Chapter 2: The Fog And The Tree
The moment they stepped under the canopy of Black Hollow, it was as if a door had slammed shut behind them, sealing them off from the world they knew. The silence was the first thing that hit them. It was a physical presence, a heavy blanket that smothered all sound. The ambient noise of Havenwood was gone, replaced by a vacuum so profound they could hear the blood pulsing in their own ears.
“Well, this is… quiet,” Jasper said, his voice sounding unnaturally loud. He immediately lowered it to a whisper. “Did someone forget to pay the forest’s sound bill?”
“It’s called a forest, genius. There’s no traffic,” Finn shot back, his powerful flashlight beam cutting a sharp, white cone through the deepening gloom. The light danced over ancient, moss-covered tree trunks that seemed to lean in toward the path, their branches like gnarled, grasping fingers.
Raven, ever the leader, took point, her combat boots crunching on the damp earth. “Come on. According to Willow’s map, the path should lead us toward the center of the woods. Keep an eye out for any trail markers.”
“Or, you know, ghostly children with hollow eyes,” Jasper muttered, sticking so close to Ash that he nearly tripped on his heels. “I’m just saying, let’s keep our priorities straight.”
Ash just laughed, his eyes darting around, taking in every shadow. “Don’t worry, Jasper. If a ghost shows up, I’ll ask it to pose for a selfie with you.”
The path was narrow and overgrown, a faint suggestion of a trail rather than a clear route. The air was cold and carried the rich, loamy scent of decay. It wasn’t the clean, fresh smell of a healthy forest; it was the smell of things long dead and buried, of wet leaves turning to mulch and secrets rotting in the soil.
“The energy here is incredible,” Luna breathed, her eyes closed as she walked. She had one hand trailing along the bark of a massive oak. “It’s so old. And sad.”
“Speaking of sad, I’m feeling sad I skipped dinner for this,” Finn grumbled, consulting his compass. “Path is heading northwest, just like the map said. So far, so disappointingly normal.”
But it wasn’t normal. Willow knew it. She clutched her journal tighter, her senses on high alert. The trees were too tall, their trunks too thick. They grew in strange, unnatural clusters, some twisting around each other as if locked in a centuries-old struggle. There were no birds, no squirrels, not even the buzz of an insect. The forest was holding its breath.
And then there was the mist.
It had started as a gentle vapor curling around their shoes, but as they walked deeper, it began to thicken with an unnerving speed. It wasn’t a natural fog rolling in; it was rising from the ground itself, a pale, white smoke that writhed and coiled like a living thing. Soon, it was up to their knees, then their waists, obscuring the path ahead and muffling their footsteps.
“Okay, this is getting a little too John Carpenter for my taste,” Jasper said, his voice tight. He had pulled the collar of his jacket up to his chin. “Is this your fog machine, Ash?”
“Wish I could take credit for this,” Ash replied, a genuine note of awe in his voice. “This is way better.” He kicked a foot through the thickest part of the mist, watching it swirl and eddy before settling again.
Finn shone his flashlight beam into the fog, but the light didn’t penetrate. It just hit the wall of white and dissipated, creating a disorienting, luminous haze. “Great. Visibility is down to about fifteen feet. We need to stick closer together.”
Raven held up a hand, bringing the group to a halt. “Everyone, stop for a second. Listen.”
They fell silent, straining their ears against the oppressive quiet. At first, there was nothing. Then, they heard it. A soft, sibilant sound, like a thousand faint whispers all at once. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, a rustling, breathy murmur carried on the mist. It was impossible to make out any words, but the sound was undeniably there, rising and falling in an eerie cadence.
Ssshhhh… fffwwwwhhh… ssshhh…
“What is that?” Willow whispered, her heart beginning to hammer against her ribs. “Is it the wind?”
“There is no wind,” Luna said, her face pale in the gloom. She was standing perfectly still, her head cocked. “It’s the mist. It’s… talking.”
“It’s air passing through the trees,” Finn insisted, but his voice lacked its usual conviction. He kept glancing over his shoulder, his flashlight beam sweeping nervously through the white soup surrounding them. “Temperature differences. Basic meteorology.”
The whispering grew louder, closer. It sounded like voices now, just on the edge of comprehension. They felt a chill that had nothing to do with the autumn air. It was a deep, primal cold that settled in their bones.
