CHAPTER 2 : Silent Voices in the Forest

The most difficult mornings were invariably those after dreams. My muscles were tense and restless, and my whole body hurt. The scar ached more fiercely now, like if it were living on its own. I was aware that the dream would recur. It did every time.

I tried to shrug it off, however. Warm streaks of light filled the hut as the sun filtered through the cracks in the wooden walls. I inhaled deeply, concentrating on the basic act of surviving. One step at a time.

After the storm, the first several days had gone by without any problems—no more golden eyes, no more whispering. However, the uneasiness had never really gone away. It was a persistent hum in the back of my head that festered under my skin.

But suddenly there was silence among the woods. The trees were shivering after the storm had torn them naked. Nevertheless, it felt like every thing I heard was magnified. Every hint of movement, whether it was the wind blowing through the trees or the distant rustling of leaves, made me feel something.

A few days after the storm, I went out onto the porch one morning. The smell of pine and moist ground mingled with the cold air. Even though the scar on my chest pulsed in time with my heartbeat, it seemed like a new beginning.

I decided to disregard it. I concentrated on the little things, like getting firewood, brewing tea, and making sure the cabin was safe. But the silence became suffocating as the day went on. The shadows seemed to move in the corners of my vision, and every floorboard creak reverberated louder than it should.

I felt tense by the afternoon. Soft and far away at first, like a memory drifting through the woods, the murmurs started up again. They were only whispers that I was unable to fully decipher. The air was heavy with anxiety as I stood at the edge of the meadow.

"Who’s there?" My voice was no more than a whisper when I shouted out. No answer. Just the rustling of leaves in the distance.

My breath came more quickly. I looked out into the jungle, hoping—no, fearing—to see those bright eyes once again. Even though they didn't show up, the sensation of being watched became stronger by the moment.

I put the large bolt into place and secured the door behind me as I returned to the cabin. I started a fire, and when the flames flickered shadows on the walls, my hands shook a little. I told myself that I was being too cautious and that the woods were safe. However, the scar continued to pulse rhythmically, serving as a continual reminder of the link I was unable to fully describe.

Night came swiftly. The rain did not fall, but the humidity in the air remained high. Staring up at the ceiling, I laid in bed. As usual, sleep eluded me. Every darkness seemed menacing, every cabin creak like a warning.

The murmurs came back. This time, louder. Nearer.

My heart pounding, I leaped to my feet. Except for the dim glimmer of the moon outside, the room was black. The whispering had ceased, but I tried to hear them again.

I said, "Stop it," into the shadows. "Cease."

The silence in the cabin was oppressive. I paced the floor restlessly, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. I felt like something—or someone—was close by, and my skin prickled.

The windowpane rattled when the wind moved a little. My breath caught in my throat and I paused in mid-step. It was no longer merely wind, albeit the sound had been faint and almost undetectable.

Steps.

Though scarcely discernible over the wind's scream, they were purposeful despite their faintness. I crept up to the window and looked through the drapes. Nothing. Only the shadowy outline of the woods outside.

But suddenly those eyes were back, pale as distant flames.

Pulling away from the window, I gasped. My heart pounded in my chest, and as the burning became more intense, I gripped my scar. I had a racing, uncontrollable mind.

"No," I said as horror took hold of me like a vice. "This isn't real."

The gaze drew nearer. And nearer.

The silence was broken by a quick, piercing tap on the door. My fingers froze at the scar, and my breath caught. The weight of whoever—or whatever—was outside made the floors groan slightly.

"Who is present?" With a trembling voice, I shouted out. There was silence, but I sensed it. It couldn't be ignored.

One more knock. This time, louder. More demanding.

"Get out!" My voice cracked with desperation as I yelled. I snatched the flashlight off the nightstand and held it firmly.

"Selene."

Even though the voice was quiet—almost gentle—it still made my skin crawl. With heavy breath, I leaned my back against the wall.

"Who are you?" With a weak whisper, I demanded.

Once again, silence. No answer. However, the eyes persisted, their luminosity clearly visible in the darkness.

I was about to lose my patience when someone appeared out of the darkness. The tall visitor wore black clothing that melted into the darkness. The hood of his coat partly covered his face, but his eyes, those same golden, eerie eyes, met mine.

"Who are you?" I repeated the question, but my voice was hardly audible above a whisper.

The man's lips were squeezed into a tight line as if he was thinking deeply, making his face unreadable. "Selene, I've been observing you."

A shiver went through my body. "Why?"

With an odd ease, the stranger took a step closer. "Because you're not by yourself."

With the beam trembling in my grasp, I staggered back. I frantically tried to make sense of it—of the scar, of him, of the eyes.

Panic mounting, I said, "Stay away from me."

However, he continued. "Selene, you can't run indefinitely."

My breath was erratic as I shook my head. "I have no idea who you are!"

His voice trailed off, a murmur in the darkness. "You'll learn soon enough."

The air changed abruptly, becoming oppressively thick. The cottage was rocked to its foundation when the door slammed behind him. I was left alone in the oppressive stillness once again as the figure disappeared, seemingly engulfed by the darkness.

The scar was hotter than ever and burnt violently on my flesh. I tried to wish away the ache by pressing my palm against it. However, it simply became more intense, as if my soul had been marked by whatever had been behind those eyes.

With tears in my eyes, I fell to the ground. I could hear the voice saying, "You're not alone."—and I really believed it for

the first time.

The whisper then came.

"Run."

And I didn't think twice this time.