Chapter Text
In a remote place, lost in the middle of nowhere, lived a solitary family. The concept of "normal" there was relative: no neighbors, no footsteps or laughter from others. Just trees, stretching for miles without end, creating a green sea that swallowed any sign of the outside world.
The eldest child, Brian, walked through the clearing with a weariness that went beyond the physical. His eyes carried a silent exhaustion, as if every tree, every shadow, weighed on him. To him, the forest felt like a living prison, endless and suffocating.
His younger sister, Charlie, saw everything differently. Where Brian saw monotony and isolation, she found magic. The rustling of leaves, the shine of wildflowers, and the distant song of a bird enchanted her. She smiled as she ran among twisted trunks and plunged into patches of light that pierced the dense canopy.
But something disturbed Charlie. Brian had been acting strangely for days. He moved stiffly, almost like a puppet, and often seemed to talk to himself, murmuring words no one could understand. The girl felt a knot in her stomach every time she saw him like that.
She tried to talk to their parents about Brian's unsettling behavior. But her concerns were quickly dismissed. "Leave Brian alone," they said. "He needs his space." Their calm response did nothing to ease Charlie's heart. Something in Brian's distant expression screamed that he needed more than just space.
As the forest grew denser around the house, a sense of unease hung in the air, as if the very trunks and leaves were watching the family, attentive to the secrets and fears hiding among them. Charlie couldn't shake the idea that something had changed inside Brian… something that could change everything.
It was another silent day in that forgotten place. Charlie swung slowly on the old swing tied to a tree by the house. The gentle wind made the worn rope creak, blending with the distant birdsong. For her, the moment was simple and comforting—but a glance toward the clearing shattered the tranquility.
Brian, her brother, was there again. Distant. His eyes fixed on the forest as if something called him from beyond the trees. Without a word, he began to walk. Charlie immediately noticed the yellow hoodie he wore—it was unusual. Brian rarely dressed like that; there was something in the way he held the sleeves, in the stiffness of his steps, that made everything feel stranger.
Charlie stopped swinging, letting the wind take the last motion of the wooden seat. Her heart tightened. Brian had always been her protector, the one who looked after her when their parents were busy, absent, or too harsh to notice small details. But now… now he seemed like a different person.
With a hesitant sigh, she stepped off the swing. Her feet touched the cold grass, and she began to follow him. Each step was careful, trying not to snap twigs or attract attention. Her brother’s back slowly disappeared into the green darkness of the forest.
With every meter deeper, the sense of unease grew. The air felt heavier, as if the forest silently watched them. Charlie knew she shouldn't follow him—her parents would never approve—but curiosity mixed with fear wouldn't let her turn back. Brian wasn't just her brother… he was the only person who made that loneliness bearable.
Seeing him vanish into the woods, carrying that strange silence and the heavy hoodie, felt too wrong to ignore.
The forest seemed to swallow each small step Charlie took. Her parents always told her not to go in there alone, but what five-year-old truly obeys? The prohibition felt like an invitation. And as she followed her brother’s trail, a mischievous smile spread across her face.
Charlie didn't fear the forest. Not because of bears or deer, but because she knew—like only a child knows, without being able to explain—that there were things there that shouldn’t exist. Yet there was something fun about defying the rule.
She hid behind a thick trunk and finally found him: Brian. He stood still, his mouth moving silently. Charlie blinked, and her imagination turned the scene into a joke.
"Hi, Mr. Squirrel, nice to meet you, I’m Brian, Charlie’s idiot brother, here pretending I like this disgusting forest…", she thought, holding back a giggle.
It was easier to believe that than to face what was actually happening.
Suddenly, Brian began to twist strangely, movements like a wriggling worm. And then Charlie noticed the red. Thin lines ran from his ears and nostrils. Blood. But to the girl, it wasn't frightening. It seemed like part of a clumsy game, a crooked dance, a performance.
She chuckled softly.
Suddenly, the air around them changed. The forest, always alive, seemed to hold its breath. Silence was swallowed by a low, distant hum, like a TV without signal. It grew louder until it became deafening. Most children would cry, cover their ears. But not Charlie. She was used to much worse sounds: her mother’s dry screams, her father’s shotgun blasts.
Without hesitation, she approached her brother.
- Bro?- She poked his nose with her dirt-covered finger. The hum vibrated in her skull. Charlie frowned, impatient. - Damn, sounds like a broken TV. Turn that off! - She complained, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Brian didn’t respond. He remained trapped in that grotesque stupor. Charlie, stubborn as ever, persisted. She poked his cheek, then his shoulder.
- Wake up, bro. Are you going to sleep out here? You’ll become worm food, spider food, ant food… or bee food. You know, the ones that love crawling into your ear.
Brian shuddered. Just the word "bee" was enough to bring him back, pulling him out of the trance.
- I'm not afraid of those bugs,- he murmured, his voice hoarse.
Charlie raised an eyebrow, almost disappointed. She didn’t like them either, but she had learned to cope.
And deep in the forest, the metallic sound still echoed, low and persistent, as if waiting for the next move.
After grumbling that he wasn’t afraid of insects, Brian finally calmed down. He reached out his hand, and Charlie, without hesitation, took it. Their small fingers intertwined with his larger ones, and together they continued along the leaf-covered ground. Each step echoed slightly, but the forest seemed to swallow the sounds, leaving only the rustle of the trees and the strange hum that lingered.
Brian looked at her, serious, almost grim for her young age.
- Charlie… don’t tell anyone what you saw,- He said, his hoarse voice carrying unexpected authority. - No one would believe you. Least of all our parents.
Charlie frowned, but somehow, she had expected it. Their parents rarely listened to her, and when they did, they rarely paid attention to what mattered. Silence, for Charlie, was second nature.
As they walked, a distant scream echoed through the clearing. It was sharp, dry, and made any adult’s neck hair stand on end. But Charlie just took a deep breath, as if she were used to screams—coming from her parents, the forest, or the wind itself. Brian gave her hand a gentle squeeze, and she realized they shared the same unspoken thought: they wouldn’t say a word.