“I don’t like this,” Jasper whimpered, fumbling in his backpack. “Time for an emotional support chocolate bar.”
Suddenly, Ash froze, pointing into the mist just off the path. “Did you guys see that?”
“See what?” Raven asked, turning to where Ash was pointing. “I can’t see anything.”
“A shape. Something moved,” Ash said, his usual bravado replaced by a tense focus. “It was tall. Just for a second.”
Finn immediately swung his flashlight beam in that direction. The light revealed nothing but a wall of churning white fog and the dark, wet trunks of trees. “There’s nothing there, Ash. The mist is playing tricks on your eyes.”
“I know what I saw,” Ash insisted, his voice low.
The whispers seemed to intensify, swirling around them. A single, clearer sound detached itself from the murmur—a child’s giggle. It was faint and distant, but unmistakable. It echoed through the silent woods, a playful, innocent sound that was made monstrous by its context.
Every one of them heard it.
Jasper let out a small, strangled squeak and dropped his chocolate bar into the mist. “Nope. That’s it. I’m out. We’re done.” He turned to flee back the way they came, but the path behind them was gone, completely swallowed by the fog. It looked exactly the same as the path ahead.
“Don’t run!” Raven commanded, grabbing his arm. “Rule number one, we stick together. Remember?”
“But the ghost children!” he wailed, his eyes wide with terror. “The hollow-eyed children! They’re going to lure us!”
“It was probably an animal,” Finn said, though he was now standing back-to-back with Willow, his flashlight beam cutting frantic arcs into the fog.
“What kind of animal giggles, Finn?” Willow shot back, her voice trembling. She was trying to rationalize it, to fit it into one of the legends she had studied. The Hollow Children. Luring travelers deeper into the woods with eerie laughter. It was happening. It was real.
Luna held up a hand for silence. “It’s not trying to lure us,” she said softly. “It’s a warning. It’s telling us to turn back.”
“Or is that just what it wants us to think,” Ash whispered, “so we walk straight into it’s trap.”
“Right?” Jasper said. “Follow the creepy childeren…death. Follow the voices in the fog…death. It’s lose, lose.”
As if in response, the whispering around them suddenly stopped. The silence that rushed back in was even more terrifying than the noise had been. The mist grew colder, clinging to their skin like a damp shroud.
“Okay,” Raven said, her voice steady despite the fear that was now a cold knot in her own stomach. “Okay. Maybe Luna’s right. Maybe we should head back for tonight.” She had imagined this adventure, but she had pictured jump scares and spooky atmosphere, not this suffocating, psychological dread. This felt… predatory.
“Agreed,” Finn said instantly. “Which way is back?” He looked down at his compass. The needle was spinning wildly, a frantic, useless blur of red and white. “What the…?” He tapped the glass, but the needle continued its insane dance. “It’s broken. The magnetic field here is… wrong.”
A new wave of panic washed over the group. They were lost. The compass was useless, the path was invisible, and the forest was actively messing with them.
“My map,” Willow said, her voice shaking as she fumbled in her satchel. “Even if the compass is out, we can try to navigate by the terrain.” She pulled out one of Finn’s laminated maps, but the condensation from the mist had somehow seeped through the plastic. The ink was a smeared, illegible mess of blue and black streaks. It was ruined.
“Okay, new plan,” Ash said, his voice tight but determined. “Nobody panic. We just pick a direction and walk. We’re bound to hit the edge of the woods eventually.”
“This is Black Hollow,” Willow whispered, staring at her ruined map. “You don’t just ‘hit the edge.’ The paths lead you in circles. They always lead you back to the Wailing Oak.”
The name of the ancient, malevolent tree hung in the air, a final nail in the coffin of their confidence. They had come seeking a legend, and now they were trapped inside it.
Raven took a deep breath, forcing her mind to clear. Panic was the enemy. “Okay. Ash is right. Standing here isn’t helping. We’ll mark our trail. We’ll hold hands if we have to. We are going to walk straight, and we are not going to stop.”
“But which way is straight?” Jasper cried.
Before anyone could answer, a new sound broke the silence. A low, guttural creak, like wood being bent to its breaking point. It was followed by a deep groan that seemed to emanate from the very earth beneath their feet. The sound was coming from somewhere ahead of them, deep within the fog.
