The first thing you feel is the cold—damp, creeping, like fingers brushing your neck. Your breath fogs in the air, and the silence is too deep. No birds. No wind. Just the slow, rhythmic crack of a distant branch… or is it a footstep?
You’re not dreaming.
You remember nothing—no name, no face in the mirror of a frozen pond. Just the forest. And the way the trees lean inward, like they’re watching.
Day 1: The First Breath
You wake beneath a gnarled oak, your body stiff, your clothes torn and soaked. A rusted knife lies at your side—how did it get there? You don’t remember.
The woods are wrong. The bark is too dark, almost black. The roots twist like dead hands. You find a stream. It doesn’t flow—it pulsates, like a vein.
You cut down a dead pine with the knife. Your hands bleed. The wood is brittle, and when you split it, the inside is warm. You scream—but your voice is swallowed.
Day 3: Hunger & Whispers
You eat a squirrel you caught in a snare. It’s not right. Its eyes are open. It spoke in your head before you killed it. Just one word: "Mine."
You build a shelter from branches and moss. As you hammer stakes into the ground, you hear singing—soft, childlike. You follow it.
The voice leads you to a clearing with a circle of stones. In the center: a doll made of woven hair and bone. It’s wearing your face.
It turns its head—slowly—toward you.
“You’re late,” it says. “We’ve been waiting.”
You run.
Day 7: The Mirror in the Mud
You find a pool of still water, and for a second, you see yourself. But your reflection… smiles when you don’t.
It mouths a word: “Remember.”
Then, memories flood in—your memories. Not yours. Theirs. The last survivor of a village that vanished a century ago. The boy who built a cabin here. Who prayed to the forest. Who offered himself.
You were never alone.
You were chosen.
And the forest… is not empty.
It’s hungry.
Day 14: The Door in the Tree
You hear your mother’s voice. Real. Clear.
She says: "Come home, child. The woods are safe now."
You follow the sound. The trees part. A path forms.
At the end: a door. Carved from the same black bark as the others. It bears a single word in your own hand:
“YES”
You reach for the handle.
Behind you, the wind stirs.
And the trees begin to whisper your name—not in fear.
In welcome.
How long can you survive alone in the woods?
Not long.
Because the woods don’t want you to survive.
It wants you to belong.
And now…
You’re almost ready to believe it.
What do you do?
🔹 Open the door.
🔹 Burn the cabin. Run into the dark.
🔹 Speak back to the voice.
🔹 Look into the mirror one more time.
The choice is yours.
But the forest is listening.
