The wind clawed at Mara’s coat as she stepped off the rusted bus, its engine sputtering like a dying animal. The air smelled of pine resin and something older—decaying wood, maybe, or the faint tang of blood. She hadn’t been back to Blackwood Creek in ten years, not since the night her brother vanished into the fog. The town had changed, but not enough. The same crooked store fronts lined Main Street, their paint peeling like sunburned skin. A flickering sign above the diner read *OPEN* in shaky letters. Mara’s boots crunched over gravel as she walked, the sound swallowed by the dense pines that loomed like sentinels. She didn’t look up. The trees had always watched her.
The sheriff’s office was tucked into a weathered brick building, its windows fogged with dust. Inside, the air reeked of stale coffee and mothballs. A man behind the counter glanced up, his face a map of wrinkles. “You lost?” he asked, voice gravelly as bark.
“I’m here about my brother,” Mara said. Her fingers curled around the frayed strap of her duffel bag. “Case number 1987-432.”
The man’s expression didn’t shift. He reached under the counter, pulling out a file folder stained with something dark. “That one’s closed.”
“It’s not closed for me,” Mara said. She stepped closer, her boots echoing. “I’m not leaving until I get answers.”
The sheriff studied her, then slid the file across the counter. “You’ll need a guide. The woods don’t take kindly to strangers.”
Mara opened the folder. A photo of her brother, Liam, stared back—his face half-hidden by shadow, a smirk playing on his lips. The date was six months before he disappeared. She traced the edge of the picture, her throat tight. “Who’s the guide?”
“You’ll meet him at the old mill,” the sheriff said. “Tell him I sent you.”
The mill stood at the edge of town, its roof caved in, its walls sagging like a broken promise. Mara pushed through the rusted gate, the hinges shrieking. Inside, the air was thick with moss and the sour scent of mildew. A figure emerged from the shadows—a man with a weathered face and eyes like storm clouds. “You’re late,” he said. His voice was low, edged with something sharp.
“I wasn’t aware there was a schedule,” Mara replied. She stepped into the light. The man’s gaze lingered on her, then shifted to the file in her hands. “You’re the one who took the case?”
“I’m the one who kept it alive,” he said. “Your brother didn’t vanish. He ran.”
Mara’s breath caught. “What do you mean?”
The man tilted his head. “You ever hear the stories about the creek? How it swallows people whole?” He gestured to the wall, where faded graffiti scrawled *DON’T TRUST THE WATER*. “Liam didn’t run. He drowned. But the town didn’t want that story. They wanted a mystery.”
“Why would they do that?”
“Because some secrets are better buried,” he said. “But you’re not here for secrets, are you? You’re here for the truth.”
Mara’s hands shook as she flipped through the file. Notes scrawled in a shaky hand, maps marked with red Xs. A name repeated over and over: *Elias Voss*. “Who’s he?”
The man’s expression darkened. “A man who knows more than he should. And if you’re smart, you’ll stay away from him.”
But Mara wasn’t done. Not yet. She turned, striding out of the mill, the wind whipping at her coat. The pines whispered around her, their branches creaking like bones. She didn’t know what she’d find in the woods, but she knew one thing: Liam was out there, and she’d find him—or die trying.
The first night in Blackwood Creek was colder than Mara expected. She’d rented a cabin on the edge of town, its windows cracked, its floorboards creaking under her weight. She lit a fire in the hearth, the flames casting jagged shadows on the walls. The file lay open on the table, its contents burning in her mind. Elias Voss. The name felt like a needle in her chest.
At midnight, a sound woke her—a low, rhythmic creak, like someone pacing outside. Mara grabbed the flashlight from the nightstand, its beam cutting through the dark. The cabin door was ajar. She crept to the window, peering into the woods. Nothing but trees and moonlight. But the sound came again, closer this time. A footstep. Then another.
She slipped outside, her breath visible in the cold air. The pines loomed around her, their branches swaying as if breathing. She followed the sound, her boots crunching over frozen leaves. The creek was nearby, its waters black and still. A shadow moved at the edge of the trees—a figure, tall and thin, disappearing into the darkness.
Mara chased it, her pulse hammering. The woods closed in around her, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and pine. She stumbled over roots, her breath ragged. Then she heard it: a voice, low and rasping, carried on the wind. “You shouldn’t have come back.”
