The Quiet Pines
The boy said nothing. Hadn’t for hours. Just walked. Hands clenched into little fists, jaw tight like he was chewing on silence.
The man glanced back. “You hungry?” he asked.
The boy shook his head. Still no sound. Wind moved through the tall pine trees. It sounded like breathing. Long and shallow. The kind of breath someone takes when they’re waiting for you to notice.
They hadn’t seen another soul since the cabin. Not since the screaming.
The man rubbed the spot under his coat where the map used to be. Lost it in the fire. The one the boy started. Said it was an accident, but the man knew better. The boy was scared. Scared enough to burn it all down.
They reached a fork in the trail. One path looked older, less traveled. The trees leaned close there, like they were whispering to each other. The other was clear, but the man didn’t trust easy things anymore.
The boy pointed left. The whispering path.
“You sure?”
The boy nodded.
They walked.
Birds didn’t sing here. Nothing moved but the trees. Even the insects had gone silent. No buzzing. No clicking. Just the soft scuff of their boots and that wind. That long, watching wind.
The man stopped.
“What is it?”
The boy pointed.
There was something in the trees. Not moving. Not swaying. Just there. A shape. Wrong. Too tall. Too still. A man, maybe. But not really.
The man squinted.
“Don’t look,” the boy said. Voice like paper tearing.
The man turned. “What?”
“I said don’t look.”
Too late.
The thing stepped closer. No sound. No crunch of leaves. Just there. Like it had been waiting for them to catch up.
“Shit,” the man muttered.
The boy grabbed his hand. “Run.”
They did.
Branches reached for them. The forest didn’t like runners. They ducked and weaved through the trees, but no matter how far they ran, the thing was always just behind. Not chasing. Just… closing.
The man looked back. It was closer now. He saw no face. Just pale nothingness. A void in the shape of a man. Limbs too long. Suit too clean. And behind it, the forest shifted like it was alive.
They burst into a clearing.
The boy fell. Caught his foot on a root. The man turned, yanked him up. “Keep going.”
The boy didn’t move. He just stared behind the man. Eyes wide. Mouth trembling.
“He’s not following,” the boy whispered.
The man turned slowly.
The thing stood at the edge of the clearing. It wouldn’t step into the light.
The man didn’t breathe. Didn’t move.
The boy tugged at his coat. “We’re safe here.”
“For now,” the man said.
They set up camp. No fire. No talking. Just sitting in the dirt, trying not to blink too long. Trying not to dream.
When the man woke, the boy was gone.
Just his boots left behind. Still warm.
The man stood. Turned to the trees.
It stood there, waiting.
“Give him back.”
It didn’t move. Just stood. Watching without eyes.
The man stepped forward. “Take me instead.”
The thing tilted its head. A slow, grinding angle. Then it raised one hand.
The boy stood beside it now. Or something that looked like him.
The man’s knees buckled.
He fell to the ground, sobbing.
When he looked up again, the thing and the boy were gone. Only the trees remained.
And the wind.
Still breathing.
Still waiting.