The Whispering Woods

Scary For Kids

When Emma’s town announced that the old lantern�'lit trail through the forest would be opened for the annual “Mid�'Autumn Night Walk,” every child in Willow Creek begged to be the first to explore it. The trail began at the edge of the schoolyard and wound its way between ancient oaks that seemed to lean together and whisper to each other when the wind blew.

Emma loved riddles and mysteries, so she begged her mother for permission. “Just stay with the other children,” her mother warned, “and listen to the grown�'ups if they tell you to turn back.”

The night of the walk the moon was a thin silver slice, and a thin mist curled around the roots of the trees. The lanterns hung from crooked branches, their flames flickering like nervous fireflies. The other children chattered and laughed, their boots crunching over dead leaves.

Halfway down the path, the lanterns sputtered and went out, one by one, until the forest was black as ink. A hush fell over the group. Emma felt a cold breath on the back of her neck, as if someone�"or something�"had turned to look at her.

“Stay close!” whispered Mr. Hallow, the town librarian who led the walk. He shone the flares of his pocket torch, but the light seemed to be swallowed by the darkness ahead.

Then a soft, sing�'song voice floated through the trees:

“Little ones, come find the secret door, Where wishes wander forevermore.”

The children froze. Emma’s heart thumped like a drum. She knew the old stories the elders told�"tales of a hidden clearing where a stone archway stood, guarded by a stone face that never smiled. They said a child who entered the arch never returned, for the arch was a mouth that swallowed wishes and kept the children forever.

“Did you hear that?” Emma whispered to herself. “It’s the secret door.”

She glanced at the others. Their faces were pale, eyes wide, but none of them moved. Mr. Hallow’s torch flickered, casting strange shadows that made the trees look like twisted hands reaching for them.

A low rustle came from the underbrush. Emma’s breath caught. A pair of glowing eyes�"bright amber�"peered out from the darkness. The creature that stepped forward was not a wolf nor a bear, but something that seemed to be made of twisted bark and tangled vines, its bark�'skin creaking as it moved.

“Who are you?” Emma shouted, trying to sound brave.

The creature answered in a voice that sounded like leaves rustling in a storm:

“I am the Keeper of the Whispering Woods. I guard the secret door. Those who seek it must pay the price.”

Mr. Hallow stepped forward, his torch sputtering again, and shouted, “We’re just children! We’ll turn back, we’ll leave!”

The Keeper’s eyes narrowed. “You have already listened. The door calls you now.”

A sudden gust of wind ripped through the clearing, and a faint, silvery outline of a stone arch appeared in the mist, its surface slick with dew. The arch seemed to pulse, like a heartbeat, and a faint, inviting hum rose from within.

Emma felt a tug at her mind�"a promise of an adventure where she could be the hero, where every question had an answer. She imagined the thrill of stepping through and discovering a world beyond the woods. The other children’s faces turned to stone, their mouths open in silent screams, but Emma could not see them; the Keeper’s gaze held her firmly.

She took a step forward.

The arch swallowed her in a flash of cold light, and the world went silent.

When the morning sun rose over Willow Creek, the children’s parents gathered at the edge of the forest, calling for their lost ones. The lanterns lay broken on the ground, and the mist had faded, leaving only the faint outline of a stone arch that glimmered in the morning dew�"its surface smooth, its ancient stone face finally smiling.

No child ever emerged from the Whispering Woods again. The townsfolk whispered that if you listen closely on a moonless night, you can still hear Emma’s voice, echoing through the trees, begging anyone who passes to “turn back, turn back…” but the arch stands waiting, patient, for the next curious heart to hear its song.