The woods were too quiet.
Not just silent—empty. Even the wind refused to pass through the pine trees. It was as though the forest itself had grown tired of living and had decided to stop. The dampness clung to everything, the air thick and suffocating with rot. Every breath she took felt like she was swallowing mold, something organic and decaying. The fog still curled around the ground, thickening as it moved, but above, the sky opened in a thin sliver of early morning gray, a faint hint of light that could barely touch the shadowed earth.
Mara stood at the edge of the clearing, staring at the spot where she'd seen the scarf fluttering—the red one. It had been so bright against the pale bark of the twisted tree, so alive. But now, the scarf was gone, as if the fog had swallowed it whole. All that remained was the branch, its jagged tip glistening wet, as though something had chewed the wood to a sharp point, like a gnawing animal.
The quiet weighed heavily on her chest, pressing down with the slow realization that something had changed. She couldn't explain it, but she felt it. The woods around her weren't just empty—there was a hunger to them now. Something was watching her. Waiting.
She stepped forward, her boots crunching on the brittle pine needles. Every sound she made felt louder than it should have. As if the woods were listening, recording each movement, every footstep.
The tree loomed ahead, its dark bark curling like thick, gnarled flesh around the base. She approached slowly, a feeling of dread rising with each step. Her breath was shallow, her mind racing. The fog had broken up a little, but the air remained thick with its presence, pressing in around her like a living thing.
The tree looked wrong.
It wasn't just twisted. It was twisted. The bark peeled back in places, curling like skin, exposing the wood beneath. But it wasn't the surface details that made her stomach churn; it was the roots.
The roots… they moved.
Slow. Subtle. Like breathing.
Mara crouched, watching with growing unease. Her fingers brushed the damp earth, the ground cool against her palm. When she touched it, the root beneath her hand flinched, jerking back just a fraction, like it had felt her presence.
Her heart leaped in her chest.
She pulled back quickly, her mind scrambling for explanation. But there was no explanation. Not here. Not in Durn Hill. Not with this thing.
She crouched lower, digging her fingers into the soil, desperate to uncover what lay beneath. The earth was soft and damp, cold against her skin as she scraped away the layers. She dug deeper, moving faster now, her heart pounding with the urgency of something she couldn't quite name.
And then she saw it.
A bone.
No.
Not bone. Wood.
But it was shaped like a jawbone. Curved and hollowed, the edges carved from pale bark. And the surface was lined with teeth. Small. Sharp. Too human.
Mara recoiled, her stomach lurching. She gagged and stumbled backward, the taste of bile rising in her throat. The image of those teeth, those unnatural features, burned into her mind. She could feel the pull of memory again—the sketches in Samantha's notebook. The shapes. The symbols. The tree with its roots curled into a mouth, its mouth filled with teeth.
The gnawing sense of deja vu.
"It's under the roots…" Grady's voice echoed in her mind, the warning a fresh cut.
The fog thickened around her, pressing in like it was alive, pulling her back toward the tree. Toward the thing buried beneath the earth. The thing that wanted her to remember.
She shuddered and pulled out her recorder, fingers trembling as she clicked it on.
"This is Agent Mara Ellison," she whispered into the device, her voice trembling. "I've found what appears to be a tree—possibly a mutated or manipulated pine—showing signs of anatomical mimicry. Roots resembling jaw structures. The bark is pliant and warm to the touch, like living tissue. I… I believe there's a possible biological fusion with human remains. There is a distinct feeling that this tree is… alive. And it is watching me."
She paused, her eyes darting to the ground, her gaze catching on the shifting roots. They were still moving. Small, slow twitches, almost imperceptible. But they were there.
"No animals nearby. No sounds of wildlife. There is no natural life here. The fog is lingering, even as the daylight begins to break. The atmosphere feels… watching. As if something is waiting for me to make the next move."
She swallowed hard, her breath shaky, and then the tree shifted again. One of the roots cracked the surface of the soil, its tip curling toward her like a snake coiling for its strike.
Mara jumped back, her heart in her throat.
Then something whispered.
It was too close. Too real.
She spun, her eyes wide. Her breath caught in her throat.
There was no one there.
But there—half-buried in the rotted trunk, partially obscured by damp moss and tangled vines—was something else.
A necklace.
