Drizzling rain dampened the asphalt as the man walked slowly, his steps heavy yet certain. His black trench coat was soaked, clinging to his thin frame like a burden that would never leave. In his hand, an old photograph was beginning to fade at the edges—a picture of a smiling woman and a young boy sitting on her lap.
His name was Reyan Altharic, a man who once lived peacefully with his wife and son. But everything changed a year ago, on a night that was supposed to be their family vacation. He still remembered the rustling leaves, the cold air whispering through the trees, and the damp scent of earth as they entered Grimveil Forest.
They never came out whole.
His wife, Eleanor, was found dead, her face frozen in terror, as if she had seen something beyond explanation. His son, Aiden, was found in a coma—his body unscathed, but his soul seemingly drained away.
The police closed the case with an absurd conclusion. "Animal attack," they said. Reyan knew it was nonsense. No claw marks, no bite wounds—just his wife's pale corpse and his son who never woke up again.
Since that night, Reyan had changed. He wasn't a detective, wasn't a cop, but he had investigated the case on his own. Every night, he pieced together fragments of the mystery, seeking out those who knew about the forest, combing through old reports, and uncovering every story that could lead him to the truth.
Tonight, he stood before an old wooden house on the outskirts of town—the home of a man named Wallace Greaves, a former hunter who had gone missing in Grimveil Forest for three months… and returned with eyes that always seemed lost.
Reyan knocked three times. No answer.
From inside, he heard slow, hesitant footsteps, as if someone was afraid to open the door. Then, a raspy voice spoke.
"Go away."
Reyan didn't back down. He pressed his palm against the wooden door.
"I need answers. About the forest. About what's in there."
Silence. Then, the soft creak of a lock turning. The door opened just a crack, revealing Wallace's face, lined with deep-seated fear.
"If you want to live… never ask about Grimveil."
But Reyan only gave a faint, wounded smile—one filled with pain that never healed.
"I died that night.
Wallace stared at Reyan for a long time, as if weighing something in his mind. His old hands trembled as he opened the door wider, letting Reyan step inside his wooden house, which smelled of tobacco and rotting wood.
Inside, only the dim glow of an oil lamp lit the room. The walls were covered with photographs of the forest, taken with an old camera. Some were blurry, as if something had ruined them before they could be fully developed.
Wallace sank into a rickety chair in the corner of the room, letting out a long sigh before looking at Reyan with vacant eyes.
"What do you hope to gain by digging into this?" His voice was hoarse.
"The truth," Reyan answered without hesitation. "What's in that forest? What did you see?"
Wallace fell silent. His rough fingers played with a cold cup of tea on the table. He looked uncertain, but eventually, he let out a deep breath.
"I was missing for three months in that forest. But to me… it felt like years."
Reyan's gaze sharpened.
"I went hunting, like always. But that night… something changed. The mist came down too fast, too thick. I lost my way." Wallace ran a hand over his face. "And then I heard it."
"Heard what?"
"The whispers." Wallace swallowed hard, reluctant to recall the memory. "At first, it sounded like the wind through the trees. But the longer I listened, the clearer it became. It was a woman's voice. Calling my name."
Reyan's heartbeat quickened.
"Did you see anything?"
Wallace looked at him with an unreadable expression. "I saw something that shouldn't exist."
He stood from his chair, walked toward an old wooden cabinet in the corner, and pulled out a worn folder. With trembling hands, he took out a photograph—a black-and-white image, blurry, but clear enough to make Reyan's chest tighten.
In the photo, thick mist covered the trees. But in the middle of it, faintly, a woman stood. Her face was indistinct, as if erased by something unseen.
Reyan held his breath.
"You see her too, don't you?" Wallace asked quietly. "Did your wife hear the whispers as well?"
Reyan clenched his fists on the table. "What did she say to you?"
Wallace gave a bitter smile before whispering:
"Don't look for me."
The words sent a chill down Reyan's spine.
"Because if you find her… you'll never come back."
Reyan stared intently at Wallace, his chest rising and falling with restrained tension. "Have you ever seen my wife's body, Wallace?"
Wallace remained silent. The wrinkles on his forehead deepened as he looked down at the blurry photograph in his hands, as if haunted by something unseen.
"What was your wife's name?"
"Celeste," Reyan replied, his voice colder than before.
Wallace nodded slowly, then met Reyan's gaze with fear in his eyes. "I never saw her body."
Reyan frowned. "What do you mean? The police found her. They said she was—"
"The police only found a body they thought was your wife."
Reyan's heartbeat quickened. "Explain."
Wallace exhaled heavily. "I was in that forest for three months, Reyan. I saw things that can't be explained. The people who enter that place… they don't always come out as themselves."
He reached for another worn-out folder and pulled out a different photograph. This time, the image was clearer—it showed a massive stone deep within the forest, covered in strange, carved symbols. And right in front of the stone stood a woman in a long dress. Her face was blurred, just like in the previous photo, but her silhouette was unmistakably similar to Celeste.
Reyan gripped the table. "What is this…?"
Wallace swallowed hard. "I took that picture a few days before I was found. She didn't move. She didn't speak. She just stood there… as if waiting for something."
"That's not Celeste," Reyan muttered. But his voice sounded more like he was trying to convince himself.
Wallace held his gaze. "I don't know if that was really your wife… or something else."
The room suddenly felt colder. A bead of sweat rolled down Reyan's neck.
"Then…" he whispered, "…whose body is in Celeste's coffin?"