Where the Forest Remembers Ch 4

Aditi didn't move.

The shadow remained outside the window.

Impossible.

The ledge beyond the glass was no wider than a handspan. Four stories below, the forest stretched like a black ocean. No human being could stand there.

Yet the silhouette did.

Her flashlight trembled in her grip.

Slowly...

Very slowly...

She raised it toward the window.

The beam hit the glass.

Nothing.

Only her own frightened reflection stared back.

She exhaled sharply.

"I'm losing my mind."

She forced herself to laugh.

Then she noticed something.

Her reflection wasn't laughing.

It was still looking over her shoulder.

Aditi stopped breathing.

She turned around.

The room was empty.

When she looked back at the glass...

Her reflection smiled.

She hadn't.

The smile widened until it stretched unnaturally across her reflected face.

Then—

The flashlight flickered.

Darkness.

When it came back a second later, the reflection was normal again.

Only her.

Pale.

Terrified.

---

She didn't sleep.

Every time she closed her eyes, she heard leaves rustling beneath the tower.

Not one person.

Many.

Soft footsteps circling endlessly below.

Sometimes they stopped directly under the wooden floor.

Sometimes they whispered.

---

The first light seeped through the cracks in the wall.

Morning have arrived.

The forest looked unchanged.

No birds.

No insects.

No sound.

She pushed the chair aside and opened the door.

The cold air touched her face. But had a strange smell.

Like flowers left too long in stagnant water.

She descended the stairs cautiously.

Halfway down, she noticed something hanging from the railing.

A red thread.

Freshly tied.

She frowned.

She hadn't seen it yesterday.

Or...

Had she?

She couldn't remember.

At the bottom of the staircase, something lay on the ground.

A notebook.

Her notebook.

Its leather cover was damp, but unmistakable.

Relief washed over her.

Finally, something familiar.

She opened it.

The first page contained her handwriting.

Day One.

"Reached the forest at 2:15 p.m. Villagers are dramatic as usual."

She smiled despite herself.

She turned the page.

Day Two.

Blank.

The next page.

Day Three.

Blank.

Then...

Near the end of the notebook—

Writing.

Page after page.

Her handwriting.

But she had never written these words.

"If you're reading this, you're still yourself."

She stared.

"Don't trust the paths."

Another page.

"Don't trust the voices."

Another.

"When you see her, don't let her touch you."

The final page.

Only one sentence.

Written so deeply the pen had torn the paper.

SHE ISN'T FOLLOWING YOU.

Aditi swallowed.

Beneath it, in darker ink—

YOU ARE FOLLOWING HER.

---

Her hands shook.

"No..."

She looked around wildly.

The clearing was empty.

Only the watchtower.

Only trees.

Only silence.

A faint creak echoed overhead.

She looked up.

Someone stood on the top platform.

A woman.

Long black hair.

A faded red sari fluttering gently despite the still air.

This time, Aditi wasn't looking at a photograph.

She was looking directly at her.

The woman lifted one hand.

Not to wave.

To point.

Toward the forest.

Toward a narrow path Aditi hadn't noticed before.

Then the woman stepped backward.

Not turning.

Not stumbling.

She simply...

Fell.

Aditi screamed and ran toward the tower.

She climbed the stairs two at a time.

The platform was empty.

No body.

No footprints.

Nothing.

Only an old camera lying in the corner.

Its leather strap had rotted with age.

She picked it up.

It still worked.

The battery indicator glowed.

One photograph remained.

She opened it.

The image stole the breath from her lungs.

It was the watchtower.

Exactly as it stood now.

Standing at its base...

was a young woman in trekking clothes.

A camera around her neck.

Mud on her boots.

The same backpack.

The same face.

Aditi.

Only...

The date stamped beneath the photograph read:

17 August 1998.

Nearly thirty years ago.

"No..."

She stumbled backward.

"This isn't possible."

Behind the old photograph, tucked into the camera case, was a folded newspaper clipping.

She unfolded it carefully.

The headline read:

WILDLIFE PHOTOGRAPHER MISSING INSIDE RESTRICTED FOREST.

Below the headline was a grainy picture.

Her picture.

Her face.

The article was yellow with age.

Published decades before she was born.

The paper slipped from her fingers.

A wind rose through the trees for the first time since she'd entered the forest.

Leaves spiraled into the air.

And somewhere beyond the clearing...

A woman laughed.

It wasn't cruel.

It wasn't angry.

It sounded...

Lonely.