The town of Elmhollow had always been quiet, nestled deep in the forest where the trees grew too close and the wind whispered secrets only the old could hear. Most people who lived there didn’t ask questions, and those who did often found their curiosity met with silence or strange smiles. But for a few, like Lila, the quiet was not enough. Lila had moved to Elmhollow after inheriting her grandmother’s cottage on the edge of the woods. The place was old, its walls thick with ivy and time. She found an old journal in the attic, yellowed pages filled with hurried handwriting and cryptic notes. One entry stood out: “They are watching. The symbols are real. Don’t let them find you.” At first, she thought it was just the ramblings of a woman lost in her own mind. But then she began to see them—faint etchings carved into the bark of trees, along the stone walls of the cottage, even on the wooden floorboards. They were not random. Each symbol had a shape, a pattern, as if they were part of a language that no one else knew. She started collecting them, sketching each one in her notebook. Some looked like spirals, others like jagged lines, but all felt alive. When she touched them, a chill ran through her, though the air was warm. It wasn’t cold—it was something else, something deeper. One night, she sat by the fire, the journal open beside her. A symbol she had never seen before caught her eye, carved into the back of a chair. It was smaller than the others, almost hidden, but it pulsed faintly when she looked at it. She traced it with her finger, and the room seemed to still. The flames flickered unnaturally, and the shadows on the walls stretched longer than they should have. The next morning, she found a new symbol on the doorframe. This one was different—sharp, angular, like a warning. She tried to erase it with a cloth, but the mark remained. She couldn’t understand how it got there. No one had entered the house since she arrived. Days passed, and more symbols appeared. They spread slowly, as if following some unseen path. She began to notice that they only appeared in places where she had spent time. Her bed, the kitchen table, the window sill—each bore a new mark. She started sleeping with a flashlight under her pillow, afraid of what might happen if she fell asleep. One evening, she found a symbol inside her notebook, drawn in the same hand as the journal entries. The words beneath it read: “You are not alone.” She closed the book quickly, heart pounding, but the words stayed with her. She didn’t know if it was a message from her grandmother or something else entirely. As the days turned into weeks, Lila became obsessed. She studied the symbols, trying to decipher their meaning. She spoke to the townspeople, but they either ignored her or gave vague answers. One man, an old carpenter named Eli, finally told her, “Some things aren’t meant to be understood. Just leave them be.” But she couldn’t. The symbols called to her, as if they were waiting for someone to listen. One night, she found herself standing in the woods, the symbols glowing faintly in the dark. She followed them, guided by an instinct she couldn’t explain. The trees parted around her, and she came upon a clearing where the ground was covered in the same markings. In the center stood a stone circle, worn smooth by time. At its center was a single symbol, larger than the rest, pulsing with a soft light. She stepped forward, drawn by an invisible force. As she reached out, the symbol flared, and the world around her shifted. She saw glimpses—figures moving in the shadows, whispers in a language she almost understood. Then, everything went black. When she awoke, she was back in her cottage, the fire long extinguished. The symbols were gone. The journal was empty, the pages blank. She checked the door, the windows, the walls—nothing. But something had changed. She felt different, as if a piece of her had been taken, or perhaps given. That night, she dreamed of the symbols again, but this time, they were not alone. They were watching. Waiting. And she wasn’t sure if she had awakened them—or if they had always been there, just waiting for someone to notice.