The spot where the little blue bird vanished looked deceptively open from the trail. Ha. Famous last thoughts. Ten steps in, and the ‘intriguing gap’ slammed shut behind me like a leafy green door. Suddenly, I wasn’t pushing aside the occasional vine, I was wading through a solid wall of vegetation. Twigs with an attitude snagged my shirt, pulling threads loose. Low-slung vines seemed to actively reach out, catching my boots like spiteful tripwires, sending me stumbling more than once.
“Okay, very funny,” I muttered, batting away a spiderweb that stretched across my face with the tenacity of cling film. “Where’d you go, you little blue menace?”
Silence. Well, not silence exactly. The constant drip-drip-buzz-rustle symphony of the rainforest continued, but myfeathered guide was nowhere to be seen. And annoyingly, neither was anything resembling a path. Not even a hint of one. Every direction looked identical like a chaotic jumble of thick trunks, dangling vines, giant leaves, and shadowed undergrowth. Which tree had I just passed? Was it that one with the weird knobbly bark, or theotherone with the weird knobbly bark? They all started blurring into one giant, indifferent green and knobbly bark wall.
My supposedly innate sense of direction, the one I’d bragged about to Brenda after one too many Friday night wines, was clearly offline. Probably sunning itself on a beach somewhere sensible, leaving me here to flail. Annoyance, hot and prickly, started bubbling up beneath the sweat and bug spray. This wasn’t an adventurous exploration, this was just getting tangled. This wasnotpart of the triumphant, nature-conquering narrative I’d vaguely pictured.
Instinctively, I pulled out my phone. Predictably, the screen displayed those two soul-crushing words, No Signal. Classic. I shoved it back into my pocket with slightly more force than necessary. Right. So, no calling Brenda to gloat about the amazing secret waterfall I’d found because clearly, I hadn’t, and definitely no calling for help even if I choked back my pride enough to consider it.
Deep breath. Don’t panic. Panicking was for people who hadn’t bet a hundred bucks they could handle the wilderness. I just needed to backtrack those ten steps to the trail. Easy. Except, which waywasbacktrack? Shit.
Okay, backtracking should be simple. Just turn around and walk back the way I came. Except, turning around revealed the exact same view I’d had facing forward, an impenetrable, featureless wall of green. Had I pushed pastthatspecific cluster of ferns? Or was it theotheridentical cluster ten feet to the left? Every twist and turn I’d made chasing the damn bird hadapparently erased any clear path behind me. It was like the jungle actively knitted itself back together the moment I passed.
“Right,” I muttered, planting my hands on my hips and trying to project an air of competence I absolutely did not feel. “Think, Sienna. Which way felt slightly less… grabby?”
As if on cue, the universe decided my current level of difficulty wasn’t quite high enough. The already weak, dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy began to fade noticeably, like someone was slowly turning down a dimmer switch. The vibrant greens muted, shifting toward dull olives and deep, shadowy blues. Looking up, the patches of sky visible between the highest leaves were no longer bright but a flat, ominous gray.
And then came the mist.
It rolled in dramatically, like it just sort of appeared out of nowhere. Thin, ghostly tendrils snaking between the tree trunks at ground level, clinging to the ferns and moss. It slithered silently, muffling the jungle’s constant background chatter, making the drips sound louder, closer. The air grew instantly heavier, the dampness transforming from background humidity into a tangible, clammy presence that clung to my skin, my hair, and my already-sodden clothes.
“Oh, fantastic.” I sighed, the sound unnaturally loud in the suddenly muffled air. “Just what I needed. Low visibility to go with my nonexistent path and zero sense of direction.” I wiped a bead of moisture, or was it sweat or condensation from my forehead? This was rapidly shifting from annoying detour territory toward genuinely concerning. Less a refreshing nature walk and more a setting the scene for a horror movie. And I had a sinking feeling I knew who the first victim was going to be.
Okay, the mist wasn’t just making it hard tosee, it was making things feel weird. Beyond the obvious, it’s an I’m-lost-and-potentially-screwed weirdness. It started subtly. A faint, low vibration I could almost feel through the soles of my boots,like the ground itself was humming softly. Then a prickling sensation danced across my arms, distinct from the goose bumps raised by the damp chill. It wasn’t unpleasant, exactly, but it wasthere, persistent and strange.
And then came the pull.
