The town of Black Hollow had always been quiet, nestled deep in the mountains where the fog clung to the earth like a shroud. Few ever came, and fewer still stayed. The locals spoke in hushed tones about the disappearances—people who walked into the woods and never returned, their belongings left untouched, as if they had simply vanished into thin air. It began with a boy named Eli. He was twelve, with a mop of dark hair and eyes that held the weight of too many stories. One autumn afternoon, he went out to collect mushrooms for his grandmother’s stew. His mother called after him, but he didn’t answer. She waited for hours, then ran through the forest, calling his name. When she found his backpack near the old stone bridge, it was empty. No sign of him. No footprints. Just the damp earth and the sound of wind whispering through the trees. The townsfolk searched for days, but nothing turned up. They said the woods were cursed, that the trees had a way of swallowing people whole. Some claimed the forest had a mind of its own, shifting when no one was looking, leading people deeper until they couldn’t find their way back. Years passed, and more disappeared. A fisherman named Tom went out at dawn and never returned. A schoolteacher, Mrs. Lark, vanished during a walk through the fields. Each time, the searchers found nothing. No bodies, no clues, just silence. The townspeople began to avoid the woods, and even the animals seemed to sense something wrong. Birds stopped singing, and the deer would scatter at the slightest rustle. One day, a young woman named Clara arrived in Black Hollow. She was an outsider, a researcher from the city, drawn by the strange reports. She stayed in the old inn, where the owner, a grizzled man named Harlan, warned her not to go into the woods alone. “You don’t want to end up like the others,” he muttered, his voice low. Clara didn’t listen. She spent her days walking the trails, taking notes, and speaking to the townspeople. She asked questions, and they answered in riddles. “The forest takes what it wants,” one woman said. “It doesn’t give back.” One evening, as the sun dipped below the hills, Clara ventured into the woods with a lantern and a notebook. The path was familiar, but something felt different. The trees loomed taller, their branches twisting like fingers. The air grew colder, and the silence was thick, almost tangible. She found a clearing, and there, in the center, stood a circle of stones, worn smooth by time. In the middle, a small pool of water reflected the sky above, but it was still, like glass. As she stepped closer, the water rippled, and for a moment, she saw a face—Eli’s face, staring back at her. She stumbled back, heart pounding. The reflection faded, and the trees seemed to lean in, watching. She turned to leave, but the path had changed. It wasn’t the same trail she had taken. The trees closed in around her, and the world felt smaller, more confined. She tried to call out, but her voice was swallowed by the forest. Hours passed. Or maybe minutes. Time lost meaning. Then, just as she was about to collapse, she saw a light ahead. A faint glow, flickering through the trees. She followed it, her breath shallow, until she emerged at the edge of the woods, back where she started. She ran to the inn, trembling, and told Harlan what had happened. He listened in silence, then handed her a map. “This is the only way out,” he said. “But you have to leave before nightfall.” Clara packed quickly and left the next morning. As she walked away from the town, she glanced back one last time. The woods stood silent, waiting. She never spoke of what she saw, but she carried the memory with her, a shadow in her mind. No one knows what happens to those who disappear in Black Hollow. Some say they are trapped in a place between worlds, wandering the forest forever. Others believe the town itself is alive, feeding on the lost, drawing them in with whispers and illusions. And sometimes, when the wind blows just right, you can hear a voice calling from the trees, asking, “Are you still there?”