Carter never believed in the stories, at least not until that summer. The people in town called it Whispering Hollow—a patch of dense woods just past the river where the trees twisted unnaturally and no one dared enter after dark. The legends had always seemed ridiculous to him. His friends used to laugh about them at school, spinning elaborate tales of ghost sightings and disappearances, like some local urban myth. But after that night, everything changed.

It started on a warm August evening. Carter was staying at his uncle’s cabin for the summer—his annual retreat to escape the chaos of the city. The air was thick with the scent of pine, and the sun lingered lazily on the horizon, casting long shadows across the forest. Carter had always loved the tranquility of the woods, how time seemed to slow down there. But this year, something felt different. The silence was… deeper, almost oppressive, as though the woods were holding their breath, waiting for something.

His uncle, an old man with a weathered face and silver hair, had warned him about going into the woods at night. “There are things out there, boy,” Uncle Jack had said one evening over dinner, his voice low and serious, as if he was sharing a secret. “Things you don’t want to meet.”

Carter had laughed it off. “Come on, Uncle Jack, you don’t really believe in all that nonsense, do you?”

Jack’s gaze had been unwavering, his expression somber. “It ain’t about believing. It’s about respecting what you don’t understand. You’d do well to stay away from Whispering Hollow.”

That was the first time Carter had felt uneasy about the place. But he wasn’t the kind to be spooked by ghost stories. He’d grown up in a bustling city where the only danger was speeding cars and the occasional mugger, not some haunted patch of woods. Still, something about the way his uncle spoke sent a chill through him. Maybe it was the way his eyes darted toward the window, as if he expected to see something watching from the edge of the woods.

That evening, the urge to explore gnawed at Carter. After dinner, with the sun sinking low in the sky and the light fading into purples and oranges, he grabbed his flashlight and headed out. He wouldn’t go deep into the woods—just far enough to satisfy his curiosity. He’d heard the stories from town about the voices, the strange figures that supposedly appeared near the river. It all seemed too convenient, too much like a children’s ghost story meant to keep people out of a particular area.

The path from his uncle’s cabin wound through the tall grass and led to the edge of Whispering Hollow, where the trees formed a dense wall of shadow. As he approached, the air grew cooler, and a strange hush fell over the woods. The usual sounds of crickets and birds had disappeared, leaving behind a suffocating silence. Carter paused, looking into the darkening woods. The trees loomed tall and dark, their branches curling in strange shapes, casting jagged shadows across the ground. There was a peculiar stillness about the woods, a quiet that seemed to swallow the usual sounds of nature.

As Carter stood there, staring into the depths of the forest, he noticed something odd: a faint noise, barely audible, like a distant whisper carried on the wind.

He strained to listen. It wasn’t the rustling of leaves or the chirping of insects. It was something else. Human, almost.

A chill ran down his spine. He took a step back, turning to head back to the cabin. But as he turned, the whispering grew louder, clearer. His heart skipped a beat. The voice—it was calling his name.

“Carter…”

He froze, his mind racing. He hadn’t imagined it. Someone—something—had whispered his name. Slowly, he turned back toward the woods, squinting into the growing darkness. “Hello?” he called, his voice shaky. There was no response, only the steady rustle of the wind through the trees.

A logical part of his brain told him to leave, to head back to the safety of the cabin. But curiosity gnawed at him. Maybe it was one of the local kids messing with him, trying to spook the city boy. He couldn’t just let them get the better of him.

Ignoring the growing sense of dread, Carter stepped off the path and moved toward the woods. His footsteps were slow, cautious, the dry leaves crunching underfoot. As he neared the tree line, the whispering returned, louder now, unmistakable.

“Carter…”

It was coming from deeper inside, just beyond the first few rows of trees. He hesitated at the edge, his body tensing. There was something wrong with the way the trees bent and curled, as if they were growing in unnatural directions, like they had been twisted by some unseen force. The air felt heavier here, cooler, almost suffocating.

Taking a deep breath, Carter stepped into the woods.

The moment he crossed the threshold, the world seemed to shift. The air grew colder, and the shadows stretched longer, swallowing the last traces of daylight. The whispering intensified, now surrounding him, echoing through the trees.

“Carter… come closer…”

He scanned the area, but there was no one in sight. His heart pounded in his chest, and his skin prickled with the sensation of being watched. Every rational part of him screamed to turn back, to run, but his legs moved forward on their own, drawn deeper into the woods by the beckoning voice.

The trees seemed to close in around him, their twisted branches like skeletal fingers reaching toward the sky. The further he ventured, the darker it became, until the path behind him was swallowed by shadow. Carter’s breaths came shallow and quick, and he could no longer tell which direction he had come from.

Suddenly, the whispering stopped.

The silence was absolute. The kind of silence that pressed against your eardrums and made your pulse thrum louder in your skull. Carter stood frozen in place, his eyes darting around the darkened forest. The air was thick, heavy with something unseen, something waiting.

And then, just ahead, a figure stepped out from behind a tree.

Carter’s breath caught in his throat. It was a woman—or at least, it looked like one. She was pale, almost ghostly, her long dark hair hanging over her face. Her clothes were old, tattered, and her skin seemed to glow faintly in the dim light. She didn’t move, didn’t speak. She just stood there, staring at him from beneath the curtain of her hair.

A wave of cold fear washed over him, freezing him in place. He wanted to call out, to ask her who she was, but his throat was dry, his voice lost. The woman tilted her head slightly, as if studying him, and then slowly raised a hand, pointing deeper into the woods.

“Follow me,” she whispered, her voice the same one that had been calling his name.

Carter shook his head, taking a step back. “No… no, I can’t,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

But she didn’t move. Her hand remained outstretched, beckoning him forward. There was something about her, something wrong. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach. This wasn’t a person. This was something else, something pretending to be human.

He turned, ready to run, but the moment he did, he realized the path behind him was gone. The trees had shifted, closing in, trapping him. Panic surged through him as he spun around, searching for any way out, but the forest had become a labyrinth of twisted branches and looming shadows.

The woman stepped closer, her bare feet silent on the forest floor. “You can’t leave,” she whispered, her voice soft and cold. “Not yet.”

Carter’s pulse raced, his chest tightening with fear. “What do you want?” he shouted, backing away from her.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she moved closer, her face still obscured by her hair. The air around her seemed to shimmer, like heat rising off asphalt, but cold, so cold it made his skin ache.

“You shouldn’t have come,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart. “But now… you’re part of it.”

Part of what? he wanted to scream, but the words wouldn’t come. His legs felt heavy, his vision swimming. The cold was seeping into his bones, slowing him down. He stumbled back, his foot catching on a root, sending him crashing to the ground.

The woman was above him now, her face still hidden, her hand reaching out. “Come with me,” she whispered again, her voice like a winter wind.

Carter scrambled backward, his hands digging into the dirt as he tried to get away, but there was no escaping her. She loomed closer, her hand almost touching his skin. The cold radiating off her was unbearable, like being buried in ice.

And then, just as her fingers brushed his arm, the whispering returned.

But this time, it wasn’t just her voice. It was hundreds of voices, overlapping, echoing through the trees. They were everywhere, all around him, whispering his name, telling him to follow, to give in.

“Carter… Carter… come with us…”

The sound was deafening