Against their better judgment, they all turned toward it. Finn raised his flashlight, its beam piercing the mist. And there it was.
It was impossibly large, far bigger than any other tree around it. Its trunk was a gnarled, twisted mass of dark wood, so thick it would take all six of them to encircle it. Its branches, bare of leaves, reached into the sky like skeletal arms, clawing at the fog. They had found it. The Wailing Oak.
It looked ancient and diseased. The bark was covered in weeping sores from which a dark, thick sap oozed, trailing down the trunk in crimson streaks that looked disturbingly like blood. The ground around its base was a mess of dead leaves and something else. Offerings. Withered flowers, strange bundles of sticks or spices tied with twine, and dried, blackened apple slices.
And from the tree itself, a low, sorrowful moan seemed to vibrate through the air. It wasn’t the wind. It was the tree. It was mourning.
“I smell cinnamon,” Luna whispered, her eyes wide with a mixture of terror and awe. The air around the oak was heavy with a strange, spicy aroma. Cinnamon and cardamon and something else, something dark and cloying. “and a weird smokey musk-like scent.”
They stood frozen, mesmerized by the horrifying spectacle. They had wanted to find it, and now, here it was, and all they wanted to do was run. The tree felt alive, its ancient sorrow a palpable force that crushed the air from their lungs.
Then, Willow screamed.
It was a raw, piercing shriek of pure terror. She was pointing at one of the lower, thicker branches of the oak. Hanging from it, swaying gently in a breeze that didn’t exist, was a shape. A human shape.
Finn whipped his flashlight beam upwards, and the light fell upon the figure. It was a woman, her body limp, her face obscured by a curtain of long, dark hair. Her clothes were tattered and ancient, looking like they belonged in a museum.
Jasper made a choked, gagging sound. Raven felt the blood drain from her face. This couldn’t be real. It was a hallucination. It had to be.
The figure swayed, and as it turned, the hair fell away from its face. The eyes were open, wide, and staring. But they were empty, hollow sockets, black pits of nothingness. The mouth was stretched open in a silent, unending scream. It was the face of the village elder from the legend, frozen in eternal terror.
And then it lifted a hand and beckoned to them.
That was what broke the spell. The collective paralysis shattered into a mad scramble of blind panic.
“RUN!” Raven screamed, the single word tearing through the silence.
They didn’t need to be told twice. They turned and fled, crashing blindly through the undergrowth, away from the horrifying apparition in the tree. They ran without direction, fueled by pure adrenaline, the thorny branches of unseen bushes tearing at their clothes and skin. The whispering mist seemed to chase them, its murmurs turning into mocking laughter that echoed all around them.
They ran until their lungs burned and their legs felt like lead, until they couldn’t run any more. They collapsed in a collective heap, gasping for breath, in a small, relatively clear patch of woods. The fog was thinner here, and the oppressive presence of the Wailing Oak was gone.
For a long time, no one spoke. The only sounds were their own ragged breaths. They were lost, terrified, and utterly defeated. The fun, spooky adventure had curdled into a genuine nightmare.
Finally, Finn, his face pale and his skepticism shattered, pushed himself up. “What… what was that?” he stammered, his voice hoarse. “That can’t have been real.”
“It was real,” Luna said, her voice trembling. She was huddled on the ground, hugging her knees to her chest. “It was a warning. A memory. The forest is showing us what happened here.”
Jasper was rocking back and forth, muttering to himself. “I saw her face. I saw her empty eyes.”
Raven pushed her hair back from her face, her hands shaking. She was the leader. She had to get them out of this. But how? “Okay. We can’t panic. We can’t.”
Ash was leaning against a tree, breathing heavily. For the first time all night, his mischievous grin was gone, replaced by a grim, haunted look. “That thing… it wanted us to see it.”
“We need to get out of here,” Willow sobbed, wiping tears from her face with a muddy hand. “We need to go home.”
But home felt a million miles away. They were deep in the heart of a place that didn’t want them there, a place that was actively hostile and demonstrably haunted. The fun was over. This was no longer a story they were reading; it was a story that was happening to them. And as the darkness deepened and the forest watched from all sides, they had a terrifying, sinking feeling that they might not live to see the final chapter.
The Legend Of Black Hollow. © 2025 | Horrified Candles. All Rights Reserved.
