The sun dipped low on the horizon, its light fading slowly and casting long, jagged shadows across the forest floor. Adam's pulse raced as he trudged along the overgrown, narrow path. He'd lost his way hours ago, but only now does the severity of his mistake does set in. The once-adventurous excitement he felt pushing him to these mountains, had soured into a gnawing unease.
He cursed under his breath. Who knew coming all the way into the mountains without a guide would land him in this mess? So much for being the outdoorsy type, he thought grimly.
Adam was a young American man, just in his mid to late twenties, with a life most would envy, a life he was sure quite a few of his friends actually did envy. A great job with a most generous pay check, a Bachelor's and Master's degree-he was the first in his family to achieve both, being the first to actually make it all the way to college and graduate. This trip to Korea had been planned as a well-deserved break, an escape from the day to day grind he was used to. Yet, here he was, stranded all alone in a dense forest, a far cry from the luxury he'd envisioned for the trip.
The trees around him, tall and twisted, their branches forming a lattice that blotted out the evening light. Shadows stretched and danced as the wind whispered through the leaves, he could've sworn that he heard something else, something other than the silent hooting of owls, a low growl, he kept checking to see he wasn't just losing his mind, but there was nothing there, nothing he could pick out at the very least, he edges on. Each step he took seemed to amplify the silence, broken only by the crunch of leaves beneath his boots, the chirping of crickets under the grass, and of course, the hooting of owls in the trees. But Adam could've sworn he had heard a twig snapping some metres away behind him.
The same prickling sensation he kept feeling 2 hours into his journey, the one that brought along the realization he was lost, was now, yet again filling him with dread as it crawled up his spine. He paused, turning to glance over his shoulder for what would seem like the millionth time. Nothing-it was the same uneasy stillness, the sense that something, someone, unseen was watching, waiting. His breathing quickened.
Adam stopped again, this time gripping the straps of his backpack as if the weight of it could anchor him in place, a bead of sweat running down the side of his face. The wind carried a faint sound-a cry, almost like a fox's, but too high, too human. His chest hurt as his heart pounded in its cage.
"Get a grip," he muttered, trying to steady himself. But as he looked back down the path, it hit him, the realization of things, it wasn't just that the forest seemed to close in. the trail itself had vanished, swallowed by the creeping shadows.
Adam sighed; his breath visible in the cool mountain air. The forest seemed to stretch on forever, endless and indifferent to his plight. "Brilliant, Adam. Just brilliant. You're officially the idiot who gets lost in the woods on vacation. How ironic."
He rubbed his hands together for warmth, he could swear the air seemed to be getting much colder than it should be, and pushed forward, the uneasy quiet gnawing at him. The absence of birdsong and rustling leaves felt unnatural, too unnatural, to him, like the forest was holding its breath. Only small animals-rabbits, squirrels, and the occasional mouse-seemed brave enough to dart out from the underbrush.
As Adam marked another tree with his pocketknife, his mind wandered to a simpler time.
He was seven years old again, standing in the woods behind his grandfather's house in Ohio. Grandpa Jack, as he would always call him, had been the outdoorsy type-a wiry old man with a love for adventure. Adam could still hear his voice, gruff and warm, it seemed more present than just aa memory: "The forest has its own rhythm, boy. If you get quiet enough, you'll feel it. But don't ever think you own it. The woods don't like arrogance."
Well, so much for not being arrogant, he thought to himself, perhaps maybe that was what he needed, arrogance. Young Adam had been skeptical. "What kind of rhythm?" he'd asked, squinting up at the towering oaks.
Grandpa had laughed, his craggy face lighting up. "The kind you can't explain. You gotta feel it for yourself. Listen boy, Pay attention. The forest talks to those who listen."
Back then, Adam had thought his grandfather was just being dramatic, trying to make a young boy's imaginative mind go as wild as it could in the outdoors. But now, lost in an unfamiliar wilderness, those words felt like a warning.
"Guess I should've paid more attention, huh, Grandpa?" Adam muttered to himself, carving another "X" into a tree.
For a while, the markings seemed to help. Each tree felt like a breadcrumb leading him out of this green labyrinth, the end of his dilemma close at hand, or so he thought. His relief was very much short-lived.
After what felt like an hour, Adam froze. The latest "X" stared back at him from a tree he swore he'd already passed, taunting him. He frowned, running his fingers over the groves. It was unmistakably his, the angle at which he marks so intentional and clear.
"That's not possible," he whispered.
He turned sharply, walking in the opposite direction. This time, he marked a different tree with a double "XX". Twenty minutes later, like the forces of nature were against him, he found himself standing before the same tree, the same exact marks staring right back at him, taunting him yet again. Only now, the "XX" was higher on the trunk, as if the tree had stretched or shifted, like the forest was intentionally trying to make sure he could not leave.
"No" Adam murmured, stepping back with his hands shaking in fear. His voice cracked as he repeated, "No, no, no. This doesn't make sense, this can't be happening, no."
The silence around him seemed to thicken, pressing down on him like it had a mind of its own. His chest tightened, his breaths shallow and quick.
"Pull it together," he told himself, pacing around in a small circle. "There's a logical explanation for this, here has to be. Trees don't move. You're just tired, Adam. Stressed. That's all."
But no amount of reasoning could explain this, no amount of logic could shake the feeling creeping up his spine-the feeling that he wasn't alone.
In the distance, something moved. Adam caught a flicker of pale blue, hovering just beyond the trees, he'd seen them before, he had ignored them, thinking his mind was just playing tricks on him, now, he was certain there was something there. He froze, his heart pounding in his ears.
"What the hell was that?" he whispered.
The orbs didn't move, instead they just stood there, flickering and hovering from the distance. They hung in the air, steady and unblinking, far too high to belong to any small animal.
Adam swallowed hard. "Okay," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "You're only imagining things. It's just… fireflies. Or a rick of the light." But even he was not convinced.
The orbs disappeared. Adam's breath came out in a shaky exhale, though he didn't feel relieved.
The sensation of being watched lingered, this time even more pressing than before, as he continued his aimless trek. The forest seemed darker now, too dark for his troubled mind, the trees more twisted. Even the small animals had vanished, like they as well could sense the same ting he was, leaving only the oppressive silence.
He stopped to catch his breath, leaning against a tree. His pocketknife felt smal and useless in his hand, but he gripped on to it tighter anyways. "This I insane," he muttered. "People don't just… get stuck in forests that move. That's not a thing, it's only possible in movies. Right?"
Another memory surfaced, unbidden. This time, he was ten years old, on a camping trip with his parents. They'd gotten lost after taking a wrong turn on a trail. His mother had begun to panic, but his father had been calm, confident even.
"Mark your path, stay calm, wouldn't do you any good to panic, and keep walking," his dad had said. "The forest only beats you if you let it get to your head."
Adam wished he had that same confidence now. But the forest felt different this time-alive, hostile, like it wanted him to fail. It was definitely getting to him and he knew it.
As he trudged on, the eerie blue light returned. They floated in the distance, always just out of reach, but always so disturbingly close. His skin prickled. He tried shouting, his voice echoing through the trees.
"Who's there? Show yourself!"
The orbs blinked out, leaving only darkness. Adam clenched his jaw, gripping the knife even tighter than before. "Fine. Don't answer. Just… stay away from me." He nearly choked as he muttered out the last words.
He walked faster, ignoring the ache in his legs, this was no time nor place to rest. His breaths came quicker, fogging in the cold air, his body shivered. The sense of dread deepened as the forest pressed on all sides.
Then, like a mirage at first, he could not believe it, but he was sure of what he saw.
A cabin.
It stood in the distance, partially hidden by the undergrowth. A faint, flickering light glowed in one of its windows. Relief surged through Adam, though it was mixed with a feeling of unease.
"Finally," he breathed, staggering, with what little strength he had, towards it. But as he drew closer, a nagging thought crept into his mind: Why is there a lit cabin in the middle of nowhere? And why does it feel like it's waiting for me?