Whispers In The Woods
1118 Words
By the time Elior made it back home, the sun was dipping behind the hills, casting a soft orange glow across Maplewood’s rooftops. The warmth in the sky didn’t match the chill that had settled in his bones since leaving the library. He kept hearing River’s voice in his head—“The magic’s waking up again. And I think you and I are supposed to wake it up.”
What did that even mean?
His mom was in the kitchen when he stepped through the front door, humming a tune while chopping vegetables. The smell of garlic and rosemary filled the house, familiar and comforting. Elior paused, taking a moment to ground himself in something normal.
“Hey, sweetheart,” she said without turning around. “You’re home later than usual.”
“Stayed back to help with inventory at the library,” he lied quickly. “Mr. Harris is doing that whole archive clean-up.”
She nodded approvingly, still not looking at him. “Good. Keep making yourself useful. Idle hands and all that.”
Elior muttered an agreement and escaped upstairs to his room.
The moment his door shut, the quiet returned—and with it, the buzzing thoughts. He pulled out his sketchbook, hoping to distract himself, but instead of doodling, he found himself drawing the symbol from the book River had shown him: a tree with twisted roots and branching limbs. His pencil moved without him even thinking, the shape forming almost instinctively.
Halfway through shading the roots, a knock at the window startled him. He jumped.
It was River.
“Seriously?” Elior hissed, rushing over and sliding the glass open. “You climbed up to my window?”
“Didn’t want to come through the front like a regular person. Seemed too boring,” River said with a shrug and a grin.
Elior blinked. “How did you even know which room was mine?”
River tapped the side of his head. “Magic.”
Elior rolled his eyes but stepped aside. “Get in before my mom sees.”
River slipped through the window like he did it every day and flopped down on Elior’s bed. “Nice room. You’re very organized. It’s slightly terrifying.”
Elior crossed his arms. “What are you doing here?”
“I figured you’d have questions,” River said, sitting up now, his expression turning more serious. “About earlier.”
“You think?”
River leaned forward. “Look, I know it’s a lot. But there’s something I need to show you—something I didn’t want to talk about in the library.”
Elior narrowed his eyes. “If this is another weird book or cryptic riddle—”
“It’s not,” River interrupted. “It’s something... older. And it’s in the woods.”
“The woods?” Elior took a step back. “As in, the ones behind the town? The same ones people say are cursed?”
River tilted his head. “You really believe all that?”
“No,” Elior lied.
River smirked. “Good. Because the woods are where we’ll find our next clue. Whatever that relic is, it’s connected to a place called The Hollow.”
Elior’s stomach dropped. He had heard that name before. Not from anyone his age—but from his grandmother, years ago, in one of her stories. The Hollow was where the magic used to gather. A sacred place, hidden from those who weren’t “meant” to find it.
“I thought The Hollow was made up,” Elior whispered.
“So did I,” River replied, standing. “Until I saw it with my own eyes.”
Elior stared at him. “You’ve been there?”
River nodded. “Once. I couldn’t get in. The entrance... it responded to blood. But not mine.”
Elior swallowed. “Mine?”
“Quinn blood,” River said. “It needs a descendant.”
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence was thick with implication.
“You want me to break into a magical forest,” Elior said flatly. “In the middle of the night.”
“Not break in,” River corrected. “Just... enter. With style.”
“I don’t even know you,” Elior said, laughing nervously. “For all I know, this is some elaborate prank.”
River stepped closer. “It’s not a prank. You feel it, too. Don’t you?”
Elior wanted to deny it. But something in his chest had been shifting ever since their encounter in the library. Like the world had tilted slightly off its axis and was still spinning, but differently now.
“What if we get caught?” Elior asked quietly.
River grinned. “Then we lie. Or run.”
Elior groaned. “You’re insane.”
“Maybe,” River said, climbing back toward the window. “Meet me at the trailhead behind Old Creek Road. Midnight.”
Before Elior could protest, River was gone, his voice floating back with the wind. “Don’t chicken out, Quinn.”
Elior stared after him for a long time.
—
The forest was a different world at midnight.
Elior’s flashlight barely cut through the thick trees, and every rustle of leaves made his pulse race. He nearly turned back three times before he spotted River standing near a crooked old oak, looking impossibly relaxed.
“You came,” River said, like he had never doubted it.
Elior shoved his hands in his hoodie pocket. “Still think this is a bad idea.”
“That makes two of us,” River replied with a grin. “Let’s go.”
They walked in silence at first, the only sounds their footsteps on fallen leaves and the distant hoot of an owl. Elior kept glancing at River, trying to read him. Why was he so calm? So certain?
The path twisted downward, and the trees grew thicker. Then, abruptly, the air changed. It grew colder—sharper. Elior stopped walking.
“We’re here,” River said.
Before them stood a stone archway, nearly swallowed by vines and moss. It was carved with symbols that pulsed faintly with light, as if responding to their presence.
“This is The Hollow?” Elior whispered.
River nodded. “Put your hand on the stone.”
Elior hesitated, then stepped forward. The moment his fingers brushed the stone, the symbols flared to life in a blaze of blue light. A wind stirred around them—soft but insistent.
The archway began to shimmer.
Elior turned to River, eyes wide. “What is this place?”
River’s gaze didn’t waver. “The beginning.”
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- Writer