It glinted faintly in the murk of the fog, its silver surface catching what little light filtered through the trees. Mara's breath caught in her chest as she stumbled forward, hands shaking as she pulled the necklace free from the earth. Her fingers trembled, heart hammering in her chest as she saw what it was.
A pendant. A delicate "S", bent slightly at the chain, blood crusting the clasp.
Samantha's.
Her pulse spiked, and for a moment, she felt something in her throat tighten, like she was about to scream. But the fog thickened, closing in around her, the world muffled. The trees seemed to lean closer. The air felt too thick to breathe. Too heavy.
No, not now.
She opened her mouth, but the words didn't come. Her throat was tight, choked by something she couldn't explain. She couldn't scream. The trees were listening.
A fresh root had broken through the soil at her feet. Inches from her boot.
It had teeth too.
And they were opening.
Mara's eyes widened as the root parted, slow and deliberate. A sliver of light caught the sharp edges, the glint of those terrible, jagged teeth.
She didn't wait. She couldn't.
She ran.
Her boots slapped against the earth, her heart pounding as she bolted back through the woods. The trees were closer now. The branches reached out, like clawed hands trying to drag her back into the darkness. One snagged her sleeve, pulling her off balance. Another grabbed her hair, tugging her backward.
She fought it off, adrenaline flooding her system. She gasped for air, pushing forward with all the strength she had, her legs burning with the effort.
Finally, she broke through the treeline, stumbling onto the dirt road, gasping for breath. She clutched the necklace in her hand so tightly that the chain cut into her palm, the sharp pain grounding her. The fog parted behind her, lingering in the trees like a silent predator.
The woods whispered.
Not voices.
Breaths.
She ran, panting, until she reached the sheriff's station twenty minutes later. Grady was inside, sitting at his desk, carving something into a wooden box. When he saw her, his eyes widened, and he stood quickly.
"Where did you go?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
"The clearing," she gasped, still clutching the necklace. "Where the fog opened."
Grady's face went still. His mouth thinned, and he said nothing.
Mara held up the necklace, and recognition flashed across his face. His hands stilled, and he exhaled sharply, his expression darkening.
"I gave that to her," he said quietly. "For her twelfth birthday."
Mara swallowed hard, her breath coming in shallow bursts. "She left it behind. Not dropped. Left. Intentionally."
Grady's gaze darkened. His voice dropped lower, rough with a sorrow she couldn't quite place. "She's trying to show you."
Mara didn't respond. She couldn't. The weight of what she was holding—the necklace, the memory, the terrible truth of it—was too much to bear.
She explained the roots. The teeth. The bone-like structure. The terrifying connection to the tree.
Grady didn't interrupt. He didn't need to.
When she finished, he moved behind the counter, unlocking a drawer. He pulled out a photograph.
It showed a massive pine, ancient and twisted, its trunk knotted with age. At its base, there was a gaping hollow, ringed with jagged bark. Inside that hollow, there were bones. Small ones. Too many.
Mara frowned. "Who took the photo?"
Grady stared at it for a long time before he answered.
"My daughter."
He handed her a weathered notebook. It was damp and warped by moisture, its pages curling. Inside, there were drawings. The same kinds of shapes. The same eerie symbols. Trees with mouths. Roots with fingers. Faces peering out from within the bark.
"She saw it too," he said softly. "Before it took her."
Mara turned the pages slowly, her fingers trembling as she looked at the drawings, the horrifying familiarity of them sending chills down her spine.
"What is it?" she asked quietly.
Grady's gaze locked with hers, his eyes filled with years of suffering and understanding.
"The Hollow," he whispered. "It feeds through memory. Through guilt. Through what we bury."
The fog thickened outside the window.
And Mara knew then. Whatever it was—whatever it had become—it wasn't just hunting her. It was hunting everyone. It needed them to remember. To forget.
And it would never stop.
Not until they were all under the roots.
Later that night, Mara sat alone in her motel room. The fog hadn't fully returned, but she knew it would. It always did.
She opened Samantha's sketchbook again. The pages were sticky with moisture, some of the ink smudged from where the fog had seeped into the room. One page had changed.
Where there had once been a sketch of the chapel, now the lines twisted and curved, forming a shape. A tree. Not quite real. Not quite imagined. But at the center of its trunk, there was a face.
Mara's face.
She tore the page out. The edge of the paper bled.
The recorder clicked on by itself.
A voice whispered from the darkness:
"You're under the roots too."