Whispers of the Forgotten Pines

Ethan's breath caught in his throat.

Eleanor's grip on his wrist was like iron, her nails digging into his skin. Her wide, terrified eyes locked onto his, as if she were seeing something beyond him—something neither he nor Clara could see.

Clara grabbed Eleanor's arm. "What do you mean, run? What's happening?"

Eleanor's body trembled violently. Her lips parted, her breath shallow. "It's awake," she whispered. "You shouldn't have touched the book. It knows you now."

The words sent a chill straight through Ethan's bones. He turned to the book, its pages still covered in frantic, overlapping scrawls. The words repeated over and over—It sees you. It sees you. It sees you.

Clara shook Eleanor gently. "Who sees us? What's awake?"

Eleanor shuddered, her voice barely above a whisper. "The Watcher."

Silence.

A slow, suffocating silence that pressed down on the room like a lead weight. Ethan felt it creeping into his chest, coiling around his lungs. He didn't know what the Watcher was—but he knew the name alone was enough to paralyze Eleanor with fear.

Ethan exchanged a glance with Clara. This just got worse.

Eleanor suddenly gasped, her entire body convulsing. Her back arched, her fingers clawing at the desk as if she were trying to fight something off.

Ethan and Clara jumped back in horror.

Eleanor's mouth opened wide in a silent scream, her eyes rolling back. A deep, guttural sound escaped her throat, something raw and unnatural. Her skin turned deathly pale, her veins darkening beneath the surface like spreading ink.

Ethan lunged forward, grabbing her shoulders. "Eleanor! Stay with me!"

Her body trembled violently—then, as if an invisible force had snapped, she collapsed against the desk, her breathing shallow but steady.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then Clara whispered, "What the hell just happened?"

Ethan swallowed hard. "I don't know."

Eleanor's body was limp, but her lips moved, forming barely-audible words. Ethan leaned in closer.

"It's coming."

The Town is Watching

They carried Eleanor to the couch, checking for any more signs of distress. Her breathing was still faint, but her body had stopped convulsing. Whatever had happened, it had taken something out of her.

Clara ran a hand through her hair, pacing the room. "This is insane. We should call someone. A doctor. The police. Anyone."

Ethan exhaled sharply. "And tell them what? That a book is alive and just put Eleanor into some kind of seizure?"

Clara opened her mouth—then closed it.

She shook her head. "Fine. But we can't just do nothing."

Ethan glanced at the book, still open on the desk. "I think we need to find out what this Watcher is."

Clara frowned. "Where do we even start?"

Before Ethan could answer, a knock echoed through the house.

Both of them froze.

The knock came again.

Slow. Rhythmic. Too controlled.

Ethan moved to the window carefully, pulling the curtain aside just enough to peek outside.

A man stood on the porch.

He was tall, dressed in an old-fashioned suit, his hands folded neatly in front of him. But it was his face that sent a cold wave of unease through Ethan.

Because there was something off about it.

His features were too smooth, too perfect—like a painting come to life. His eyes were dark and empty, like two holes cut into reality. He wasn't blinking.

He was just waiting.

The knock came again.

Clara edged closer. "Who is that?" she whispered.

Ethan shook his head. "I don't know."

Then the man spoke.

"Mr. Carter."

Ethan stiffened. His stomach twisted into a knot.

Clara grabbed his arm. "How does he know your name?"

Ethan didn't answer. He couldn't.

The man tilted his head slightly. "I know you're in there. I'd like to have a word."

His voice was wrong. Too even, too calm.

Ethan's hands clenched into fists. "What do we do?"

Clara's eyes darted to Eleanor, still unconscious. "We can't open the door. We don't know what he wants."

The man shifted slightly. "Mr. Carter, I assure you—I mean no harm."

Ethan's breath came quicker. Liar.

The man took a slow step back, lifting one hand. "I will return soon."

Then, without another word, he turned and walked away.

Ethan didn't breathe until the man had disappeared down the street.

Clara swallowed hard. "What the hell was that?"

Ethan forced himself to steady his breathing. "I don't know… but I don't think we're just dealing with ghosts anymore."

He looked back at Eleanor, then at the book.

Whatever was happening in Whispering Pines… it was bigger than they had ever imagined.

And someone—or something—had just come looking for him.