She froze. The voice was familiar, but she couldn’t place it. “Who’s there?” she called, her voice shaking.
No answer. Just the creak of branches, the rustle of leaves. Mara turned, her flashlight sweeping the darkness. Nothing. Just the endless pines, their trunks like skeletal fingers reaching for the sky.
She didn’t sleep that night. The next morning, she returned to the sheriff’s office, her hands still shaking. The same man was there, sipping coffee from a chipped mug. “You’re back,” he said, his tone neutral.
“I need more answers,” Mara said. “About Liam. About Elias Voss.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t know what you’re digging into, girl.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing,” she replied. “Where do I find him?”
He studied her for a long moment, then sighed. “He’s in the old mill. But if you go there, don’t expect to come back the same.”
Mara left without another word. The mill was just as she’d left it, its doors creaking in the wind. Inside, the air was colder, heavier. She moved through the shadows, her flashlight beam cutting through the gloom. A voice echoed from the far end of the building. “You’re persistent.”
Mara turned. A man stood in the dim light, his face half-hidden by a hat. “Elias Voss,” she said.
He nodded. “You’re here about your brother.”
“Yes.” She stepped closer. “What happened to him?”
Elias tilted his head. “He didn’t run. He was taken.”
“By whom?”
“By the creek,” he said. “It’s not just water. It’s something else. Something that feeds on secrets.”
Mara’s breath caught. “What do you mean?”
Elias stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “The town buried the truth long ago. Your brother found it. And now, it’s trying to take you too.”
She didn’t believe him. Not entirely. But something in his eyes—something ancient and wary—made her pause. “What do I do?”
“You leave,” he said. “Before it’s too late.”
But Mara wasn’t ready to run. Not yet. She turned, striding out of the mill, the wind howling around her. The pines whispered again, their branches creaking like bones. She didn’t know what waited in the woods, but she knew one thing: Liam was out there, and she’d find him—or die trying.
The next night, Mara returned to the creek. The water was still, its surface reflecting the moon like a mirror. She knelt at the edge, her fingers brushing the cold current. A memory surfaced—Liam laughing as they chased fireflies in the woods. Then the sound of splashing, his voice calling out. “Mara!”
She jolted back, her heart pounding. The water was still. But something else moved beneath it—something vast and unseen. A ripple. Then another.
A hand shot up from the depths, pale and slick, fingers splayed. Mara screamed, stumbling back. The water churned, a low groan echoing from the creek’s heart. She turned and ran, her boots pounding against the earth. The pines closed in around her, their branches swaying like grasping hands.
She didn’t stop until she reached the cabin, slamming the door behind her. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she locked it, her hands trembling. The fire had died, leaving only embers glowing in the hearth. She sat on the floor, her back against the door, and pressed her palms to her temples.
The creek wasn’t just water. It was a trap. A hunger. And Liam had been its first victim.
But why? Why him?
A knock at the door made her jump. She froze, her breath catching. “Who’s there?” she called, her voice tight.
No answer. Just the creak of the door as it swung open. Mara scrambled to her feet, her flashlight trembling in her hand. The cabin was empty. But something was different. The air felt heavier, the shadows deeper.
She turned, her flashlight beam sweeping the room. And there, in the corner, stood a figure—tall, thin, face obscured by darkness. “You shouldn’t have come back,” it said.
Mara’s heart slammed against her ribs. “Who are you?”
The figure stepped forward, and the light revealed a face she knew. Liam. But his eyes were wrong—too wide, too dark. “I tried to warn you,” he whispered. “But you never listened.”
She backed away, her boot catching on a chair. The figure lunged, and Mara screamed as the world went black.
When she woke, she was in the creek. The water was cold, the current pulling at her legs. She struggled, but the force was too strong. Above her, the sky was a swirling mass of darkness. A voice echoed in her mind—Liam’s, but distorted. “You’re one of us now.”
The last thing she saw was the surface of the water, rippling with something ancient and waiting.
The cabin stood empty the next morning. The fire had gone out, the door ajar. No sign of Mara. Just the faint scent of pine and something else—something old and hungry.
And in the woods, the pines whispered, their branches creaking like bones.
