(shhhh…) Don’t speak. Don’t make a sound. The trees are listening. … Do you see that? Something moved between the branches. No… Keep walking. Don’t look back. We came here looking for a story, three names carved into an old tree. A map, a camera, a dying flashlight, and a trail that shouldn’t be. The road disappeared behind us, the compass started spinning slow. Every path became another path, every way out led below. We marked the trees with pieces of string, but every morning they were gone. And every night, a little closer, something followed us until dawn. Did you hear that? A branch just broke. Something is walking around us. Don’t open the tent. Whatever happens… don’t open the tent. The woods remember. The woods don’t sleep. Something watches from the darkness, something buried underneath. We keep walking, we keep turning, but the trail will never end. The deeper that we disappear, the closer comes the end. The woods remember. And they know our names. Last night we heard the footsteps, slowly circling through the trees. One step left. One step right. Then silence. Then another three. We found a pile of little branches, tied together with blackened thread. Hanging from an ancient tree, like someone made a crown for the dead. There were stones beside the fire. Three of them. Perfectly aligned. We never put them there. Who did? The camera is still recording. I swear I didn't touch it. Why is it pointing at the tent? Why is there breathing on the microphone? [Static] Hello? … Who are you? The woods remember. The woods can see. Every secret that we carry, every fear inside of me. We keep running, we keep calling, but our voices disappear. The trees are getting closer now. Something is standing near. The woods remember. And they want us here. We woke up this morning and the map was gone. The river was behind us. The sun was on the wrong side. We walked north. For hours. Then we found our own footprints. Coming toward us. Not away. Toward us. We have been here before. Don’t look into the trees. Don’t look into the trees. Don’t look— There are symbols on the branches, little figures made of stone. Everywhere we try to hide, they tell us we are not alone. The forest has no center. The forest has no edge. And every promise of a way out leads us deeper to the hedge. I can hear someone crying. I can hear someone call. But every time we follow it, there is nothing there at all. Except another little symbol. Except another pile of stones. Except another voice behind us whispering: “Go home.” We tried to leave. We tried to leave. We tried to leave. But the forest moved. The path moved. The trees moved. And something… Something moved inside the camera. Turn it off. Turn it off. TURN IT OFF. The woods remember. The woods never forget. Every step we ever took, every word we ever said. No more compass. No more daylight. No more road beneath our feet. Just the branches overhead… and footsteps underneath. The woods remember. The woods are closing in. You can run until you're empty. You can scream until you— If you find this camera… Don’t follow the trail. Don’t trust the markings. Don’t answer the voices. And whatever you do… if you hear someone calling your name… … don’t turn around. (shhhh…) The woods are listening. And now… they know you're here.
