On a cold, rainy night, a man named Mark was driving through a dense forest on his way home. The road was winding, and the rain pounded his windshield, making it difficult to see. As he rounded a sharp bend, his headlights illuminated a figure standing in the middle of the road—a woman, drenched, wearing an old-fashioned white dress, staring blankly ahead.
Mark slammed on the brakes, the car skidding to a halt just inches away from her. Heart racing, he rolled down the window and asked if she needed help. The woman said nothing but slowly turned her head to face him. Her eyes were hollow, her skin pale and slick like porcelain. She raised a trembling hand and pointed toward the forest.
Against his better judgment, Mark got out of the car and followed her gesture. She vanished into the trees, but something compelled him to keep walking deeper into the forest. His flashlight barely cut through the thick fog that seemed to rise from the ground itself. The further he went, the quieter everything became—the rain, the wind, even the sounds of the forest faded away, replaced by an eerie silence.
Suddenly, Mark came upon an old, abandoned house, its windows shattered, and its wooden frame rotting. The door creaked open as if inviting him inside. Against every instinct telling him to turn back, he entered. Inside, the air was thick with decay, and the smell of wet earth clung to his nostrils. There, in the center of the room, was a photograph, black and white, old and faded. It showed the same woman he had seen on the road, standing next to a man who looked exactly like him.
The sound of footsteps echoed behind him.
Mark turned, but no one was there.
He ran from the house, heart pounding, but the forest seemed endless, the path back to his car gone. In his panic, he tripped and fell. When he looked up, the woman stood over him, staring down with that same hollow expression.
And then she whispered, "You've come home."
The next morning, Mark's car was found abandoned by the side of the road, but he was never seen again.
Locals say the forest is cursed, that those who enter never return. But if you listen closely on stormy nights, you might hear the sound of footsteps following you—getting closer and closer.
