Mara’s boots sank into the mud as she stepped off the bus, the scent of pine resin and damp earth thick in the air. The town of Black Hollow clung to the valley like a shadow, its buildings hunched against the mist that coiled around the pines. She adjusted her backpack, the straps digging into her shoulders, and glanced at the faded sign overhead: BLACK HOLLOW – POP. 2,317. The words felt like a challenge.
A boy with a scar along his jaw leaned against a rusted mailbox, chewing gum that popped with each click of his teeth. He didn’t look up as she approached, but his eyes flicked to her backpack, then back to the road. “You lost?” he asked, voice flat.
“I’m here to stay,” Mara said, her own voice sharper than she intended. The boy smirked, spitting the gum into the dirt. His name was Jax, she learned later, and he’d been waiting for someone like her—someone new, someone who didn’t know the rules.
The house on Willow Lane was smaller than she’d expected, its white paint peeling in long strips. Mrs. Hale, her aunt’s friend, met her at the door with a cup of tea that smelled of burnt sugar. “You’ll get used to it,” she said, though her eyes darted to the window as if expecting someone to jump through it. The house creaked like a living thing, its floorboards groaning underfoot. Mara’s room was at the end of the hall, facing the woods. Through the cracked window, she could see the old mill across the river, its roof sagging, its windows black holes.
That night, Mara lay awake, listening to the wind. The trees outside her window whispered in a language she didn’t understand. She reached for her phone, then hesitated. No signal. The town had no cell service, Mrs. Hale had said earlier, but Mara hadn’t believed her. Now, the silence felt deliberate, as if the air itself was holding its breath.
By morning, Jax was waiting at the edge of the woods, his backpack slung over one shoulder. “You coming?” he asked, already turning toward the trail. Mara followed, her boots crunching on gravel. The path wound through pines that towered like sentinels, their needles sharp underfoot. Jax moved with ease, as if the forest was an extension of his body.
“What’s out here?” Mara asked, her voice low.
“Not what,” Jax said. “Who.” He stopped at a clearing where the trees parted, revealing a cluster of stones arranged in a circle. Moss clung to their surfaces, and something about their shape felt wrong—too perfect, too deliberate. “This is where they disappear,” he said. “The ones who don’t follow the rules.”
Mara’s pulse quickened. “Who’s ‘they’?”
Jax didn’t answer. Instead, he pointed to a patch of ground near the stones, where the earth had been disturbed. A single shoe lay half-buried in the dirt, its laces frayed. Mara knelt, brushing away the soil. The shoe was old, its soles worn thin. She glanced at Jax, but his face was unreadable.
“We should go,” she said, standing quickly. Jax nodded, but as they turned back, a sound stopped them—the faintest whisper, like wind through leaves. Mara froze. The trees around them seemed to lean closer, their branches creaking in unison. Then, silence.
That night, Mara couldn’t sleep. She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the window. The moon was full, casting silver light across the floor. A shadow shifted outside, just beyond the glass. She froze, heart pounding. Then it was gone.
The next morning, Mrs. Hale was gone. Her door stood open, the bed made as if she’d left in a hurry. Mara found a note on the kitchen table, scrawled in shaky letters: “They’re coming for you next.” The words felt like a punch to the gut. She ran outside, but the yard was empty, the path to the woods untouched.
Jax appeared at her window later that afternoon, his face pale. “You saw it too,” he said, not asking. Mara nodded. “What’s going on?” she demanded. Jax hesitated, then pulled a small leather journal from his backpack. “This belonged to my brother,” he said. “He disappeared last summer. I think he found something out here.” He flipped to a page filled with sketches of the stones, along with notes in a cramped, frantic hand. “He wrote about the voices. They don’t just whisper—they *call* you.”
Mara’s hands trembled as she turned the pages. The journal described a ritual, a way to stop the voices. But it required a sacrifice—something precious. “What if we don’t want to stop them?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Jax didn’t answer. He just stared at the journal, his jaw tight.
That night, Mara returned to the clearing. The stones were colder than before, their surfaces slick with dew. She knelt, placing her hand on one of them. The air thickened, pressing against her skin like a living thing. A voice whispered in her ear, soft and familiar: “You don’t belong here.” She pulled back, heart racing. The forest seemed to hold its breath.
The next morning, the town was gone. Mara stood at the edge of the woods, staring at the empty space where Black Hollow had been. The river was still there, but the mill was gone, its ruins swallowed by the trees. She turned back, but the house on Willow Lane was gone too, replaced by a field of tall grass. The only thing left was the journal, still clutched in her hands.
Mara didn’t know how long she stood there, but eventually, the wind shifted. A new sound reached her ears—something like laughter, or a heartbeat. She turned, and for a moment, she saw them: figures moving through the trees, their faces blurred, their eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. They didn’t look angry. Just… watching.
She didn’t run. Instead, she stepped forward, the journal clutched to her chest. The figures paused, then melted into the shadows. The forest was quiet again, but something had changed. The air felt lighter, as if the weight of the voices had lifted.
Mara didn’t know what came next. She didn’t know if she’d ever find her way back. But as she walked deeper into the woods, the whispering stopped, and for the first time in weeks, she felt something close to peace.
