Whispers in the Woods

Lisa

In the woods, I felt it again - that primal call that had haunted me since I was fifteen. The trees whispered secrets in a language I almost understood, and moonlight painted silver paths between the shadows. I couldn’t explain my fascination with this place, how it pulled at something deep inside me.

“Lisa, why are you here again?” Mother’s voice cut through my reverie. She stood on the forest floor, leaves crackling beneath her feet, fear and worry etched across her face in the moonlight. She’d warned me countless times to stay away, but the forest’s call was stronger than her warnings.

“Mother, why are you here?” I countered, noting how she seemed to belong among the ancient trees despite her protests about entering the woods.

“Answer me. What are you doing here?” Her voice rose as she approached, tension radiating from her slight frame.

“Nothing, Mom. I just...” I struggled to explain the inexplicable. “I’m not sure what’s wrong with me. In the woods, I feel safe. It’s like something’s calling me.”

“No! Lisa, listen to me carefully.” Her voice cracked with desperation. “Stay away from the woods. Do you understand?”

“No, Mother, I don’t understand any of this. I’ve been hearing strange voices since I was fifteen. I’ve told you about them, but you just brush it off. I feel this pull toward the woods, but all you do is warn me away. You know something you’re not telling me.”

The resignation in her eyes confirmed my suspicions. We stood in tense silence before she spoke again.

“I don’t know anything, child. Go back to your room.”

“Mother, I’m not a child anymore. Please, if you know something...” I tried to catch her gaze, but she looked away.

She left me standing alone among the whispering trees, my questions echoing in the silence.

My name is Lisa Smith. At twenty-two, I should be living the life of a typical young designer, sharing an apartment in the city with friends, going to gallery openings, and building my portfolio. Instead, I live with my mother in a secluded cabin, miles deep in woods so ancient the trees seem to whisper stories of centuries past.

Growing up, I never questioned our isolation. Mother homeschooled me, worked remotely as a translator, and insisted we were better off away from “the complications of society.” But there were always signs that something wasn’t quite right.

The way she would stare into the forest at night, her hand clutching the silver pendant she never removed. The careful way she monitored the phases of the moon, marking them in her leather-bound calendar with symbols I didn’t understand.

The changes began when I turned fifteen. At first, they were subtle – a heightened awareness of the forest around me, as if every leaf and branch was trying to tell me something. I could hear whispers in the wind that didn’t sound like wind at all, but like voices speaking in a language that felt hauntingly familiar.

Then came the strength. One morning, I accidentally pulled our solid oak front door off its hinges as if it were made of paper. I could outrun the deer that bounded through our property. My reflexes became so sharp that I could catch falling objects before they hit the ground, moving with a speed that shouldn’t have been possible.

I thought I was losing my mind. The rational part of me – the part that loved clean lines and color theory and designing minimalist logos – couldn’t reconcile with what was happening to my body, to my senses. Late at night, I would lie awake, feeling the pull of the forest, its ancient energy calling to something deep within me.

When I finally broke down and told my mother about the voices and the strength, I expected her to rush me to a psychiatrist. Instead, she sat very still, her face pale, and I realized she might know something.

***

Ring! Ring! Ring!

I groggily opened my eyes, wondering who was calling me early in the morning. I picked up my phone. It was David.

“Hey, babe, good morning. How are you?” he asked over the phone.

“David, I’m good. How was your night?”

“It was fine, my love. Do you want to see me today?”

“I can’t. I’m heading to work soon. Let’s fix another date. I’m sorry, David.”

“It’s okay. Let’s do that next time. I will talk to you later. I love you.”

I checked my watch after I hung up the phone. Oh, my! I’ll be late for work. I jumped out of bed and dashed into the bathroom for a quick bath. I quickly changed and went downstairs.

“Good morning, sweetheart. How was your night?” My mother asked me, pulling me into a hug.

“Good morning, mother. I slept like a baby. How was yours?”

“It was fine, my darling daughter,” she responded with a smile. Oh, my. I love seeing her smile. “Sit and eat your breakfast.”

