The Whispering Woods ||| creative nonfiction ||| creative fiction

 The Whispering Woods

publish  date         31-08-24

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country                  Pakistan

State                      Punjab

Location                Bahawalpur

SiteURL                 https://law49.blogspot.com\

publisher               Mehak

Author                  mehak

 

 Category            creative writing

The Whispering Woods

There’s a place deep in the heart of the countryside where the trees speak in hushed tones. The locals call it the Whispering Woods, a name that has passed through generations, carrying with it a mix of reverence and fear. The woods sit on the edge of the village, a sprawling maze of ancient oaks and twisted willows, their roots tangled like the memories of those who have dared to venture too deep.

The Whispering Woods ||| creative nonfiction ||| creative fiction

The legends say the forest has a mind of its own, and those who listen closely can hear it murmuring secrets of the past. Most villagers avoid the woods, but not Elara. To her, the Whispering Woods was a sanctuary, a place where the troubles of the world faded away into the soft rustling of leaves. She had grown up in the village, with the woods as her playground. While other children played in the sunlit fields, Elara preferred the shadows, the cool embrace of the forest where the air was thick with mystery.

Elara was different from the others in the village. She was quiet, introspective, with a gaze that seemed to pierce through to the soul. The villagers whispered about her, just as the trees whispered in the woods. “She’s one with the forest,” they’d say. “A child of the Whispering Woods.”

But Elara didn’t mind their gossip. She found solace in the woods, where she felt more at home than anywhere else. The trees, with their gnarled trunks and sprawling branches, were like old friends. They whispered to her as she wandered their winding paths, their voices a soothing hum that calmed her restless spirit.

One autumn evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Elara ventured deeper into the woods than she ever had before. The air was cool and crisp, the scent of fallen leaves mingling with the earthy musk of the forest floor. The path before her was barely visible, a thin thread of dirt winding through the trees, illuminated only by the faint glow of the setting sun.

Elara walked slowly, her footsteps muffled by the thick carpet of leaves beneath her feet. The woods were alive with sound, the gentle rustle of leaves, the distant hoot of an owl, the soft creak of branches swaying in the breeze. But there was something else, too—a whispering, faint and indistinct, like a voice carried on the wind.

She paused, straining to hear. The whispering grew louder, more insistent, as if the woods themselves were trying to communicate with her. She took a step forward, her heart pounding in her chest. The trees seemed to close in around her, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers.

“Elara,” the voice whispered, barely audible above the rustling leaves. She froze, her breath catching in her throat. The voice was soft, almost melodic, but there was an edge to it, a sense of urgency that sent a shiver down her spine.

The Whispering Woods ||| creative nonfiction ||| creative fiction

“Who’s there?” she called out, her voice trembling. There was no answer, only the whispering of the trees, growing louder and more frantic. It seemed to come from all around her, echoing through the woods like the cries of lost souls.

“Elara,” the voice whispered again, closer this time. She turned in a circle, her eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. But there was nothing—only the trees, standing silent and still.

“Elara,” the voice whispered, so close now that she could feel the breath on the back of her neck. She spun around, but there was no one there. The whispering continued, a constant murmur that seemed to seep into her very bones.

She began to run, her feet pounding against the earth as she fled deeper into the woods. The whispering followed her, growing louder with every step. The trees blurred around her, their twisted shapes merging into a dark, oppressive mass.

“Elara,” the voice whispered, relentless. She stumbled, her foot catching on a root, and fell to the ground. The whispering closed in around her, a cacophony of voices that filled her head with a dizzying swirl of sound.

“Elara,” the voices whispered, over and over again, a chorus of desperation that made her heart race. She clapped her hands over her ears, trying to block out the sound, but it was no use. The whispering was inside her now, a part of her, and it wouldn’t let go.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the voices to stop. But they didn’t. Instead, they grew louder, more insistent, until they were all she could hear. The world around her faded away, and all that was left was the whispering, echoing through her mind.

“Elara,” the voice whispered, softer now, almost gentle. She opened her eyes, and the woods were gone. She was standing in a vast, empty expanse, the ground beneath her feet a dark, featureless plain. The sky above was a deep, inky black, with no stars or moon to light the way.

The Whispering Woods ||| creative nonfiction ||| creative fiction

She was alone, or so she thought. But then she saw them—figures, just on the edge of her vision, their forms indistinct and hazy. They moved toward her slowly, their steps deliberate and measured. As they drew closer, she could see their faces—pale, ghostly, with eyes that seemed to glow with an otherworldly light.

“Elara,” they whispered in unison, their voices merging into one. “You have come.”

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“We are the lost,” they replied, their voices echoing in the darkness. “Those who have wandered too far into the woods, and never found their way out.”

A cold chill ran down Elara’s spine. She took a step back, her heart pounding in her chest. But the figures continued to approach, their eyes locked on hers.

“You belong to the woods now,” they whispered. “You are one of us.”

“No,” Elara said, shaking her head. “I’m not lost. I know the way out.”

“Do you?” the figures asked, their voices filled with doubt. “Do you truly know the way?”

Elara hesitated. The figures stopped just a few feet away, their ghostly forms looming over her. They reached out to her, their hands cold and clammy, like the touch of death itself.

“You can never leave,” they whispered. “The woods have claimed you, just as they claimed us.”

“No,” Elara said, more forcefully this time. She took a step back, her eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of an escape. But there was nothing—only the endless expanse of black, and the figures, closing in around her.

“Elara,” they whispered, their voices soft and sad. “You cannot escape the woods.”

Panic surged through her, and she turned and ran, her footsteps echoing in the emptiness. The whispering followed her, growing louder with every step, until it was all she could hear. The figures pursued her, their ghostly forms gliding through the darkness.

“Elara,” they whispered, relentless. “You belong to the woods.”

She ran faster, her breath coming in ragged gasps, but no matter how fast she ran, the whispering was always right behind her, the voices growing louder and louder, until they filled her mind, drowning out everything else.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the whispering stopped.

Elara found herself standing at the edge of the woods, the village just visible in the distance. The sun was rising, casting a warm, golden light over the landscape. The figures were gone, and the whispering had faded into the rustling of the leaves.

The Whispering Woods ||| creative nonfiction ||| creative fiction

She stood there for a long moment, her heart still racing, before finally turning and walking back toward the village. The woods were silent now, but Elara knew they were watching, waiting. The whispering would return, she was sure of it. The woods had claimed her, just as they had claimed the others.

But she wasn’t afraid. The woods were her home, after all.