Night in the forest was not darkness — it was blindness.
The fog had thickened to a white wall that swallowed the light from their flashlights, reflecting it back into their faces. The air was wet, metallic. Even the trees seemed to lean closer, their shapes bending in the haze.
They found a small clearing, a hollow space ringed by oaks that looked like old bones. Soufiane ordered the group to rest there until dawn. No fire — only dim light from their lanterns.
Cynthia laid Younes down on a makeshift blanket. The boy slept fitfully, muttering in his dreams. Juliane checked her weapon twice, eyes darting to every shadow. Mourad stayed on watch near the edge, his silhouette half-swallowed by the fog. Amal sat with her back to a tree, scribbling notes in a small, water-damaged notebook.
"What are you writing?" Cynthia asked quietly.
"Patterns," Amal said. "The whispering—it repeats certain frequencies. I think it's not random."
"Like words?"
"Not exactly. More like… memory trying to form."
Cynthia frowned. "That's not comforting."
Amal smiled faintly. "Wasn't meant to be."
---
Soufiane moved among them, restless. His face was drawn, shadows beneath his eyes deeper than usual. When he stopped near the treeline, he could hear it again — that low breathing of the forest, like lungs expanding beneath the earth.
Then, faintly:
"Soufiane…"
He froze. It was closer this time. He turned — nothing but fog.
He closed his eyes, whispering to himself, She's gone. You buried her. You saw it.
When he opened them, a shape stood a few meters away — a woman's outline, still, watching.
He raised his rifle slowly. "Zahira?"
The figure didn't move. Then, in the softest voice: "Why did you leave me?"
He blinked — and the shape was gone.
---
A sudden noise broke the stillness — a sharp rustle behind Amal. She spun around. Mourad lifted his gun. "Movement!"
They heard it again — footsteps circling them, light but fast. Something was running around the clearing, unseen in the fog.
Juliane raised her lantern high. The light cut through just enough to reveal movement — dozens of faint shapes, crawling low to the ground, circling like wolves.
"Stay close!" Soufiane barked.
Cynthia grabbed Younes and backed against a tree. Amal and Mourad formed a line, weapons ready.
The whispers grew louder — overlapping voices now, hundreds of them, like the forest itself was talking in different tongues. Some voices were human, others not.
And then… silence.
The shapes vanished.
Only the mist remained, heavy and thick, pressing against their skin.
Mourad exhaled, lowering his rifle slightly. "They're gone."
Juliane shook her head. "No. They're waiting."
---
Hours passed. No one slept. The fog never lifted. The air seemed to hum faintly, like electricity.
Amal kept listening, sometimes closing her eyes to catch the rhythm of the whispers. "It's feeding on something," she murmured. "Fear. Sound. Maybe memory."
Soufiane looked at her sharply. "Memory?"
She nodded. "When we entered the forest, it started calling your name. Now it's using others. It learns what hurts."
He stared at her, his jaw tightening. "Then it knows too much already."
---
Sometime near dawn, the fog began to glow faintly — not from sunlight, but from within itself, like the air was filled with bioluminescent dust.
Cynthia was the first to see movement again — but this time, it wasn't the shapes. It was the trees.
Their bark shifted slightly, pulsing like muscle beneath skin. Faces appeared for a second in the wood — mouths open in silent screams, then melting away.
"Soufiane…" one of them whispered, voice trembling through the air.
He stepped forward slowly, eyes wide. The face on the tree was his sister's.
"Zahira?"
Her mouth moved. "You left me in the dark."
He reached out a trembling hand—
"Don't touch it!" Amal snapped, grabbing his arm. "It's not her!"
The face dissolved instantly, leaving only rough bark behind. Soufiane stumbled back, shaking.
"What is this place?" Cynthia whispered.
Amal's eyes were distant, almost fearful now. "A memory field. Something ancient is here — and it's using us to remember itself."
---
When morning finally broke, the mist began to thin, but only slightly. They could see ten meters ahead now.
Juliane packed their things fast. "We move before it wakes again."
Soufiane nodded, still pale. His eyes lingered on the trees, as if afraid they might start speaking again.
As they left the clearing, Younes stirred in Cynthia's arms and pointed weakly toward the forest.
"There," he whispered. "The lady with the red scarf."
Everyone turned.
At the edge of the mist, barely visible, stood a figure in a red scarf, watching them.
When Soufiane blinked — she was gone.