Whispering Wood

Document Classification: Field Log – Botanist Dr. Maren Ellis

Recovered from: Northern perimeter of the Whispering Wood

Condition: Water-damaged. Ink distortion on final pages.

Archivist’s Note: Dr. Ellis was commissioned by a regional conservation board to survey invasive growth along the Whispering Wood boundary. She was last seen October 3rd, 1999. Only this notebook was recovered. The final entry ends mid-sentence. Several pages are missing.

October 3rd, 1999

Arrived in Eldridge Hollow this morning. Quiet little town, more suspicious than welcoming. Locals kept giving me odd looks when I mentioned the forest—one woman made the sign of the cross.

The Whispering Wood (not an official name, apparently just what the locals call it) doesn’t show up properly on any of the maps. The satellite images blur at the tree line—could be compression artifacts. Or bad data.

Forest appears denser than expected. Unusual mix of species for this region. Found what I think is a malformed birch growing beside a dogwood, but its bark was dark, brittle. When I touched it, it flaked off like dried blood. Could just be disease.

No sign of wildlife so far. No birdsong. No rustling. Odd.

October 5th, 1999

Documenting growth anomalies near the southern quadrant.

Observed vines growing in spirals—perfect spirals, actually. Tight and mathematical. Not something I’ve seen in the wild. A few of them pulse faintly, like there’s fluid running through them. Might be some kind of sap pressure, but the coloration is wrong.

I swear I heard something behind me. Not animal movement. Something larger. No tracks.

I called out. Nothing answered.

October 6th, 1999

Left markers today to trace my path. Bright orange cloth strips, tied to low branches. I walked in a straight line for maybe two hours. When I turned around to head back—no markers. Not one.

The trail was… different. I thought I was retracing my steps, but things were off. Trees in the wrong places. Roots I don’t remember stepping over.

Started hearing voices. Low, rhythmic, almost mechanical—like chanting through water. No discernible words.

I turned around again, picked a new direction. Found a marker twenty minutes later—tied in a knot I didn’t make.

I'm losing time. My watch stopped at 4:23 p.m. It hasn't started again.

October 7th, 1999

Found a clearing I didn’t remember entering. There was something… standing there.

Humanoid, tall—too tall—thin limbs, elongated neck. Covered in moss and bark. I thought it was a tree until it moved.

It didn’t walk. It shifted, like it blinked from one spot to another when I wasn’t watching. I turned away to grab my field journal, and when I looked back, it was closer.

I ran. I didn’t look back. I could hear it though—something scraping bark, something breathing through reeds.

I’m not going back to that side of the forest. Ever.

October 8th, 1999

I dreamt I was buried in the trees. Roots growing into my mouth. When I woke up, my boots were full of soil.

There's something living in this forest. And I don’t mean biologically—I mean aware. Watching. Playing with time and distance.

I saw myself today. Across the riverbed. Standing and staring at me. Same clothes. Same satchel. It didn’t move. I screamed. It smiled.

I don’t know how long I’ve been here. The light never changes. My compass spins. The wind hums. It’s not natural.

I think I’m being herded. Like it wants me to see something. Like I’m—

[Log ends abruptly. The following pages are blank or torn.]

End of Recovered Entry Filed under: The Whispering Wood Folklore Archive Curator’s Note: Additional search parties were dispatched. None entered the wood.