It wasn’t physical, not like a rope tugging me. It was more like a gentle magnetic suggestion. A quiet insistence, urging me deeper into the trees, fartherawayfrom the direction I vaguely thought the trailmightbe. It felt like leaning into a weak current, a subtle pressure guiding me toward what? More impenetrable jungle?
“Okay, Sienna, pull yourself together,” I muttered, shaking my head vigorously as if to dislodge the feeling. “You’re tired. Probably dehydrated despite the camel bag. Definitely stressed.” My stomach rumbled, adding ‘hungry’ to the list of logical explanations. It was just fatigue playing tricks, making the mist feel spookier than it was.
It definitely wasn’t some mystical forest voodoo kicking in. And it absolutelywasn’tthat ridiculous Green Man character Rajesh Moonbeam had yammered about, deciding to play cosmic tour guide with creepy, invisible vibes. Yeah, right. Like some leafy deity was trying to lure me off-piste with psychic breadcrumbs. Get a grip.
What I needed was sugar. A Snickers bar would probably sort this right out. Or a map that hadn’t dissolved into pulp. Or, you know, a bloody rescue helicopter wouldn’t go amiss right about now. Anything tangible, anythingreal, not this unsettling, misty weirdness and the faint, insistent pull toward nowhere. I forced my feet to turn back toward where Ithoughtthe trail should be, leaning against the strange, invisible current.
Ignoring the weird internal compass trying to pull me deeper into the mist, I focused on findinganythingthat looked different. Anything that might break the monotony and maybe,just maybe, lead somewhere. Ahead, maybe twenty feet away, the jungle seemed to coalesce into something darker, denser. It wasn’t just thick undergrowth. It looked like a deliberate barrier dominated by a curtain of thick, almost black vines hanging straight down from unseen branches high above. They looked less like random plant life and more like a heavy, beaded doorway someone had hung in the middle of the forest.
It felt different. Less chaotic, more purposeful. Maybe it shielded a creek? Water would be good. A landmark would be even better. And frankly, pushing throughsomethingfelt more productive than wandering aimlessly in circles, feeling vaguely spooked by misty vibrations.
“Right then, Mr. Green Man, if you’re trying to keep me out, tough luck,” I muttered, mostly to bolster my own flagging courage.
I reached the vine curtain. Up close, it was even more imposing. The individual vines were as thick as my wrist, smooth and strangely cool to the touch despite the humid air, almost cold. They hung close together, heavy and unyielding. Taking a firmer grip on a handful of them, definitely cold like damp stone, I took a deep breath and shoved.
It took more effort than I expected. The vines resisted, thick and tangled, scraping against my pack and clothes. For a moment, I was completely enveloped in their cool, earthy darkness, pushing blindly forward into the heavy tangle. I half expected to emerge into just more of the same suffocating green, maybe tripping over another root for good measure and stumbled out, not into more jungle, but onto the mossy bank of a shallow, startlingly clear creek.
Andbam.
The change was instantaneous and absolute. It was like stepping from a sauna into an air-conditioned vault, but one filled with static electricity. The oppressive, cloying humidityI’d been wading through for the last hour vanished completely. The air here was crisp, almost sharp, yet paradoxically heavy, pressing in on me with a gentle but noticeable weight. It tingled on my skin.
That low hum I’d felt earlier wasn’t subtle anymore. It resonated up through the smooth, dark stones under my boots, a deep, thrumming vibration that felt like it originated from the earth itself. And the smell, oh God, the smell. It was ancient. Primal. Damp earth, rich and loamy, yes, but overlaid with the sharp tang of ozone, like after a lightning strike, and something else underneath, something metallic, wild, and utterly unfamiliar.
This place feltold. Not just ‘old trees’ old, but deep-time, geological-scale old.
And it was silent.
The constant background symphony of the rainforest—the insect buzz, the bird calls, the rustles, the drips—was gone. Utterly gone. The only sound was the gentle murmur of the creek flowing over the stones and the thrumming vibration under my feet. The silence wasn’t peaceful, it was profound, watchful.
My internal monologue, trying to rationalize everything with ‘tiredness’ and ‘dehydration,’ suddenly stuttered and died. Alarm bells, previously muffled by denial, started clanging loud and clear in my head. This wasn’t just a hidden part of the national park. The feeling here, theenergy, was fundamentally different. Less like a protected nature reserve and more like something else entirely. Something primal, untouched, and maybe, not entirely welcoming.
