I should’ve turned around the second the birds stopped chirping.

I’d been hiking this trail behind my cousin’s cabin since I was twelve. I know every bend, every moss-covered rock. But today, something felt…off. The air was still, like the woods were holding their breath. That’s when I heard it—this low, humming sound. Not like a machine. Not wind. It was almost…human. But not.

I paused, expecting to see someone—maybe another hiker. No one. Just trees. Still, I followed it. I don’t know why. I told myself it could be a lost camper or someone needing help. But deep down, it wasn’t about helping anyone. It was curiosity. A pull I couldn’t shake.

About twenty minutes in, everything started to blur. Landmarks I knew by heart were suddenly gone. Even the sun felt dimmer, like it was getting filtered through thicker air. My phone had no service, but the compass app worked—until it didn’t. The needle spun in slow, lazy circles like it was confused too.

Then I saw something.

It was subtle. Just a clearing with perfectly concentric rings of mushrooms—pale, almost glowing. In the center was a small stone pillar I swear hadn’t been there last summer. On instinct, I stepped closer. That hum grew louder, vibrating in my chest now. My ears popped.

I don’t know how long I stood there. Time felt weird. Elastic. I looked down to find my boots half-sunk into the soft ground like I’d been standing there for hours. When I finally pulled myself back and turned around to leave… nothing looked familiar.

No trail. No rocks. Just endless trees that all looked the same. I started walking anyway. I’ve been walking for what feels like hours. Days, maybe. No sounds. No animals. Just that low hum… still following me, or maybe I’m following it.

And the weirdest part?

I’m not scared yet. But I think I should be.

At some point, I stopped fighting it. The fear, the confusion. I sat down on a fallen tree and just stared. Not at anything specific—just stared into the woods like it might tell me what it wanted from me.

The humming had become softer again, more distant, almost like it had moved on. Or maybe I had. But I was too tired to follow anymore.

Then, I heard leaves crunching behind me.

I turned fast, heart slamming in my chest, expecting an animal—or worse, nothing at all. But there she was. A woman. Not young, not old. Long gray dress, barefoot, hair dark and tangled. She didn’t look surprised to see me. In fact, she looked like she’d been expecting me.

“You made it further than most,” she said, voice calm like we were old friends catching up.

I didn’t know what to say. I just stared at her, trying to make sense of what she meant.

“This place,” she continued, waving vaguely at the trees, “it doesn’t let people in unless it wants to. Same with letting them out.”

I asked her if she was lost too. She smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile.

“Not lost. Chosen.”

That was the moment the fear finally crept in. My throat dried up. I wanted to run, but I couldn’t even will my legs to move. Something about her—she wasn’t threatening. But she wasn’t exactly human either. Or maybe she was. Maybe too human.

She sat beside me like we were old friends, like she belonged there. “What did you hear before you came in?”

I told her about the hum.

She nodded like that made sense. “It doesn’t sound the same to everyone. Some hear humming. Some hear crying. Others hear laughter. It’s different because it’s personal.”

I didn’t answer. I was still trying to figure out whether I was hallucinating.

“You’re not dead,” she said, reading my mind. “And you’re not going crazy. At least not yet.”

She told me her name was Marla. That she came here fifteen years ago after her sister died and she couldn’t sleep anymore. Said the sound led her in too.

But here’s the twist—she could leave. She just didn’t want to.

That part confused me. Why would anyone want to stay stuck in a place where time didn’t move and nothing made sense?

“Because there’s peace here,” she said. “Peace and punishment. Depends what you came in with.”

I asked her what she meant by punishment.

She looked at me a long time before answering. “Some people carry things they won’t admit to. Secrets. Guilt. The woods don’t let you pretend. It brings it all up.”

I didn’t like where this was going.

“You’re not here for no reason, Elian,” she said. And hearing my name come out of her mouth made my whole body go cold.

I never told her my name.

Marla stood up, brushed dirt off her dress. “You’ll figure it out. Or you won’t. Either way, you’ll walk in circles until you’re ready.”

Then she walked away. Just like that. No goodbye, no warning.

I shouted after her, but she didn’t turn back. I chased her, but after two minutes, she was gone. Like she’d melted into the trees.

After that, the woods changed.

Colors looked sharper, but wrong. Trees looked taller, almost stretching upward as I passed. The hum returned, louder now. Insistent.

I kept walking. No plan. Just moving, because standing still felt worse.

And that’s when the memories started creeping in.

Not big ones. Not dramatic. Just… moments. Things I’d ignored. Like the time I saw my boss take credit for my co-worker’s idea and I said nothing. The day I forgot my grandmother’s birthday and pretended I’d called but “the signal must’ve dropped.”

Little betrayals. Small selfishnesses. Harmless, I told myself. Normal.

But the woods didn’t agree.

Each step seemed to weigh heavier. Like I was walking through thick syrup. I dropped my backpack at some point. I didn’t need it anymore. Or I thought I didn’t.

That night—I think it was night—I saw my sister.

She died three years ago in a car crash. It wasn’t my fault. That’s what I told myself. But I was the one who told her to leave that party, even though she’d been drinking. She didn’t want to. She said she was tired. But I pushed.

“Come on, Mo,” I’d said, “don’t make this a thing. I promised Dad I’d drop you off.”

She drove. I didn’t fight her on it.

In the woods, she stood just a few feet ahead of me. Same old denim jacket. Same way she used to twist her hair when she was nervous. I called her name, but she didn’t move.

I took a step, and she vanished.

I dropped to my knees.

That’s when it hit me—what Marla meant. It brings it all up.

This place wasn’t punishing me. It was showing me what I refused to see.

I stayed there, crying into the dirt for who knows how long. When I looked up again, the trees seemed… softer. Like they weren’t judging anymore. Just watching.

I stood, shaky but clear.

And I started to speak. