FICTION OF THE DAY: The Forest Took Her
They told stories about the forest—the kind whispered at dusk when shadows stretched long and fear crept in with the night air. The villagers said the woods were alive, that it watched, listened, and sometimes… it took.
Marla never believed in such tales. She was practical, grounded, and had trekked the edges of that forest countless times, gathering herbs for her ailing mother. But one evening, as the sun dipped below the treetops, painting the sky in blood-orange streaks, Marla ventured deeper than usual, chasing the rare bluebell blooms said to heal any sickness.
The woods felt different this time. The air was heavier, thick with a silence that swallowed even the rustle of leaves. Marla’s confident steps slowed, her senses sharpening to every creak and crack around her. It was then she noticed—there were no birds singing, no insects buzzing. Just… quiet.
And then, she saw it. A figure, barely visible between the twisted trunks. It looked like her mother, pale and frail, beckoning with a trembling hand. But her mother was bedridden, miles away. Marla’s heart pounded, reason battling instinct. Yet something in the figure’s hollow eyes pulled her forward.
She stepped closer. The forest seemed to breathe, trees leaning in, roots coiling around her ankles like fingers. When Marla finally realized the figure wasn’t her mother, it was too late.
The villagers searched for days, but Marla was gone. Only her basket was found, lying at the forest’s edge, bluebells wilting inside. And now, they say if you wander too far, you might hear her voice, soft and distant, calling from the trees.
Because the forest doesn’t just take. It keeps.
