Voices in the Pines
The settlement sat heavy with silence, its decayed cabins hunched against the cold. Morning sunlight filtered weakly through the pines, but it did little to dispel the unease that had settled over the group.
Eli crouched near the remains of the fire, his recording equipment balanced on his knee. He adjusted the dials, trying to focus his mind on the task at hand. Sleep had been impossible; every time he closed his eyes, he swore he could hear whispers threading through the forest.
"Anything on that thing?" Marcus asked, his voice breaking the stillness. He stood nearby, scanning the treeline with a wary expression.
Eli glanced at his recorder. A faint line flickered across the screen, indicating the hum he'd detected the day before was still there. He replayed the audio he'd captured during the night—static at first, then faint whispers weaving in and out of the noise.
"Here," Eli said, handing Marcus the headphones. "Tell me what you hear."
Marcus frowned but took them, his jaw tightening as he listened. His hand dropped to the knife at his side.
"It's just static," he said quickly, yanking the headphones off.
Eli didn't press him. He didn't need to. He knew Marcus had heard it too—the faint, almost-human voices buried beneath the hiss of the recording.
The group spent the morning combing through the settlement. The air seemed colder than the day before, and the absence of sound was palpable. No birds, no rustling leaves, not even the occasional crack of a branch. Just their own voices and the crunch of snow beneath their boots.
Lena moved between the cabins, her camera clicking steadily as she documented the carvings etched into every surface. Her breath fogged in the cold air as she muttered observations to herself.
"These symbols…" she called out, gesturing for Dr. Ashar to join her. "What do you make of them?"
Ashar knelt beside one of the carvings, his gloved fingers tracing the jagged lines. The symbol twisted in on itself, forming a pattern that was both intricate and unsettling.
"They're phonetic," Ashar said after a long pause. "Each mark represents a sound, not a word. It's… sophisticated. Too sophisticated for the time period this settlement likely dates to."
"What does that mean?" Lena asked.
Ashar hesitated, glancing back at the forest. "It means whoever made these carvings wasn't from here. Or they knew something we don't."
Claire joined them, flipping through her notebook. "These patterns remind me of sigils—protection symbols. But this one," she pointed to a particularly large carving etched into the side of a cabin, "it looks more like a warning."
"A warning about what?" Marcus asked, his voice tense.
"Whatever's in those woods," Claire replied quietly.
By midday, the group reconvened near the firepit. The cold seemed sharper now, the sunlight dimmer, though no one mentioned it. They sat in uneasy silence, their faces pale and drawn.
Eli replayed the audio he'd captured again, this time through the speaker. The faint hum was still there, but now it was joined by something else—low, rhythmic beats, like the sound of distant footsteps.
"What the hell is that?" Lena asked, leaning closer.
"It's not us," Eli said. "It was recorded while we were asleep."
The group exchanged nervous glances.
"Maybe it's just animals," Marcus said, though his tone lacked conviction.
"In this silence?" Claire asked, shaking her head. "No animals would be this quiet. Something scared them off."
As the afternoon wore on, Marcus decided to scout the perimeter of the settlement. He returned half an hour later, his face pale.
"There's a trail," he said. "Footprints. Big ones."
Eli followed him to the edge of the settlement, where the snow had been disturbed. The prints were large, human-like, but with long, clawed toes.
"They lead into the woods," Marcus said, his voice low.
Eli stared at the trail, his stomach twisting. The prints looked fresh, as if whoever—or whatever—made them had passed through only minutes ago.
"What do we do?" he asked.
"We stay here," Marcus said firmly. "And we don't go into those trees."
The whispers returned that night, louder and more distinct than before. Eli lay in his tent, staring at the canvas roof, his body tense with dread.
"Eli…"
The voice came from outside, soft and insistent. It was his voice.
"Eli, come outside."
His pulse quickened. He sat up, gripping the zipper of his tent.
The fire was still burning faintly, casting flickering shadows across the camp. The other tents were zipped shut, their shapes barely visible in the dim light.
"Eli…"
The voice came again, closer this time. It was coming from the forest.
He froze as he saw a figure standing just beyond the light of the fire. It looked like him. Same build, same stance.
"Eli, come here," the figure said, its tone flat and unnatural.
Eli's breath caught in his throat as the figure smiled—an eerie, wide grin that stretched impossibly far.