The Call of The Woods

  The bathroom was dimly lit, the fluorescent bulbs above flickering weakly, casting erratic shadows against the tiled walls. Cave gripped the sink, his fingers trembling against the cold porcelain. His face, staring back at him in the mirror, was a mess—sweat-slicked hair clinging to his forehead, bruises blooming along his cheekbones like dark flowers, his lower lip split open from the earlier assault.

  He turned the faucet on, letting the water rush over his shaking hands. He splashed his face, the icy shock snapping him from the haze of suffocation that still lingered like a phantom touch on his skin.

  But then—

  The whisper.

  It was distant, carried on the wind from outside. But it was there.

  “Come...”

  Cave froze. His fingers twitched over the faucet handle as the voice slithered into his ears, cold as the frost from the locker. It wasn’t a command. It was an invitation.

  Slowly, his gaze shifted. Past his reflection. Past the grime-streaked mirror. His eyes landed on the window.

  Outside, beyond the schoolyard, the trees stood motionless, darkened by the overcast sky. They should’ve been swaying in the breeze. But they weren’t. They stood still. Watching.

  A low breath left Cave’s lips, and his pulse quickened.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  He wasn’t going back to class.

  Not this time...

  With one last splash of water against his mouth, he turned, his footsteps echoing against the tiled floor. He wasn’t sure what he was doing. He only knew one thing—He had to go.

  **The hallway was still bustling, students rushing to their next class, oblivious to the boy slipping past them, unseen. Except one. Mary. As she stepped into her classroom, she caught a glimpse of him. His retreating figure. His bruised face. His torn, dirtied uniform. Her lips parted as if to call his name. But in an instant, he was gone.**

  The further Cave walked, the heavier the air became. His feet carried him past classrooms, past lockers, past the school’s boundaries—through the back gate that led toward the sports grounds.

  The whispers grew louder.

  Colder.

  Closer.

  And yet—somehow—still distant.

  His breath misted again.

  Ahead, the senior boys were practicing on the field. The Rugby team.

  “HEY! Sears!” a voice boomed.

  Cave ignored it.

  “What is this boy doing?” someone muttered.

  “He knows he’s not allowed in there, right? Or he’ll risk detention.”

  “Leave him alone, Martin,” the team captain scoffed. ”The Principal isn’t here today. He’ll get away with it, if we keep quiet.”

  Laughter followed.

  “Look at his clothes, it’s like he got hit by a train.”

  “A train? Man, we haven’t even built the tracks yet—where would a train even come from?”

  “Ohhh, you mean the soldiers who surrendered, before being captured?” the captain sneered. “They still busy? I thought they had a deadline to make up for their troubles. At least they’ll get to live and not end up behind the barrel of the gun.”

  The conversation faded behind him. Their voices didn’t matter. The school didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

  Only the woods.

  Cave stepped past the field, past the final boundary of the school grounds, and into the trees—

  Where the whispering awaited him.

  Where the cold lingered.

  Where something was waiting.

  And as he crossed that threshold, he never once looked back.

  Not once.