Where the Pines Breathe

The following is based on sightings in the Appalachia region...

The Appalachian night clung to Calla Greer, its chill sinking deep through her sweater and into her bones.  Her flashlight barely penetrated the dense blackness, casting thin silver beams between towering pines that loomed as silent giants, their branches reaching out, eager to snatch her.  She tugged her sleeves down, trying to ignore the unease pricking her senses.  The forest had always been familiar—a place of childhood memories.  But tonight, it felt strange, the shadows deeper, more secretive.  Her grandmother's warning replayed in her mind, curling through her thoughts.

Never whistle after dark.

An owl hooted in the distance, and Calla’s shoulders tensed.  She swept the flashlight across the trail, her pulse quickening.  The ground beneath her boots was damp and uneven, the air laced with the earthy scent of decaying leaves and pine.  She tried to focus on her task, but that old Appalachian superstition hummed in her ears like a song she couldn’t shake.  Part of her wanted to turn back, but she forced herself onward, the cool night air biting her cheeks.

Snap.

A sharp sound sliced through the silence, and she froze, gripping the flashlight tighter.  "Hello?" she whispered, barely louder than the wind stirring the branches.  Her own voice sounded strange, foreign.  When silence answered, she laughed nervously, the sound hollow.  "Just the wind, Calla," she muttered.

But then she heard it—a voice, soft, like a breath brushing past her ear from the shadows.

"Calla..."

She stopped, heart stuttering.  The voice didn’t belong to anyone she knew, and she’d been alone since leaving her friends at the trailhead.  She swung her flashlight around, its beam piercing the dark, revealing nothing but trees and shadows.  "Hello?" Her voice was barely audible, swallowed by the quiet of the woods.

A flicker of movement caught her eye, and she spun, the light darting across the trees.  But nothing was there, silence pressing around her.

She squeezed her phone in her pocket, pulling it out and lifting it with a shaky hand, thumb hovering over the camera.  She snapped a picture, the flash casting an eerie glow that disappeared as quickly as it came.  She looked at the screen.  The photo showed only twisted streaks of branches, blurred and indistinct.

The voice came again, this time curling through the cold night air.

"Calla...  come back..."

A shiver crawled up her spine.  Every instinct screamed for her to leave.  But something—a flicker of stubborn bravery, or maybe a reckless curiosity—held her in place.  She cleared her throat, forcing herself to call out, "Who… who’s there?" Her words hung in the air, suspended in the cold.

She took a cautious step back, her boot slipping on a patch of slick leaves.  She caught herself against a tree, the flashlight jerking wildly in her hand, its beam brushing over the shape of an old cabin barely visible between the trees, its silhouette blending into the dark, like it had grown out of the forest itself.

She’d never seen it before, but the sight pulled her forward, curiosity outweighing caution.  The cabin was small, sagging, its windows empty and dark.  The wooden slats were rotting, sinking into shadows that clung to the structure.  A low mist seeped from the ground around it, swirling at her feet as she approached.  She raised her phone again, snapping another photo, but the image showed nothing clear, blurred into a haze of shadows and broken lines.

A warmth drifted through her thoughts—her grandmother’s lined face, her dark eyes serious, warning her, "Things walk in these woods that don’t belong in the light.  Stay close to the trail, and never answer if you hear your name at night."

Her grandmother’s voice did little to ease her nerves as she stood in front of this abandoned relic.  She took a step closer, her throat tightening as faint footsteps creaked from inside.  The silence grew louder, pressing in, making it hard to breathe.

The voice returned, closer now, almost at her ear.  "Calla…”

She turned, swinging her flashlight, heart pounding.  Nothing—only the silent woods, trees standing as dark sentinels.  Her voice cracked as she whispered, "I’m not afraid of you."

But the words felt empty, a lie she barely believed.  She took a step back, her boot scraping gravel, and something shifted in the air, a heaviness settling over her.  She fumbled for her grandmother’s old talisman on her necklace, clutching it tightly, her lips forming a silent prayer.

With every whispered word, her heartbeat slowed, her breathing steadied.  She took another step back, then another, until she felt the firm ground of the trail beneath her.  The voice didn’t follow this time, but a weight remained among the trees, watching, waiting.

The first light of dawn crept through the branches, casting a silvery glow over the forest floor.  Calla let out a shaky exhale, the darkness finally retreating as the sun stretched over the mountains.  She glanced back, catching a last glimpse of the cabin nestled between the trees, hidden in the thinning mist.  But it was silent, a forgotten shadow.

She returned to the trail, relief washing over her.  The forest felt normal, though memories clung to her like cobwebs.  She touched her necklace, murmuring a silent thank-you to her grandmother.

Yet, as she walked away, she could still feel it—an unseen presence lingering, watching from beyond the light, a reminder that the old stories held truths woven into the bones of the Appalachian woods.