I never liked the deep woods behind our house. It was said that anyone who ventured too far wouldn’t come back the same—if they came back at all. But there I stood, peering into the gnarled maze of black trees and whispering leaves, tempted by a curiosity that prickled the back of my neck. As twilight bled into the horizon, I decided to walk in, just a few steps, just to listen to the strange, haunting melodies that sometimes floated through my window at night.
The deeper I wandered, the more disoriented I became. Shadows clung to the trees like dark spirits, shifting subtly with the wind. ‘Who’s there?’ a voice suddenly cracked the silence. I spun around. A small, old woman emerged from the shadows, her eyes piercing the dim light like shards of glass. ‘You shouldn’t be here when it sings,’ she whispered, before vanishing into thin air as if she were merely a wisp of fog.
Heart racing, I pressed on, drawn by a melody so melancholic it seemed to weep from the very earth. I found its source at a clearing where an ancient, gnarled tree stood. Embedded in its trunk was an ornate door, slightly ajar, emitting a soft, blue glow and the saddest notes I had ever heard. Compelled, I stepped closer.
Without warning, the door swung open, revealing not the inside of a tree, but a vast, starlit sky that stretched into eternity. I hesitated, then stepped through. The door slammed shut behind me. Panicked, I turned back, but the door had disappeared. There I was, standing in what seemed like another world, under alien stars and a moon too bright, too close.
A figure approached, its form shadowy and indistinct. ‘Why did you come?’ it asked, its voice echoing around me like a chill. ‘I—I heard the music,’ I stammered. ‘You heard the sorrow of the universe. The tree feeds on it,’ the figure explained, moving closer. Its features became clearer—eyes like voids, skin pale as death. ‘Every song is someone’s soul. Will you contribute yours?’ it whispered.
I felt an overwhelming sadness surge through me, a desolation so deep it threatened to swallow me whole. I realized then that the melody was a trap, a lure to feed this otherworldly tree with the souls of the curious and the brave. ‘No,’ I muttered, a defiance rising within me. ‘I won’t.’
The figure paused, then smiled. ‘Very well,’ it said, and with a wave of its hand, the door reappeared. ‘Go, then. But remember the sorrow you leave behind is not just your own.’
I rushed through the door, stumbling back into the woods behind my house. The night had grown darker, but the haunting melody had stopped. Shaken, I returned home, each step heavier than the last, my mind reeling from the encounter.
Days turned to nights, and nights to weeks, but the melody never returned. I had escaped with my soul intact, but the sorrow—the immense, cosmic sorrow—lingered. And sometimes, when the wind is just right, I swear I hear a whisper through the trees, asking, ‘Who’s there?’
If you ever hear a strange melody in the woods, remember my story. Walk away. Some songs are not meant to be followed.
Read the first part of Winter Enigma Ep1: The Pursuit of a Wicked Artifact
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