Alex stumbled into his mother's old room, the day's exhaustion heavy on his limbs. The journey, the unpacking, the cleaning—it all weighed on him like a mountain pressing down his shoulders. He barely had the energy to keep his eyes open as he collapsed onto the creaky bed.
The silence in the room was different from the cabin's main space. Here, dust motes danced quietly in the thin slants of moonlight that filtered through the cracked window. The faded wallpaper, the worn wooden floor beneath him, felt like whispers of a life he never truly knew but somehow longed to understand.
His head hit the pillow, and he was almost asleep when a sudden memory jolted him awake—the diary he had slipped under his shirt from the bookshelf earlier that afternoon. Heart quickening with a mix of curiosity and nerves, he reached under his bed where he had hidden it away and pulled out the small, leather-bound book.
Hands trembling, Alex opened the diary carefully. The worn pages smelled faintly of old paper and something floral, like lavender. A folded photograph fell from between the pages—a picture of a young woman standing near the very cabin where he now lay. Her smile was bright, eyes warm, vibrant with life. And in another photo, two hands were clasped—a woman's delicate hand holding a man's firm one, the edge of a forest framing them.
He traced the image silently, an ache growing in his chest.
Turning the page, his eyes scanned the neat handwriting. The first entry described the weather—a clear autumn day, crisp and golden—and she wrote about the small adventures of her day, the whispers of the woods, the flicker of light through the trees.
Alex felt a fragile connection bloom, as if his mother's voice reached across time to soothe the loneliness knotted inside him.
But sleep tugged at him relentlessly. Closing the diary, he tucked the precious book beneath the bed, determined to return to it tomorrow. The cabin creaked softly around him, shadows shifting in the moonlight as he finally surrendered to rest.
Little by little, the delicate melody of the lullaby faded into silence, leaving Alex wide awake in the stillness of the night. His mind raced, caught between confusion and a rising sense of unease. What had he just heard? Was it a dream? A memory? Or something else altogether?
His heart pounded in the quiet, the shadows in the room seeming to shift and press closer, demanding an answer he didn't have. Alex sat up, rubbing his hands over his face, trying to shake off the strange weight settling in his chest.Then, breaking the silence like a crack in frozen glass, a soft voice called out his name.
"Alex."
The single word hung in the air, barely above a whisper, yet it struck him with the force of a shout.
His breath caught. He looked around the dark room, eyes wide and searching for the source. The voice was unmistakable—it was close, yet no one was there to be seen.
A chill traced down his spine as the room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for his next move.
The whisper came again, softer this time, yet closer—
"Alex."
The voice was barely audible at first, a distant echo carried through the dark cabin walls. But then it floated clearer, more insistent, as if someone stood just beyond the frosted window panes, calling him from the forest outside.
"Alex."
Alex's heart thundered loudly in his chest. The room, once quiet and still, now felt charged with an electric tension. He swung off the bed, boots hitting the wooden floor with a heavy thud. The shadows seemed to ripple and stretch as he moved toward the window.
Was it real? Or just his mind playing tricks in the isolation of the woods? The voice—familiar, tender, terrifying—drew him forward, yet every instinct screamed to stay away.
His hand trembled as it reached for the window frame, the outside darkness thick and endless. The call came again, distant but clear, like a beacon from somewhere beyond the edge of the world.
"Alex."
He swallowed hard, trapped between the pull to answer and the fear of what might lie waiting in the shadows.
Alex's fingers trembled as he reached for the old, wooden door handle. The cold of the night seemed to seep through the thin walls, pressing against his skin like an invisible weight. With a slow breath, he turned the handle and pushed the door open with a creak that echoed into the darkness.
Outside, the world was cloaked in a thick, inky blackness, the kind that swallowed shapes whole and stretched into infinite shadows. The forest stood still, its towering trees like silent sentinels in the gloom. Only the faintest silver of moonlight pierced the dense canopy above, casting ghostly patterns on the uneven ground layered with fallen leaves.
The air was crisp, sharp with the scent of pine and earth, and carried a shiver that danced along Alex's skin. Somewhere beyond the first ring of trees, a faint rustle stirred—a quick, sudden whisper of movement. The lullaby had stopped—but the feeling of being watched pressed heavily against him.
The voice calling his name floated again, softer now, as if inviting him deeper into the night. Yet, the darkness stretched endlessly, mysterious and cold.
Alex stood frozen, heart pounding, caught between curiosity and fear, the night holding its breath around him.
Just as Alex took two tentative steps forward into the night, a voice called sharply from behind him.
"Alex!"
The voice was unmistakably Grey's—harsh, concerned, cutting through the night.
Alex spun around to see his uncle standing in the doorway, arms crossed, his face etched with worry and frustration. "What are you doing out here in the middle of the night, Alex?"
Alex swallowed hard, heart still racing from the eerie call. "Someone—someone called my name. I thought maybe... I don't know, I came to check."
Grey's eyes narrowed, the dim lantern light casting deep shadows on his face. "You heard wrong. Probably just the wind playing tricks on you—leaves rustling, nothing more."
Alex opened his mouth to argue, to say that what he'd heard wasn't the wind, but Grey's tone shut him down before he could.
"Who comes out calling someone in the dead of night when no one knows them? There's nobody out here but us. If someone's calling your name at this hour, it's not safe. You need to go back inside. Now."
The unyielding edge in Grey's voice left no room for protest. Reluctantly, Alex took a step back toward the cabin, eyes still searching the dark forest beyond the faint circle of light.
The cold night pressed in around them, the silence once more thick with unseen things—things Grey refused to explain.
Seeing the sharp edge in Grey's eyes, Alex knew better than to push. He nodded silently, the tension between them palpable as he turned and made his way back to his mother's old room.
The cabin door creaked shut behind him, sealing him off into the dim, dust-laden silence. He collapsed onto the bed again with a heavy sigh, exhaustion washing over him from the long day. Yet, the moment his head hit the pillow, sleep refused to come.
His mind raced through the night's strange events—the lullaby, the voice calling his name, Grey's sudden anger. The forest outside loomed dark and impenetrable in his thoughts, filled with unseen watchers and whispered warnings.
He tossed and turned, the creaks and groans of the old cabin magnified in the silence. The shadows on the walls seemed to shift and flicker, and every sound felt amplified—like the house itself was breathing, waiting.
Sleep escaped him, tangled in the weight of memories and fears, and the secret buried pages of his mother's diary lying hidden beneath the bed.