Nathaniel stood frozen, his feet rooted to the soft earth as the realization hit him. The grave in front of him—his brother's grave—seemed to pulse with a terrible, unnatural energy. It was as if the ground itself were alive, shifting and groaning under some hidden weight. His breath caught in his throat, and for a long moment, he could do nothing but stare at the freshly disturbed earth. The figure before him, or whatever it was, remained motionless, its outstretched hand still pointing toward the grave.
A cold wind whispered through the trees, rustling the leaves in an eerie, hollow melody that seemed to hum just beneath the surface of the air. Nathaniel felt a sudden chill crawl up his spine, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention. The oppressive silence of the forest pressed in on him from all sides, broken only by the faint rustle of branches swaying in the wind.
His heart raced, each beat echoing in his ears. The ground beneath him seemed to shift again, as if something below was stirring, slowly, methodically. He turned his gaze back to the grave, the soil unsettled and loose. It almost looked like something was trying to push its way out from beneath the earth, but the movement was subtle—imperceptible to the eye—yet Nathaniel felt it. He felt the shifting presence in the soil, as if something was waiting, holding its breath, just beneath the surface.
The figure in front of him spoke again, its voice low and distorted, as if it were a voice trapped beneath the weight of water.
"Do you really think you can undo it, Nathaniel?" The words came out slow, deliberate, like a warning wrapped in a riddle. "You should have never come back. This place—this forest—it has been waiting for you."
Nathaniel's heart thudded painfully in his chest. The voice—it was his brother's voice, but it wasn't his brother. The distortion was too great, the words too… wrong. He swallowed hard, fighting the wave of panic threatening to rise in his throat.
"I don't understand," Nathaniel said, his voice barely above a whisper. "What are you—what happened to you? Why are you here? Why is this grave…?"
The figure didn't answer. Instead, it lowered its hand, slowly and methodically, and took a step back. Nathaniel's gaze followed the motion, his mind reeling with confusion. What was going on here? Was this a trick? Some twisted hallucination brought on by the stress and isolation of the forest? He couldn't tell anymore, couldn't distinguish between what was real and what was imagined.
But then, the wind shifted, and Nathaniel's eyes flickered back to the grave.
Something had changed.
The earth was moving.
He felt it again—the soft shifting beneath his feet, a slow, rhythmic tremor that seemed to rise from the depths of the soil itself. He took a hesitant step forward, his heartbeat quickening, and then, in the stillness of the forest, he heard it.
A voice.
But this time, it wasn't coming from the figure.
The voice came from the ground itself. It was faint at first, barely audible, but as Nathaniel leaned closer, straining his ears to listen, it grew louder, more distinct.
"Help me…"
The words were broken, tortured, like a whisper carried on the wind. Nathaniel's eyes widened. His heart began to pound in his chest as he dropped to his knees beside the grave. The sound seemed to come from just beneath the surface, as if someone—or something—was trapped deep below.
"Please…" the voice continued, dragging out the words as if each one took an immense effort. "You have to listen… You have to—"
The voice suddenly stopped, cut off mid-sentence, leaving nothing but the unsettling silence of the forest. Nathaniel's chest tightened. His breath came in short, ragged gasps, the cold air stinging his lungs. His hand trembled as he reached toward the grave, instinct pulling him to do something, anything, to uncover the truth.
But before he could act, a sharp sound cut through the air—a crackling, like dry branches snapping underfoot.
Nathaniel froze. The figure, still standing motionless a few feet away, began to change. Its form shifted, its edges blurring like smoke, its features distorting into something unrecognizable. It was no longer the silhouette of his brother—no, this was something else, something far worse.
The air around him grew heavier, the oppressive darkness closing in as the figure's body seemed to dissolve into the shadows, blending with the very forest itself.
Then, in a voice that sounded like a thousand whispers, the figure spoke once more.
"You've disturbed the cycle, Nathaniel. You've awakened what should have stayed buried."
A gust of wind blew through the clearing, sending a wave of leaves spiraling into the air. Nathaniel staggered backward, panic rising in his chest. The voice continued, its tone growing more frantic.
"You've unleashed it!"
Suddenly, the ground beneath Nathaniel's feet gave way, the earth cracking open with a violent tremor. He gasped as the ground around the grave shifted, the soil sinking into a dark abyss that seemed to open beneath him, pulling him closer to the gaping void.
"No!" Nathaniel shouted, trying to steady himself, but the force of the earth moving beneath him was too great. He stumbled forward, his foot slipping into the widening crack in the ground.
With a final, desperate cry, Nathaniel threw his hands out, reaching for anything to hold on to—but there was nothing. The darkness swallowed him whole, and the last thing he heard before everything went black was a faint whisper, distant and fading.
"You shouldn't have come back."