Chapter Four: The Echoes
Nathaniel woke with a start, his heart hammering against his ribcage. For a moment, he thought he was still in the forest, the damp chill of the air clinging to his skin. But as his vision adjusted to the darkness, he realized he was back in his apartment. The familiar outlines of his bedroom slowly came into focus—the peeling wallpaper, the faint outline of the cracked dresser, and the weak light of the streetlamp filtering through the window.
He sat up, running a trembling hand through his hair. His shirt was damp with sweat, clinging to his skin, and his breathing came in shallow, uneven gasps. It wasn't just the dream that haunted him—it was the pendant hanging around his neck, its weight both physical and psychological. He gripped it tightly, the cold metal biting into his palm, as though squeezing it might provide some clarity.
But it didn't.
The whispers from the forest still echoed faintly in his ears, threading through his thoughts like an unshakable melody. His mind kept returning to Samuel's face—the terror frozen in his brother's expression in the photograph—and the looming shadow in the background.
The forest wasn't done with him.
Nathaniel swung his legs over the side of the bed, planting his bare feet on the cold wooden floor. He sat there for a moment, trying to calm his breathing, to convince himself that he was safe. But the air in the room felt oppressive, heavy with a silence that wasn't natural.
He needed water.
Stumbling into the kitchen, he turned on the faucet and let the icy water run over his hands before splashing it onto his face. The cold was sharp, grounding him for a moment. He gripped the edge of the sink, his knuckles turning white. When he finally raised his head to look into the cracked mirror above the sink, he barely recognized the face staring back at him.
His eyes were bloodshot, dark circles etched beneath them. His skin was pale, almost ghostly, and his hair was disheveled. He looked like someone who hadn't slept in days, like someone unraveling at the edges.
"What's happening to me?" he whispered to his reflection.
The pendant around his neck vibrated faintly, a low hum that resonated through his chest. He yanked it off, throwing it onto the counter as though it had burned him. It landed with a metallic clink, spinning briefly before settling, its etched surface catching the faint light.
But the hum didn't stop.
It grew louder, filling the small kitchen with a sound that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Nathaniel clapped his hands over his ears, stumbling back.
"Stop!" he shouted, his voice cracking.
The sound stopped abruptly, plunging the room into an eerie silence. Nathaniel stood there, his chest heaving, his pulse racing. He didn't dare move, didn't dare touch the pendant again.
And then, faintly, he heard it.
A whisper.
It was soft at first, almost imperceptible, but it grew louder with each passing second. The words were distorted, overlapping, impossible to fully understand.
"…you left him… you let him go… why didn't you save him?"
The voice wasn't human—it was too warped, too fragmented—but there was something achingly familiar about it. Nathaniel's stomach twisted as he recognized the cadence of the words.
"Samuel?" he whispered.
The pendant pulsed with a faint light, the engravings on its surface shifting in ways that made Nathaniel's head spin. He backed away, his legs hitting the edge of the table, nearly sending him toppling to the floor.
"Leave me alone," he pleaded, his voice shaking.
But the whispers didn't stop. They grew louder, overlapping, merging into a cacophony that made his head pound. He grabbed his temples, squeezing his eyes shut as if that could block out the noise.
"Stop it! Please!"
And then, as suddenly as they began, the whispers ceased.
Nathaniel opened his eyes cautiously, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The pendant was still, the room silent. He stared at it for a long moment, his heart thundering in his chest. He didn't dare touch it again.
By the time the first light of dawn filtered through his window, Nathaniel was still awake. He sat at his desk, the pendant lying untouched in the middle of the table. Surrounding it were photographs, newspaper clippings, and notes he had scrawled in a desperate attempt to piece together the mystery.
His hands trembled as he flipped through the pages, his eyes scanning each word for some kind of answer. He had spent years trying to forget Samuel's disappearance, burying it under layers of work and routine. But now, the forest had dragged it all back to the surface, forcing him to confront the truth he had avoided for so long.
Why did Samuel go into the forest? What did he see? What was that shadow in the photograph?
Nathaniel picked up the photograph again, his gaze locking onto Samuel's face. There was something haunting about his brother's expression—not just fear, but a kind of resignation. As if he had known what was coming.
He ran his fingers over the image, his mind racing. He had to go back.
The thought filled him with dread, but he couldn't shake it. The answers weren't here, in the safety of his apartment. They were out there, in the forest, waiting for him.
The library was nearly empty when Nathaniel arrived later that morning, the faint scent of old books and dust greeting him as he stepped inside. He had spent countless hours here in the weeks after Samuel disappeared, searching for anything that might explain the forest's mysteries. But his efforts had yielded little—only vague local legends about disappearances and ghostly sightings.
He made his way to the archives, pulling out stacks of old records and newspapers. The hours ticked by as he flipped through the brittle pages, his frustration mounting.
And then, just as he was about to give up, something caught his eye.
It was an article, yellowed with age, buried beneath a stack of unrelated clippings. The headline read: "The Echoes of Blackwood Forest: A Haunting Legacy."
Nathaniel's heart raced as he scanned the article. It told the story of a family who had vanished in the forest decades ago, their remains never found. The locals claimed to have heard whispers in the woods—faint voices calling for help, or warning those who dared to enter.
His gaze locked onto a passage halfway through the article: "A pendant was recovered near the site of the disappearances, its surface etched with strange symbols. The artifact was deemed unexplainable, and its origin remains a mystery to this day."
Nathaniel's blood ran cold.
He glanced at the pendant on the table in front of him, its engravings gleaming faintly in the library's dim light.