
The Upper Floor
The stairs groaned under every step. His friends followed reluctantly, their breaths ragged. Each sob grew louder, echoing through the hall.
They reached the landing. Moonlight filtered in through a broken window, painting the floor silver. Doors lined the hallway, each half-open, like mouths waiting to speak.
The crying stopped.
The silence was worse.
Steve's chest heaved. "Where are you?" he whispered, though his voice barely escaped.
Shhh.
The sound was right behind him. A breath, cold as the grave, brushed his ear.
Steve spun. Nothing. Only his friends, staring with wide, terrified eyes.
But then Maya pointed with a trembling finger. "Steve… the door."
At the end of the hallway, one door was closed tight. And something—someone—was knocking gently from the other side.
Knock. Knock.
Steve's pulse thundered. His legs moved before his mind caught up. He reached the door. His hand hovered above the knob.
"Don't," Liam warned, his voice sharp. "Don't open it."
But Steve already knew he would. Because deep inside, the voice whispered again—
Steve… save me.
His hand closed on the knob. The wood felt alive, pulsing, like a heartbeat. He twisted.
The door creaked open.
Inside, the moonlight revealed a girl in a white dress, sitting on the floor. Her hair fell over her face. Her shoulders shook with quiet sobs.
Steve's voice broke. "Elira…?"
The girl lifted her head slowly. Her face was pale, hollow. Her eyes—two pits of endless black.
And then, in a voice that was not one but many, she whispered—
You're too late.
The door slammed shut behind them.