The Whispiring Pines - (Short Story)

Amelia’s footsteps rustled through the crimson carpet of fallen leaves. Autumn had painted the forest in hues of gold and russet. The moon hung low, casting elongated shadows between ancient pines. She had heard the tales—the wendigo, a creature born of hunger and despair, haunting these woods.

Her lantern flickered, illuminating frost-kissed branches. The air held a chill that seeped into her bones. But Amelia pressed on, drawn by an inexplicable force. She had lost her brother to these woods, and now she sought answers.

As she ventured deeper, the trees seemed to lean in, whispering secrets. The wendigo was no mere monster; it was a reflection of human frailty. Hunger for more, greed that consumed. It was a mirror held up to the soul.

And then she saw it—a figure hunched by a frozen stream. Its eyes glowed like dying embers. The wendigo. But it was not what she expected. Its gaunt face held sorrow, not malice. Its skeletal fingers trembled, reaching for her. ....