The Echoes
Nathaniel's fingers flew across the keys, each sentence pulling him further into the story, further into the memories he'd spent so long avoiding. The apartment had grown dim, the only light coming from his laptop screen, casting a faint glow on his exhausted face. He barely noticed as night settled outside his window, the world around him fading as he slipped deeper into the forest he was building—a place as haunted as he was, filled with things that didn't want to be remembered.
In this latest chapter, the boy was no longer alone. He'd come upon a figure, a shadowy presence at the edge of the trees. At first, he'd thought it was his own reflection—a trick of the forest. But as he drew closer, he saw the figure had eyes like his, the same searching gaze, the same fear lurking beneath the surface. Nathaniel didn't have to reach far to understand who this character was. It was his brother.
Nathaniel's hands stilled, his throat tightening as he looked at the words he'd written. He'd known, somewhere deep down, that he'd been writing toward this moment, building toward the day he'd finally have to face his brother—if only on the page. The boy in the story felt a pull, an ache to get closer, to reach out and say all the things that had been left unsaid. And Nathaniel felt it too, the old pain rising, pressing against the edges of his mind.
In the story, the boy took a step forward, his hand reaching out to touch the figure's shoulder, his voice barely a whisper. "Is it really you?"
But just as his fingers grazed the figure, the shadow twisted, melting back into the darkness. The boy was left grasping at nothing but air, his own hand outstretched, trembling. And then, a whisper drifted through the trees, so faint he almost missed it. The voice was achingly familiar, sending a chill down the boy's spine.
"Find me," it said, the words echoing like a heartbeat, pulsing through the forest, reverberating through the boy's bones. "Find me before it's too late."
Nathaniel's breath caught, his heart racing as he read the line back to himself. The room felt colder, the shadows longer, as if he, too, had heard the voice—soft but unmistakable, calling to him from somewhere just beyond reach. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure what to write next, his mind filled with questions and a growing dread.
In the story, the boy called out, his voice breaking. "Wait!" But there was no answer, only silence, as thick and endless as the fog closing in around him.
Nathaniel leaned back, his pulse pounding, his mind reeling. He could feel the echoes of that voice—his brother's voice—still vibrating through him, as if the words had been meant for him, not just the boy in the story. He'd been telling himself this was just fiction, just a way to process his grief, but now, for the first time, he wondered if it was something more.
The boy was lost, alone in the darkness, chasing a shadow he couldn't quite reach. And Nathaniel could feel it, deep in his bones—a question he'd been too afraid to ask.
What if he'd been wrong all along? What if there was something—someone—waiting for him in the memories he'd buried?
As he sat in the quiet of his apartment, the silence pressing down on him, a new thought clawed its way into his mind, one that refused to let go.
What if, somehow, he could still save his brother?