Whispers

Aria first saw her at dusk, standing beneath the big oak tree that cast long, skeletal shadows over the backyard. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, and the sky was a bruised purple, streaked with the last fiery tendrils of the sun.

The girl was the same age as Aria — six, maybe seven — but her clothes were strange, old-fashioned: a white dress with lace around the collar and sleeves, the kind Aria had only seen in her grandmother’s photo albums. Her hair was neatly braided, unlike Aria’s wild curls, which her mother hadn’t bothered to brush in days. The girl’s face was pale, almost translucent, her eyes wide and curious, as if she were seeing the world for the first time.

“Hi,” Aria called from the porch steps, her voice small and tentative.

The girl didn’t answer. She just smiled; a small smile that put Aria at ease. She still felt a bit uncertain but waved anyway. The girl waved back, her movements slow and deliberate, like she was moving through water.

“Aria, come inside! It’s getting dark!” Her mother’s voice rang out from the kitchen. Today was a good day: one where her mother was like she used to be, before the long silences, before the empty stares. There was even dinner ready, Aria’s favorite — roast chicken and mashed potatoes. But the smell, usually comforting, now felt sad because it reminded her of how rare it was.

Aria glanced back at the girl, but she was gone, leaving only two small footprints in the mud where she had stood. The prints were shallow, as if the girl weighed nothing at all.

–

The next evening, as Aria played with her dolls in the backyard, the girl appeared again, standing in the same spot beneath the oak tree. The tree’s branches twisted and groaned in the wind, their leaves whispering secrets Aria couldn’t quite understand. This time, the girl spoke.

“What’s your name?” she asked, her voice soft, like the rustle of dry leaves.

“Aria. What’s yours?”

“Claudia,” she said, her lips curling into that same small smile. “Do you want to play?”

Aria hesitated. Something about Claudia felt different — but not in a bad way. It was as if she were a character from one of the stories her grandmother used to tell, someone magical, someone who didn’t belong to this world.

“Okay,” Aria said, and they spent the evening playing tag, hide-and-seek, and making up silly rhymes. Playing with Claudia was the most fun Aria had experienced in a long time. She laughed at Aria’s jokes, listened to her stories, and never once looked at her with that distant, tired expression her parents always wore.

When her mother called her in for bed, Aria tried to tell her about Claudia.

“She’s so fun, Mama! I think she lives nearby.”

Her mother smiled absently, her eyes glazing over as she stared at the television. “That’s nice, baby,” she said, not looking up.

Aria’s father was in the living room too, slumped in his armchair, a half-empty beer bottle dangling from his fingers. He didn’t even seem to notice her as she passed by.

–

Over the next few days, Claudia came by often. They played for hours, and Claudia told Aria strange stories: about a world where the trees whispered secrets and rivers led to magical kingdoms. But there was something unsettling about the way Claudia spoke, her voice low and urgent, her eyes gleaming with an intensity that made Aria’s skin prickle.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of dark blues and pinks, Claudia took Aria’s hand. Her fingers were cold, like ice, but Aria didn’t pull away.

“Come with me,” Claudia said, her voice tinged with urgency.

“Where?” Aria asked, uncertainty blooming in her chest.

“To the forest. I want to show you something special.”

Aria glanced back at her house — it was cold and silent against the darkening sky. The windows were lifeless, hollow rectangles swallowing what little light remained. No voices, no warmth, just an empty shell. Her mother hadn’t spoken a single word all day, moving like a ghost through the halls, while her father had left early that morning and had yet to return.

“They won’t notice,” Claudia said, almost reading her thoughts. “They never do.”

It was true, her parents always seemed preoccupied, as if they didn’t really see her. But Claudia did. Claudia saw everything.

“Okay,” Aria said, and they slipped into the woods together.

The forest was darker than Aria expected, the canopy blocking out what little twilight remained. The air was thick with the scent of pine and something else, something metallic and sharp. Claudia  walked ahead, her white dress glowing faintly in the dim light, like a will-o’-the-wisp leading Aria deeper into the shadows.

“Where are we going?” Aria asked, her voice trembling slightly.

“You’ll see,” Claudia said without turning around. “It’s just a little farther.”

The trees seemed alive, their gnarled branches reaching out like hands, their roots twisting and coiling like serpents beneath her feet. The air grew colder, and a strange silence settled over them, broken only by the occasional snap of a twig or the distant hoot of an owl. Aria tried to ignore the uneasy feeling creeping up her spine, the way her breath came in short, shallow gasps.

Finally, they reached a small clearing. In the center stood a moss-covered stone with a flat top. The stone looked ancient, its surface etched with symbols that seemed to writhe and shift in the dim light.

Claudia turned to Aria, her eyes brighter than before — almost glowing.

“Sit,” Claudia said, her voice commanding now.

“Why?” Aria asked, her heart pounding in her chest.

“It’s part of the game,” Claudia said, her smile wide but no longer comforting. “Don’t you trust me?”

Aria hesitated. She wanted to trust Claudia, but something felt off. The air was too still, too heavy. Before she could decide, cold fingers closed around her wrist, yanking her toward the stone. A strangled breath caught in her throat… but no sound escaped. The world blurred, the shadows creeping closer, swallowing her whole.

–

The next morning, Aria’s parents called the police. She hadn’t come home, and no one had seen her. The search lasted weeks but yielded nothing. The town was full of hushed whispers about her disappearance, some blaming careless parenting, others suggesting she’d run away. But no one mentioned the forest.

–

Two Years Later

The television flickered in the dim living room, casting restless shadows as the news anchor’s grave expression filled the screen.

“Breaking news: The remains of six-year-old Aria Whitman, who vanished two years ago, have been discovered in a remote part of Green Hollow Forest. Authorities confirmed the identity earlier today, though the circumstances surrounding her death remain unclear. The case has been reopened for further investigation.”

The camera cut to a sweeping shot of the forest, its towering trees swaying gently in the wind.

In the distance, just barely visible, stood the moss-covered stone.

And if one strained their eyes enough — just past the trees, where the shadows stretched longest, a small figure in a white dress stood, motionless. The curly hair unkempt.