Chapter 3 The Day the Forest Took Him
The forest was too big for a child.
Sam realized that the moment his father let go of his hand.
At first, he didn't understand what was happening. His fingers still tingled where his father's grip had been, as if the warmth might return if he waited long enough. The trees towered above him, their branches tangled together like they were whispering secrets he was too young to hear. The air smelled of damp earth and pine, sharp and cold against his nose.
"Mom?" Sam called softly.
No answer.
He turned in a slow circle, his small boots sinking into the moss-covered ground. His mother stood a few steps away, her back to him. She wore a long coat, white and clean, completely wrong for a place like this. Her hands were shaking, though she tried to hide it.
"Where are we?" Sam asked.
She didn't answer right away.
His father stood beside her, tall and rigid, staring at the forest as if it were an enemy. His jaw was clenched, his eyes dark with something Sam didn't yet understand—fear.
"We're going to play a game," his mother said finally.
Sam's face brightened a little. "A game?"
She nodded, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Yes. You're very good at hiding, aren't you?"
Sam nodded eagerly. He wanted to be good. He always wanted that. "I can hide really well."
"I know," she said. "That's why we chose you."
The words felt strange, but Sam didn't question them. He trusted her.
His father crouched down in front of him, resting his hands on Sam's shoulders. His grip was firm—too firm.
"You stay right here," his father said. "Don't move."
"How long?" Sam asked.
"Just a little while," his mother answered quickly.
She stepped forward and knelt, brushing Sam's hair back from his forehead. Her touch lingered, trembling.
"We'll be right back," she whispered.
Sam smiled. "Okay."
They turned away.
Sam watched them walk deeper into the forest, their white clothing slowly swallowed by the trees. He waited for them to turn back, to wave, to smile again.
They didn't.
Minutes passed.
Then more.
The forest grew louder. Wind rustled the leaves. Something small scurried through the underbrush, making Sam jump. He hugged his arms around himself, trying to be brave.
"Mom?" he called again, louder this time.
Still nothing.
Fear crept in slowly, like cold water seeping into his boots.
He took a step forward, then stopped. Don't move, his father had said.
So he waited.
The sky darkened as clouds rolled in, blocking the sunlight. Sam's stomach growled, and his legs began to ache. He sat down against a tree, pulling his knees to his chest.
"They'll come back," he whispered to himself.
Hours passed.
They didn't.
The sun dipped low, and shadows stretched across the forest floor. Sam's throat burned from crying, though no sound came out anymore. His tears had run dry, leaving his face sticky and cold.
He stood up, panic finally taking hold.
"Mom! Dad!" he screamed.
His voice echoed between the trees, but no answer came back—only the distant howl of something not human.
Sam froze.
His heart hammered in his chest as the sound echoed again, closer this time. His breath came in short, panicked gasps. He backed up until his small body pressed against the tree.
"No," he whispered. "Please."
Leaves crunched nearby.
Sam squeezed his eyes shut.
Something moved in the darkness.
When he opened them, glowing eyes stared back at him from the shadows. Then another pair. And another.
Wolves.
Sam's legs gave out, and he collapsed to the ground. He covered his face with his hands, sobbing silently.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'll be good. I promise."
The wolves didn't attack.
They circled him, watching, sniffing. Their presence was terrifying, yet strangely calm. One stepped forward—larger than the rest, its eyes sharp and intelligent.
It tilted its head, studying him.
Sam trembled, waiting for pain.
It never came.
The wolf turned and walked away.
After a moment, another followed.
Then another.
Confused and exhausted, Sam slowly pushed himself up. His legs shook, but he followed them. He didn't know why—only that staying still meant dying.
Night fell completely.
The forest became colder, darker, and far more dangerous. Sam stumbled over roots and rocks, his small hands scraped and bleeding. He cried quietly as he walked, afraid the sound would bring something worse than wolves.
Eventually, the pack led him to a cave.
Inside, it was warm.
Safe.
Sam collapsed near the entrance, his body finally giving out. As he drifted in and out of sleep, he heard low growls and soft movements around him—guards, not threats.
For the first time since his parents left, he wasn't alone.
Days passed.
Then weeks.
The forest became his world.
The wolves brought him food—raw, unfamiliar, but enough to survive. They watched him as he learned to walk without fear, to listen instead of cry. His body changed. His senses sharpened. The pain inside him hardened into something else.
Something stronger.
Something darker.
At night, Sam dreamed of his parents.
In the dreams, they came back.
In the dreams, they apologized.
He always woke up alone.
One night, staring at the cave ceiling, Sam whispered, "Why didn't you want me?"
The forest didn't answer.
But it listened.
And somewhere deep inside the child named Sam, something broke—and something else was born.
Blake.