Beneath the Canadian Pines©

 

The fire crackled, casting a golden hue against the encroaching darkness of the forest. Josh flicked a marshmallow into the flames, watching it blacken instantly. The sweet, burnt scent drifted toward him as he leaned back against a fallen log, letting out a sigh.

"You gonna eat that or just watch it die?" Liam teased from across the fire.

Josh smirked but said nothing. The two of them had been friends for years, having met at a random bar in Toronto. Josh, the laid-back Canadian with a penchant for hiking, and Liam, the restless American adventurer who could never sit still for too long. This weekend was supposed to be a break from their chaotic city lives—just two guys, a tent, and the endless woods of Algonquin Park.

But it was only the first night, and already, something felt… off.

The forest was too quiet. Even the usual evening choir of cicadas and the occasional owl seemed muted, almost like the trees were holding their breath. Liam noticed it first, pausing mid-sip of his beer.

"Do you hear that?" he asked, voice low.

Josh glanced around. "Hear what?"

Liam frowned. That was the thing—there was nothing to hear.

They brushed it off, blaming their own jittery nerves. After all, they were miles from civilization, and a few days of disconnection from their phones was bound to stir up some anxiety. They turned in early, crawling into their sleeping bags. But as Josh’s eyes grew heavy, a faint sound pricked at the edge of his hearing. A light, scraping noise, like nails against bark.

He sat up, heart pounding. Liam was snoring softly.

Josh held his breath. The sound came again. Closer.

The next morning, the sun slashed through the pine canopy, making the eerie stillness of the night feel like a bad dream. Josh shook off the unease and they went fishing at a nearby lake. The morning was uneventful—until they returned to their campsite.

Their tent had been slashed open.

"What the hell?" Liam muttered, rushing forward.

The fabric was shredded in three deep gouges, parallel to each other. Animal claws, perhaps. But there were no footprints. No sign of a bear or wolf. Just three long slashes, like someone had drawn a blade with surgical precision.

Josh tried to rationalize it. "Maybe some drunk hiker stumbled by and decided to mess with us."

Liam shook his head. "No footprints. No trash. No sign of anyone."

His eyes scanned the trees, suspicion growing. They didn’t talk much that afternoon. The wind had picked up, and the pine branches whispered secrets they weren’t meant to hear.

As dusk fell, they sat by the fire, rifles propped nearby, just in case. Josh glanced at Liam, who was unusually quiet, gripping his beer like a lifeline.

Then they heard it: a faint whistle.

The sound carried through the trees, high-pitched and melodic, like someone whistling a tune. It drifted from somewhere just beyond the fire’s glow. Josh stood, scanning the darkness. His skin prickled.

"It’s probably some hiker messing with us," he said, trying to convince himself more than Liam.

But Liam shook his head slowly. "No. I know that song."

Josh stared at him. "What do you mean you know it?"

Liam’s eyes narrowed. His voice dropped. "My brother used to whistle it. Before he… disappeared."

The blood drained from Josh’s face.

The whistling stopped. The forest held its breath. Then came the laughter. Hollow and broken, like someone trying to remember how joy sounded. It echoed between the trees, making it impossible to tell where it came from.

Josh’s throat tightened. Liam clutched the rifle, knuckles white.

Night fell into a suffocating silence. Neither of them slept. Every snapping twig outside the tent made them flinch. Josh swore he saw a shadow move between the trees, but when he blinked, it was gone.

They stayed up, eyes bloodshot and fingers twitching over the trigger.

At dawn, they made a decision. They were packing up. The trip was over.

But as they loaded their gear into their packs, they noticed something. Fresh footprints—bare feet—circled their camp.

Josh’s heart pounded. He counted them. One set. Then another. And another.

Too many.

Without a word, they began to hike back toward the trailhead. Their senses were on edge, paranoia thick in the air.

Then they saw it.

A red flannel shirt caught on a branch. Torn and stained with something dark. Josh’s breath caught.

It was Liam’s brother’s shirt.

Liam dropped his pack. His hands shook violently. Josh grabbed his arm.

"No," Josh whispered. "This is a trap."

But Liam had already run ahead.

Josh sprinted after him. His boots pounded against the forest floor. The trees closed in.

And then he saw it.

A figure standing among the trees. Dirty, matted hair. Hollow eyes.

It was Liam’s brother.

Liam stumbled forward, voice cracking. "Oh my God… Caleb?"

The man’s lips twitched upward into a grotesque smile. But something was wrong. His eyes were vacant.

Then Caleb lunged.

The knife came first, glinting in the faint sunlight. Liam barely dodged it. Josh screamed his name, lifting the rifle.

But Caleb moved faster. Unnaturally fast.

Josh fired. The bullet tore through Caleb’s shoulder, but he didn’t even flinch. He grabbed Liam and dragged him into the trees.

Josh gave chase, heart slamming against his ribs.

Josh burst into a small clearing. Caleb was gone. Liam was lying in the dirt, chest heaving, blood seeping from a cut along his jaw.

A guttural growl came from the shadows.

The creature emerged. It wore Caleb’s face, but it wasn’t human. Its limbs were too long. The eyes too black. And the teeth—

Josh fired again.

They ran. Faster than they thought possible. Branches sliced their arms and faces, but they didn’t stop. Not until they burst out onto the highway, breathless and bloodied.

A car slowed. A woman rolled down her window. "Are you okay?"

Liam turned back toward the forest, shaking. The whistling started again.

It was closer now.

The trees stood still.

And then, behind them, a figure emerged from the tree line. Tall, shadowy, with hollow eyes and a red flannel shirt.

It wasn’t Caleb.

The whistling grew louder.

And from the forest, more figures appeared.

One. Two. Then dozens.

All of them wearing familiar faces.

And the forest swallowed the road whole.

The figures emerging from the forest at the end are a manifestation of the forest’s supernatural evil. They wear familiar faces—Caleb's and many others—because they are either the spirits of previous victims or twisted copies of people the forest has claimed.

Their hollow eyes and unnatural movement suggest they are not truly human anymore, but rather possessed or transformed beings, doomed to serve the forest's dark will. The fact that Liam recognizes his brother's face but realizes it isn’t him underscores the horror: the forest uses personal connections to lure its victims deeper into its grasp.