The Watcher in the Pines
The fire had burned low, its embers casting faint, flickering light across the camp. Eli's breath came in short, sharp bursts as he stared into the darkness beyond the clearing. The figure was still there, motionless, its outline rippling unnaturally, like a reflection on disturbed water.
It had his face, his build, but something was wrong. Its proportions were slightly off-arms too long, head tilted at an unnatural angle. And that smile. That impossible, grotesque smile stretched far beyond what any human mouth could manage.
"Eli..." the figure whispered again, its voice slithering into his ears. It wasn't just mimicking him. It sounded as though it had stolen his voice, twisting it into something hollow and broken.
He gripped the edge of his tent's zipper, his knuckles white. Every instinct screamed at him to shut it, to hide, but he couldn't look away.
The figure took a step closer, its movements jerky and uneven, as if it were unused to walking. Each step seemed to echo, even though the snow beneath its feet should have muffled any sound.
"Who are you?" Eli forced the words out, his voice trembling.
The figure tilted its head further, the sharp motion making a sickening crack, like bone snapping. Its grin widened impossibly, revealing jagged, uneven teeth that glinted faintly in the firelight.
"Come closer, Eli," it whispered, its tone a sick parody of his own voice. "We need you."
The sound of a flashlight clicking on shattered the moment.
"Eli, what the hell are you doing?"
Eli jerked back, his heart pounding. Marcus stood outside his own tent, the beam of his flashlight cutting through the darkness. He swept the light toward the treeline where the figure had been.
There was nothing there.
Eli crawled out of his tent, still trembling. "I saw it," he said, pointing toward the trees. "It was me. It called my name."
Marcus narrowed his eyes, his jaw clenched. "You're spooking yourself," he said, though the tension in his voice betrayed his unease. "Get back in the tent."
"It wasn't my imagination," Eli insisted. "It was real. It looked like me. It sounded like me."
The sound of a zipper interrupted them. Claire emerged from her tent, wrapping her coat tightly around herself. Her eyes darted between them.
"What's going on?" she asked, her breath visible in the frigid air.
Eli hesitated, not wanting to sound insane. "There was something... something in the trees," he said finally. "It looked like me."
Claire's expression darkened. She knelt by the fire, tossing more wood into the embers. As the flames grew, the shadows around the camp seemed to shift and writhe, like living things retreating from the light.
"Stay close to the fire," she said quietly. "And keep your recording equipment running."
---
The rest of the night was a waking nightmare.
The whispers began again before the fire had even burned down. They were faint at first, threading through the cold air like a distant breeze. But as the hours dragged on, they grew louder, more insistent.
"Eli..."
He froze. The voice wasn't just calling his name-it was calling it in his own voice.
"Come closer, Eli. We need you."
The sound sent ice through his veins. He glanced at the others, but no one else seemed to notice. Claire was scribbling notes furiously in her journal, and Marcus was sharpening his knife with quick, angry motions.
"Do you hear it?" Eli asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Claire stopped writing and looked up, her eyes narrowing. "What do you hear?"
"Me," Eli said. "It's calling me. It's me."
Claire didn't respond immediately. Instead, she closed her journal and stared into the darkness.
"We stay by the fire," she said finally. "No one moves, no matter what they hear."
Dawn brought no relief.
Marcus returned from his morning patrol with his face pale and his fists clenched. "We're not alone out here," he said, his voice tight.
"What do you mean?" Claire asked.
Marcus gestured for them to follow him to the edge of the clearing. The snow had been disturbed, deep footprints circling the camp like a predator stalking its prey.
"They've been watching us," Marcus said. "All night."
The prints were massive-human-like, but distorted. Long, clawed toes had carved deep grooves into the snow, and the distance between each step was unnervingly large.
Claire crouched beside one of the tracks, running her gloved fingers over the edges. "These are fresh," she said, her voice grim. "Whatever made these was here just a few hours ago."
"We can't stay," Marcus snapped. "We pack up and leave now."
Claire shook her head. "And walk where? Into the woods where these came from? We'd be walking straight into it."
Eli's gaze drifted toward the trees. The shadows seemed deeper now, the pines twisting together to form a suffocating canopy. He didn't say it aloud, but he could feel it-something was watching them.
That night, the voices returned, louder and clearer than ever before.
"Lena..."
Lena sat bolt upright in her tent, her breath coming in sharp gasps. The voice was unmistakable.
"Mom?" she whispered.
"Come here, Lena," the voice called, soft and coaxing.
Tears welled in her eyes as she clutched her camera. "Mom's gone," she whispered to herself. "This isn't real."
But the voice didn't stop. "It's okay, Lena. I'm here. Just come to me."
The fire flickered violently, casting wild shadows across the camp.
"Eli..."
Eli froze as the voice came again, louder this time. It was his own voice, distorted and hollow.
"Come closer, Eli. We need you."
Marcus unsheathed his knife, his eyes darting toward the treeline. "This is it," he muttered. "It's coming."
The whispers crescendoed, overlapping in a chaotic chorus. Familiar voices-loved ones, friends-called out to each of them, their tones filled with a mix of desperation and malice.
And then, just as suddenly as they had begun, the whispers stopped.
A branch snapped in the forest, loud and deliberate.
Eli turned toward the sound, his heart hammering. At the edge of the clearing, just beyond the reach of the firelight, the figure stood again.
But this time, it wasn't alone.