Page 14 of Threads Of Madly Whispers

Wild Rose

In the Footsteps of Ghosts

We are a cold case waiting to unravel, seams fraying with every step deeper into the forest’s gnarled heart. As we push past clawing bushes and low-hanging branches, our decision replays in my mind like a broken vinyl, its rough rhythm refusing to fade. The moonlight, once our silent guide, has long been swallowed by the canopy of overgrown trees, leaving us with nothing but the weak, flickering beams from our phone’s flashlight.

What better way to announce ourselves to whatever creatures gorge and burrow in these woods than with a stuttering light, practically screaming prey into the forest's darkness. Our destination had been a long drive from where we started, but getting a cab this late was a joke, and walking—well, that should’ve never been an option. Yet here we are, the night blossoming, each step a gamble we can’t take back.

The driver tried to groom his facial expressions butfailed forlornly when he dropped us off. And it got worse when he uttered,“Are you kids troubled?”

It was not that the old man knew our interest in being here. But because anyone clutching to their sanity wouldn’t ask to be left on the side of the road that led a narrow path into an opaque-looking forest.

For a fleeting second, I was on the verge of calling it quits, ready to abandon this madness and turn back. But the reality of what this means to all of us anchored my steps. So, like any desperate soul clinging to purpose, I let Naseria lead us deeper into the maw of whatever awaited, even if it meant walking straight into our own graves.

The past ten minutes have been a symphony of crickets, snapping twigs, and nameless sounds slithering through the dark—each one tightening the coil of fear in our chests, each one convincing us we’re not alone.

“Just a little more, and we’ll be there,” Naseria whispers, her voice barely more than a breath against the oppressive hush of the woods. The words hang in the air, offering a fragile promise that feels as thin and brittle as the branches beneath our feet.

It’s cold and too quiet for my liking.

With each step I take, it feels as though we’re treading across the fragile surface of a frozen lake. The inevitable lurks just beneath, clear as glass, the peril palpable, and fear seeping deeper into my spine like ice water finding every crevice. Yet, I keep moving forward, even as the metaphorical ice groans beneath my feet, threatening to shatter. I know deep down that not all questions deserve answers, especially the ones that tear at your insides.

Closure doesn’t always bloom from unearthing painful truths. Sometimes it lies in the quiet acceptance that you won’t have all the answers, that some shadows are meant toremain undisturbed. It’s supposed to be enough to sit with the unknown, to find peace in the dark corners.

So why can’t I make sense of my own healing?

Why can’t I hold onto the understanding behind my words? Why do they crumble in the face of my torment, failing to soothe the ache that eats at me night after night. I lie awake, the questions circling like vultures, begging for answers that never come?Why did I lose my family?Why is the silence louder than the truth could ever be?

So I remain on the ice bed, for those damnanswersthat might never come.

My thoughts shred away when I bump into Miro’s back. They’ve stopped walking, and it takes me a short breath to realize why.

Singing

We exchange tense glances before shifting our focus back to the path, where the sound grows heavier,closer. Naseria moves to step forward, but Miro grabs her wrist, his fingers tight around her skin as he signs“turn the flashlights off.”

Without hesitation, we do. Darkness wraps around us, thick and suffocating, until our eyes adjust to a faint, flickering glow ahead. As we edge closer, weaving through twisted roots and low branches, the source reveals itself—a fire, burning low and steady just beyond a massive, gnarled tree.

We drop into a crouch behind a dense thicket of shrubs, parting the leaves with slow, careful hands to get a clearer view. The flames lick the air, casting shadows that dance and distort, silhouettes moving in ways that don’t feel entirely human.

We might be hidden from them, but the thought claws at the back of my mind—what else is out here, unseen,watching us in the same way we peer into the circle of firelight? The forest feels alive with unseen eyes, the murkiness pressing in like a living thing, breathing down our necks.

Miro nudges me,“What the actual fuck?”

I’m at a loss for words at what graces our eyes.

A clearing stretches before us, encircled by trees that bow inward, their twisted branches like skeletal fingers clawing at the sky. In the heart of it all, a towering fire crackles, its flames licking the air with a feral hunger. Had that been all, I might’ve mistaken it for an ordinary campsite, some late-night gathering of wanderers. But this—this is something else entirely. Something uncanny, something that scrapes at the edges of reason.

Around the roaring blaze, naked women kneel in a perfect ring, their bodies swaying in unison as they chant in tongues unknown to any language I’ve ever heard. Their hands are clasped together, a fragile chain of flesh and bone, while strips of black cloth blindfold their eyes. And unlike the wild, overgrown forest surrounding them, the earth beneath their knees is bare, stripped of life as though the ground itself recoils from their presence.

Their voices rise and fall, an otherworldly harmony that slithers through the air like smoke. The words of their incantation are incoherent, sounds that likely don’t belong in any human mouth, let alone a dictionary. Yet, their melody is intoxicating—a siren’s song, beautiful and wicked in equal measure. The firelight dances across their skin, casting shifting shadows that blur the line between reality and nightmare. The longer I watch, the more the flickering light feels like a lure, pulling me into its hypnotic embrace.

A jolt of relief surges through me when I steal a glance at Miro and Naseria. Their faces are slack, eyes glazed, caught in the same trance that coils around my mind like anoose. I’m not alone in feeling like a sailor, drawn to the rocks by the sweet, deadly call of something ancient and merciless.

Then—a rustle.

Sharp and sudden, it tears me from the spell. My head snaps toward the sound, back into the suffocating dark beyond the fire’s reach. The trees stand like silent sentinels, their shapes barely distinguishable from the shadows. But the longer I stare, the more certain I become. There’s something there. A shape, a silhouette, something not quite part of the forest.

My breath catches in my throat, heart pounding so hard it drowns out the distant chanting. I squint, trying to pierce the veil of darkness, and as my eyes adjust, I see it move. Just a shift—subtle, deliberate—but enough to confirm the dread crawling up my spine.

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