Intro~

The Shadows of Aashwood

The stories of Aashwood had always been whispered like forbidden secrets: a village swallowed by the forest, where shadows moved with a purpose and the air itself seemed to breathe. Mira Davis, ever the daring journalist, knew she needed to uncover the truth. For months, she had pieced together police files, local legends, and fragments of maps that all led to the same conclusion—Aashwood wasn’t just a myth.

She wasn’t foolish enough to go alone. Her team consisted of four others: Ethan Cross, the scientist who scoffed at superstition; Priya Shah, an anthropologist with a penchant for dark folklore; Liam Carter, the grizzled survivalist who dismissed ghosts as "stories for kids"; and Sophia Grant, a medic with nerves of steel. Together, they ventured into Rouran Forest, armed with cameras, flashlights, weapons, and a determination that bordered on arrogance.

For the first two days, the forest seemed no different from any other. The trail was overgrown but navigable, the trees tall and imposing but ordinary. Then, the forest began to change.

The air grew colder. Shadows stretched impossibly long, even though the sunlight barely penetrated the canopy. The group began to notice strange things—whispers just out of earshot, a metallic tang in the air, and fleeting movements at the edges of their vision.

By the third day, they reached Aashwood. The village was a ghost town, its charred buildings leaning like weary sentinels. In the center of the square stood a stone well, its surface carved with spirals and jagged runes that seemed to pulse faintly under their gaze.

“This is it,” Priya whispered, her fingers tracing one of the carvings. “These symbols… they’re protective. But they’ve been… corrupted.”

“Protective against what?” Mira asked, her camera fixed on Priya.

“Something that shouldn’t exist,” Priya muttered.

“Or it’s just vandalism,” Ethan said, rolling his eyes. But even he couldn’t explain the sudden drop in temperature or the oppressive weight that seemed to press down on them all.

As they explored, the group began to feel the forest closing in. Every path they had used to enter the village was now overgrown or simply gone, replaced by endless trees.

“It’s like the forest moved,” Liam muttered, gripping his machete.

That night, they camped in the largest house, its walls blackened but still standing. The fire burned low as they took turns on watch. At some point during the night, Mira woke to a sound—a faint, childlike giggle that seemed to come from the walls. She sat up, clutching her flashlight, her breath visible in the suddenly frigid air.

“Mira…” a voice whispered, distorted and layered.

Her flashlight flickered and died. In the corner of the room, a shadow detached itself from the wall, its limbs impossibly long, its face a blank void. Mira screamed, waking the others, but by the time they scrambled to their feet, the shadow was gone.

“What the hell was that?” Liam demanded, his knife drawn.

“Something’s here,” Mira whispered, clutching her camera.

In the silence that followed, the group realized the whispers had begun again, louder this time, echoing from every corner of the house.

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