Whispers of the Forgotten Pines

Ethan felt the weight of their gazes before he saw them. The people of Whispering Pines weren't staring outright, but their eyes flicked toward him and lingered for just a second too long.

It wasn't paranoia. It was certainty.

"Why are they all acting weird?" Eleanor muttered under her breath as they walked down the street.

Clara, ever the skeptic, scoffed. "We just nearly let some nightmare creature into town. Maybe they can feel it."

Ethan glanced at his hand again, flexing his fingers. The mark burned dully under his skin, like an ember that refused to die out. He kept his fist clenched. He wasn't ready to explain this to them. Not yet.

They reached the diner, their usual safe place. Inside, the warm scent of coffee and fried food tried to erase the memory of the basement, of the door, of the thing they had seen. But the feeling followed them inside.

Mrs. Calloway, the diner's owner, was wiping down the counter when she saw them. She froze.

Her eyes locked onto Ethan's hand.

A second later, she schooled her expression into something neutral, but Ethan had already seen it. The flicker of fear.

She turned without a word and disappeared into the back.

Ethan sat down stiffly in their usual booth. "Did you see that?"

"She looked at you like you were carrying the plague," Clara said.

Eleanor leaned forward. "Ethan, I think we need to talk about that thing on your hand."

He hesitated.

Then, slowly, he opened his palm.

The mark had darkened. The lines weren't random—they were forming something. A shape that twisted and changed if he looked at it too long.

Eleanor inhaled sharply.

Clara swore under her breath. "That—yeah, that's definitely not normal."

Ethan exhaled. "I don't think it's just a mark."

"What do you mean?" Eleanor asked.

He swallowed. The words tasted wrong as he said them.

"I think it's… alive."

Before either of them could respond, Mrs. Calloway reappeared. But she wasn't holding a notepad.

She was holding an old book.

She placed it on the table without a word.

Ethan frowned. The cover was cracked leather, the pages yellowed with age. No title. No author.

"What's this?" Clara asked.

Mrs. Calloway looked around, as if making sure no one was listening. Then, in a low voice, she said—

"You need to leave town."

Ethan's stomach dropped.

Eleanor's eyes widened. "What?"

Mrs. Calloway exhaled sharply. "That mark. I've seen it before. And the people who had it? They didn't last long."

The air felt like it tightened around them.

Clara's voice was unusually quiet. "What happened to them?"

Mrs. Calloway shook her head. "Nobody knows. They just… vanished. One by one."

Ethan stared down at his hand.

The mark throbbed.

The town was watching. The whispers were growing. And now, for the first time since arriving in Whispering Pines, Ethan realized—

He might not make it out.