Crackling comes from behind me, branches breaking and leaves crunching. Footsteps, possibly, but they’re uneven, too far apart. My breathing stills, straining to focus on the noise.
“Shiloh.”
My heart stutters in my chest like a stalling engine, muscles winding so tight, I’m afraid I might burst from the pressure. I’m dreaming, I have to be—or hallucinating; either is possible at this point.
“Shiloh,” the voice croaks again in a tone that’s all wrong, like several voices in unison but none of them human.
Sweat rolls down my temple and over my nose, a drop catching on one nostril. Pressure builds in my sinuses, threatening to turn into a sneeze. Pain radiates through my chest as I try to hold still, fighting to stay silent. The sneeze forces its way through anyway, burning my throat and nasal passages before exploding out of me. A hiccupped sob follows. I curltighter into myself, hoping there’s even a small chance whatever is out here didn’t hear it.
“Soon.” The voice is inside my head. Hot breath fans across my cheek. My body trembles, eyes closed and limbs paralyzed.
A breeze washes over me, goosebumps erupting across my skin even underneath my layers of clothes. My thoughts spin, scrambling for a plan of escape. Before I’m able to act, as quickly as the overwhelming presence appeared, it’s gone.
My stomach rumbles and my lightheadedness returns. I spring forward on hands and knees without opening my eyes, reaching for my backpack and the remaining bit of protein bar. Tears roll down my cheeks as I shove what’s left into my mouth.
I don’t dare move again until the sun is high, stinging my unprotected face and roasting me inside my jacket. The light reflects off the lake, blinding me as my eyelids flutter open. It takes a moment for my muscles to loosen enough for me to sit up, legs aching as I stretch them in front of me. I mentally run through the events of last night, trying to make sense of them. Surely, there’s a logical explanation: stress, hunger, infection, even something as simple as a nightmare—but it felt so real.
When I turn around, any thought of the event being conjured by my imagination disappears. A pile of berries sits on the log between me and my tent. My supplies are in shambles, strewn about the campsite like someone was searching for something.
My mouth waters as I gaze longingly at the fruit. I pick one up, squeezing its plump, deep purple flesh. They’re freshly picked, still wet with morning dew. I roll the berry between my fingers, weighing my options. They could be poisonous, but my stomach doesn’t care—and I’m not sure I do either.
“Fuck it,” I mumble, tossing it into my mouth. The berry bursts, coating my tongue in bittersweet juice. I eat another, then another, ravenously stuffing my face until the entire pile is gone. With a full stomach and sticky hands, I lie down to wait, deciding if I die, at least I won’t die hungry.
My stomach gurgles, finally satiated, but nothing else happens. I sigh, resorting to cleaning up my destroyed campsite instead of waiting to be poisoned. Clothes are everywhere, but at least they’re not shredded, and neither is the tent. I pick up my windbreaker, and my heart stops. Footprints—too long and slender to be human—trail through the dirt. The more I stare, the more appear, like whatever was here last night paced around for hours. There’s so many, they almost blend into each other, weaving through the dirt in circular trails.
I scan the tree line, pulse drumming in my ears. Could it still be watching me? Were the berries a trap? Waves of nausea wash over me. The way it called my name, choking on the syllables as if its tongue struggled to form them, plays in my head like a broken record. The intense need to get away from here, out of the open, consumes me. I haphazardly pack everything I can fit in my backpack and sprint towards the woods. There’s a chance I’ll become even more lost, but I can’t stay here.
The stories about Hellsmouth Woods bloom in the forefront of my mind. My friends?—
when I still had them—and I used to laugh about all the wild stories we’d hear at the roadhouse near the trailhead: people disappearing, terrifying creatures lurking between trees, bloodthirsty cults. They don’t seem so far-fetched now; they feel more like warnings.
I head down an overgrown trail I haven’t explored yet. Based on the overgrowth of vines and bramble, no one has been on it in years. It’s doubtful I’ll find help at the end, but if the path takes me far from here, it’s the best option I have. I let out a longexhale, shaking my limbs out before committing myself fully. I’ve already wasted enough time on the well-marked paths with no success, so what do I have to lose?
Dusk creeps in, sapping daylight well before it feels like I should. The deeper I go into the woods, the more silent it becomes, like every noise is shut out by an invisible wall. My body tingles, numb, as though my senses are shutting off one by one. Panic blooms in my chest, each breath taking more energy to complete. Cold sweat drenches my body, soaking a chill into my bones.
Eventually, there’s a break in the trees, and I step into a small clearing. A long- abandoned cabin takes up most of the space with its dilapidated wrap-around porch. Weeds thread through the remaining gravel of a driveway, a fallen tree cutting it off at the edge of the clearing. Stones crunch under my boots as I make my way to the cabin, avoiding the debris of rotten wood and broken glass.
“Hello?” I call, voice shaking. “Is anyone there?”
There’s only silence in response. Even the chaotic chorus of birds and bugs I’d expect to hear in the woods is absent. The wood groans under my weight, threatening to give way as I step onto the porch. The front door is partially open, swinging easily with a nudge from my foot. Darkness greets me, along with the musk of dust and decay that tingles inside my nasal passages and down my throat. I take a hesitant step forward, holding a fist over my mouth to stifle a cough.
Every hair on my body raises, alerting me I’m not alone, even though I can’t see anything. My legs shake, struggling to take another step into the dark. Something skitters across theroom, and I gasp, leaping away. I search the room vehemently, desperate to find the source, even as my heart thunders in my chest. My eyes land on the unmoving outline of a person in the far corner of the room.
“Hello?” I call again, a little louder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone would be in here. I’m...” My voice trails off as the outline shifts closer.
“Then why did you call out to me?” The person’s voice cracks, and they clear their throat. Their tone is scratchy but delicate, direct but uncertain.
“What?” I ask, surprised.
“If you didn’t expect anyone to be here, why did you call out to me?” the voice barks, but it ends with a giggle.
“I...” I stutter, simultaneously terrified and baffled. “I’m Shiloh, and I’m lost. I was just looking for somewhere to hide.”
“A little odd to be hiding if you are lost.” There’s a scratching noise before a small flame illuminates the room. A woman stands in the center, lighting several candles before speaking again. “You must be cold,” she says, observing me with distinct hazel eyes.
The flecks of gold, interlaced through the warm brown of her irises, seem to dance in the candlelight’s reflection. I’m so mesmerized by them, I don’t realize she’s still talking.
“I’m sorry, what did you ask?” My cheeks burn with embarrassment. She’s barely said anything to me, and I’m already not listening. Charlotte would scold me if she were here. She was constantly nagging me about my wandering thoughts. “Did you ask me something? Your eyes—I’ve never seen anything like them.”
