We were back in the cottage, the one that now felt more like a second home than a rented retreat. The soft creaks of the wooden floor, the faint scent of pine that clung to the curtains, even the occasional moody flicker of the hallway bulb—it all felt oddly comforting. But comfort, we had learned, was a fragile illusion in this place.
The fireplace crackled with a lazy flame as we sat around the old wooden table, maps and rough sketches of the forest laid out like battle plans. Bobby tapped a pen against the edge of his notebook. Ambrose had sprawled himself across the worn-out couch, chewing on a biscuit like it held the answers to the universe. Jacob sat with his arms crossed, his leg bouncing, a clear sign that his thoughts were far from relaxed.
"I say we follow the torch trail tonight," Bobby suggested. "Track it fully. See where it leads and log everything—distances, time inside, landmarks. No more guesswork."
Jacob scoffed. "You make it sound like we're scientists on an expedition. We're a bunch of guys with a torch, some snacks, and more bravado than sense."
Ambrose grinned. "Speak for yourself. I've got both bravado and biscuits. And if the forest throws a time-traveling banshee at us, I'll offer it a cookie and ask for its origin story."
Despite the tension, we laughed. That's the thing about Ambrose—he had a way of lifting the mood even when the air felt thick with dread.
But beneath that humor, I could see it. Cracks forming. We'd been brushing off the gravity of our situation, pretending the forest was just some weird sci-fi escape room. But deep down, each of us knew: this was bigger than anything we were prepared for.
After a quick dinner, we geared up—two torches, a pair of synchronized stopwatches, backup batteries, and a notepad to document every small detail. It felt a little ridiculous. But then again, everything about this trip had started to feel like that.
Before we left, Ambrose stepped outside to make a call. I followed him to the porch and found him speaking to his mom.
"No, Ma, I'm not in trouble," he said, pacing slowly. "Yes, I'm still eating well. I even made coffee… okay, instant coffee, but it counts."
He looked over at me and grinned before adding, "I think I've found my purpose. Yeah, maybe I'll become the first Indian superhero with forest-based powers. Forestman. No cape. Just leafy underwear."
I tried not to laugh too loudly.
After he hung up, Ambrose looked at the sky for a while. "She's worried. Thinks I've gone mental."
"She's not wrong," I joked. "We're about to willingly walk into a glitching, potentially cursed forest at 3 a.m. following a trail of light."
"Sounds like a Wednesday to me," he said, and we both smiled. But I noticed the way his fingers tapped against his thigh—a quiet, anxious rhythm.
By 2:45 a.m., we were ready. The four of us stepped out into the cold, fog-wrapped silence. The shimmering trail lit up once again under the beam of our torches, almost as if it had been waiting.
The forest welcomed us like a secret we weren't supposed to know. Branches swayed without wind. The mist slithered low, clinging to our legs. Every crunch of gravel beneath our boots echoed too loudly in the quiet night.
About fifteen minutes in, we found something new.
A clearing. And in it—a circle of stones surrounding a dead firepit, remnants of a recent campsite. Torn fabric. A rusted lantern. A backpack with a busted zipper.
And a notebook.
Jacob picked it up cautiously, flipping through its pages. "Handwritten," he murmured. "English. But… this doesn't make sense."
He passed it to Bobby. The pages were filled with scribbled warnings:
'Watchers see what you ignore.'
'Don't trust your own eyes after the third loop.'
'The mirror lies but the reflection warns.'
'If you hear the voice of yourself—run.'
Bobby's face paled. "This… whoever wrote this, they've been through what we're starting to go through. And maybe worse."
We stood there in heavy silence, letting the weight of those words sink in.
Ambrose broke it. "Or it's the weirdest campfire horror story someone forgot behind."
"Ambrose," Jacob snapped, "do you not get how serious this is?"
Ambrose straightened up. "I do. That's why I'm trying to keep us from losing our minds."
Jacob stepped forward. "No, you're deflecting. Every time things get serious, you hide behind jokes. You've been doing it since day one."
"Guys…" I interjected.
"No, let him talk," Ambrose said, voice hardening. "So what if I joke? You think your brooding makes you the only one scared?"
Jacob clenched his fists. "At least I'm not pretending this is all fun and games."
"Enough!" I shouted.
They both looked at me, surprised.
"We can fall apart later. Not here. Not now."
There was a long pause. Then Bobby, quietly: "We should keep going. Just a little further."
The trail twisted into thicker woods. A dozen more steps and the fog seemed heavier, more deliberate—as if the forest wanted to pull us deeper.
That's when we saw it.
Blood.
A piece of cloth, torn and fresh, caught on a jagged branch. Still damp. Still red.
Ambrose stepped back. "Okay… superhero training didn't cover this."
Jacob instinctively shone his torch around the area. "No bodies. No prints."
I crouched near the cloth. It didn't smell like decay. But it was real.
"Someone else is here," Bobby whispered. "Or… was."
And then, just as we turned back toward the way we came, we saw him.
A hooded figure.
Standing still near the edge of the visible trail, half-shrouded by mist, unmoving. Watching.
"Do you see that?" I asked.
"I wish I didn't," Ambrose whispered.
Jacob started moving toward the figure. "We need answers."
"Jacob, wait—"
But before he could take three steps, the figure dissolved. Like smoke being vacuumed into thin air.
Gone.
We stood in stunned silence.
"Is it just me, or are things escalating?" Ambrose muttered.
We turned and made our way back faster than we came. This wasn't exploration anymore—it was survival.
As we exited the tree line, the trail vanished behind us like it had never been.
We reached the porch of the cottage just as the first light of dawn began to bleed into the sky. We were silent for a moment, the kind of silence that grows heavy between people who've all seen something they can't explain.
Jacob went inside without a word.
Ambrose stayed behind, staring into the woods.
Bobby sat on the steps, flipping through the notebook again.
I leaned against the railing, watching them.
We were unraveling. Little by little.
The forest hadn't just shown us mystery. It had shown us parts of ourselves we weren't ready to face.
And something told me—it wasn't done with us yet.