Chapter 07: The Forest’s Echo
Roderic stood amidst the ruins of the Hollow Cathedral, the air around him thick with the scent of burnt wood and ancient decay. The echoes of the curse had faded, but the forest… the forest still whispered. It was no longer the malevolent roar of a forgotten pact, but a low hum that seemed to vibrate through the very ground beneath his feet. He felt it in his bones—an unsettling presence, an awareness that had not been fully extinguished.
The cathedral had fallen, its stones crumbling and splitting as the curse unraveled. Yet, despite the destruction, the land felt unchanged, as if the roots of the curse still clung to the earth beneath. It was as if the forest itself, in all its ancient, twisted glory, had absorbed the remnants of that dark energy, forever linking its spirit to the land.
Roderic’s eyes scanned the horizon, the village nowhere in sight. The mist had returned, thicker than ever, curling around the trunks of the trees like a living thing. The wind carried with it whispers once more, though now they were softer, more mournful, like the sighs of souls who had been freed but had nowhere to go. Their voices clung to the mist, floating through the gaps between the trees, brushing against Roderic’s skin like forgotten memories.
He stepped cautiously, the key still clutched tightly in his hand. It had stopped pulsing with light after the creature had been banished, but it hadn’t lost its weight, its promise. It was a relic of the past, of something ancient and unknowable, and Roderic couldn’t shake the feeling that it had more to reveal, more to give.
His steps were slow as he moved deeper into the forest, away from the cathedral’s ruins. The trees towered above him, their gnarled branches twisting like fingers clawing at the sky. He had heard stories of this forest when he was a child, stories of an ancient power, a curse that lived beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to rise again. But those were just stories, weren’t they? Folklore and old wives’ tales. Yet here he was, standing on the very soil that had given birth to those stories, feeling the weight of the forest’s presence pressing in on him.
The forest had claimed so much. So many lives had been lost to its thirst for vengeance. And yet, in the back of Roderic’s mind, a chilling thought began to grow—what if it hadn’t been banished? What if it had only been awakened?
The ground beneath his feet shifted suddenly, the earth soft and giving as though it was swallowing his steps whole. Roderic stopped, feeling the shift in the atmosphere, the way the air seemed to vibrate with anticipation. He wasn’t alone. He had never been alone.
He glanced up and saw, far in the distance, a figure moving through the trees. The silhouette was indistinct, blurred by the mist, but there was something undeniably familiar about the way it moved. The figure paused and turned towards him, and for the briefest moment, Roderic could have sworn he saw a flash of recognition in its eyes.
“Roderic,” a voice whispered, though the word was swallowed by the wind.
He froze. The voice—it wasn’t a dream, not a whisper from the past. It was here. It was real. He knew that voice, though it had been years since he had last heard it.
Before he could call out, the figure turned and disappeared into the trees, swallowed by the mist as quickly as it had appeared. Roderic’s heart pounded in his chest, and a cold sweat broke out across his skin. He had to follow. He had to know what it was, who it was. That voice—it had come from the past, from the heart of the village that had suffered so much.
He sprinted forward, his legs carrying him through the dense underbrush, the weight of the key pressing against his chest with every step. The mist parted in front of him, swirling around his legs, but the figure was always just out of reach, always moving further into the darkness.
The whispers grew louder, more frantic, and Roderic’s ears rang with the cacophony. The voices, the faces, all blending together—villagers, lost souls, those who had entered the forest and never returned. The trees seemed to close in around him, their twisted limbs reaching out like the hands of the damned. He could feel their eyes on him, could feel the weight of their gaze—heavy and unrelenting.
The figure was still ahead, just a shadow among shadows. Roderic pushed forward, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Every step he took seemed to pull him deeper into the forest, deeper into the heart of its malevolent force. It was no longer just a place of haunting memories. It was alive, pulsating with an energy that felt like it had been waiting for him all along.
Finally, he broke through the trees and found himself standing in a clearing, the mist parting as if it had been drawn back by an invisible hand. At the center of the clearing was an ancient stone well, its edges cracked and weathered by time. The air was thick with the scent of decay, but there was something else—a strange sweetness that clung to the air, like the scent of flowers long forgotten.
And there, standing by the well, was the figure.
A woman.
Her hair was dark, nearly black, and it tumbled in waves around her shoulders, though it seemed to move with a life of its own. Her eyes, when they turned towards him, were hollow—deep, endless voids that seemed to swallow the light. She was dressed in a tattered gown, its once-white fabric now stained with the blood of the forest, the dirt of centuries. Her skin was pale, translucent, like she was not quite there, like she had stepped from a world that no longer existed.
“Roderic,” she whispered again, her voice soft as the rustling of leaves. “You’ve returned.”
His heart stopped in his chest. He knew her. He knew her from the stories, from the paintings in the village hall. She had been lost to the forest, consumed by it. A spirit. A ghost.
But how?
“Why have you come back?” she asked, her voice tinged with sorrow. “Don’t you know? You cannot leave. None of us can.”
Roderic took a step forward, his mind racing. “I—I don’t understand. What happened? Why are you here?”
The woman’s eyes filled with a strange, hollow sadness. “The forest has a way of claiming those who wander too far. It doesn’t let go. Not now. Not ever.”
The wind picked up, howling through the trees, and the mist thickened once more. The forest seemed to press in from all sides, as though it were a living thing, its breath hot and heavy on his skin. Roderic could feel the darkness closing around him, could feel the weight of the curse pressing in on him from every direction.
“You should leave,” the woman said, her voice now tinged with a warning. “Before it’s too late.”
Roderic opened his mouth to speak, to ask more, but the words caught in his throat. The ground beneath him began to tremble, and from the depths of the well, a low, rumbling sound rose, like the growl of some ancient beast awakening.
The forest was calling to him again.
And this time, there was no escaping its grasp.