“I would love to eat, Mother, but I won’t be able to. I’m going to be late for work.” I grabbed my backpack and my car keys. “See you later, Mom. I love you.”

“But…” I had already left the room before she could finish her sentence.

After sitting in traffic for twenty minutes, I rushed from my car so quickly I almost forgot to take the keys out of the ignition. I was already late. I hoped I wouldn’t have to meet my nasty boss.

“You’re here, Lisa,” Janet blurted. “Why are you so late?” Janet was both my coworker and my dearest friend. I didn’t like having people around me, yet I was unable to clarify why I liked her.

“Good morning, Janet.” I smiled. “I’m stuck in traffic. Is the boss around?”

“Oh yes. I’m glad you mentioned him. He is around. He wants to see you.”

“He wants to see me, but why?” I despised seeing or meeting with this supervisor. He only knew how to flirt with me. What can I do to get out of this?

“I’m not sure. He asked for you, but you weren’t here. I think you should see him right away,” Janet responded.

“Can you tell him that I am sick, Janet?”

“I’m sorry, Lisa, but I can’t do that,” she uttered. “You know what he’s like.”

“I understand. Thanks. I’ll be on my way.”

With a heavy heart, I walked closer to his office. I hoped he wouldn’t find fault with me today. I knocked on his door when I arrived.

“You can come in.” I heard his creepy voice behind the door. I tentatively opened the door and walked in.

“Good morning, sir,” I said as I greeted him. Mr. Peter raised his head, dropped his pen, and smiled.

“You’re here, honey.” Here we go again. He’s at it.

“Sir, you asked for me?”

“Oh, yes.” He rose from his seat and approached me. Mr. Peter encircled my waist with his hand. “My darling is here.”

“What do you think you are doing, sir?”

“What do you think, honey?” he inquired, his grip on my waist tightening. He shifted his body to stand behind me.

“Stay away from me, old pervert,” I screamed at him before pushing him away.

“Are you nuts, Lisa? How dare you treat me this way? Do you think I’m joking when I tell you how I feel?”

“I’m not, sir.”

“Are you trying to take me for a fool just because I love you? Why can’t you see that I love you? Give me a chance, honey?”

He was a repulsive man! This old fool was enough to be my father.

“I want you to understand and imprint it on your skull that I am not interested in you, sir. Please respect my wishes and leave me alone,” I said as calmly as I could through gritted teeth.

“Who do you think you are? A princess or something?” he yelled, clearly frustrated. “I would advise you to think twice before rejecting my offer, or else.”

I hated being threatened. Did he really think I would stand here and let him bully me? No way, never.

“Or what else? Do you think you can do whatever you want?” I questioned. “I won’t tolerate being bullied. I am not a pushover.”

“Really?” he grinned menacingly. “You don’t know your place. Since you want to do this the hard way, I’ll oblige. I am your boss, and I have the power to end your career.”

“I haven’t done anything to warrant being fired,” I said with a chuckle. “You can’t do anything to harm me, boss.”

“Check the time!” he exclaimed. This demon. “Is it appropriate for you to be here at this hour? You’re late for work, and you dare to display such arrogance, bitch.”

The same inexplicable strength I’d felt in the woods stirred inside me, along with a wild rage I barely recognized. But I thought of Mother, of our bills, of how we relied on this job. I swallowed my fury and apologized for being late, hating the triumph in his eyes.

“Sir, this is the first time I’ve been late since starting here. I got stuck in traffic. I apologize.”

“Do you think that saying sorry will solve everything?” he sneered.

“I’m sorry, sir,” I whispered, trying my best to diffuse the situation.

He moved closer to me. “Really? Are you truly sorry?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied.

“I don’t think you’re sincere enough, honey,” he whispered into my ears. I was burning with rage.

“I am, sir. Please trust me,” I looked at the floor to hide the hatred in my eyes.

“Then show me how sorry you are,” he demanded. His breath drifted across my face, and a wave of nausea washed through me.

“How?” I asked.

His next words were vile, a demand so degrading it turned my stomach. Something inside me snapped.

“I want you to get on your knees, unbutton my pants, and perform oral sex on me.”