My name is Rachel, and I’ve always been drawn to the forest. It’s where I go to clear my head, to escape the pressures of daily life. There’s something comforting about the solitude, the quiet rustling of leaves, the way the sunlight filters through the trees. But there’s a stretch of forest near my home that I’ve always avoided—a dense, overgrown area known locally as Pine Hollow. The trees there are older, taller, their branches twisted and gnarled as if reaching for something unseen. The locals say it’s cursed, that people have gone missing in those woods, never to be seen again. I never believed the stories. Not until I had no choice.
It was late summer, the air thick with humidity, the sky a pale, washed-out blue. I’d been feeling restless, anxious, so I decided to take a walk, to lose myself in the familiar trails. But something pulled me off the path that day, something that led me deeper into the woods than I’d ever gone before. I found myself at the edge of Pine Hollow, the dark line of trees looming ahead like a wall. I should have turned back, but instead, I stepped forward, curiosity and something else—a feeling I couldn’t quite place—driving me on.
The moment I entered Pine Hollow, the atmosphere changed. The air was cooler, the light dimmer, as if the trees were blocking out the sun. The silence was thick, oppressive, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or snap of a twig. But there was something else, too—an uneasy feeling that I wasn’t alone. I tried to shake it off, to tell myself it was just the stories getting to me, but the feeling only grew stronger the deeper I went.
That’s when I saw it—a figure standing between the trees, half-hidden in the shadows. At first, I thought it was just a trick of the light, a play of shadows and branches, but then it moved. It was tall, impossibly tall, with long, thin limbs and a face I couldn’t quite make out. Its eyes, though—its eyes were clear, glowing faintly in the dim light, watching me.
I froze, my heart pounding in my chest, every instinct screaming at me to run. But I couldn’t move. I was rooted to the spot, my gaze locked with the figure’s. It didn’t come any closer, just stood there, watching, as if waiting for something. The air around me grew colder, the shadows deeper, and I felt a rising sense of dread, of something ancient and malevolent stirring in the depths of the woods.
Finally, the spell broke, and I stumbled back, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps. The figure remained where it was, unmoving, its eyes still fixed on me. I turned and ran, crashing through the underbrush, my only thought to get out, to escape whatever was lurking in the Hollow. But the woods seemed to close in around me, the trees twisting and shifting, turning me around until I was hopelessly lost.
I don’t know how long I ran, but when I finally burst out of the trees, I was back on the familiar trail, the sunlight warm on my skin. I collapsed on the ground, gasping for air, my heart still racing. When I looked back, Pine Hollow was still there, dark and silent, the figure nowhere to be seen.
I never went back into those woods. I couldn’t, not after what I saw. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was still being watched, that something had followed me out of the Hollow. I started noticing things—strange footprints in the dirt near my house, the feeling of eyes on me when I was alone, the sound of something moving through the trees at night. I knew it was out there, waiting, watching.
I’m writing this because I need to warn you. If you ever find yourself near Pine Hollow, stay away. There’s something in those woods, something that shouldn’t be disturbed. It’s watching, waiting for the right moment to make its move. And if you’re not careful, you might not make it out alive.
Sometimes, the things we fear aren’t just in our heads. Sometimes, they’re out there, in the dark, watching and waiting. And once they’ve seen you, they never look away.
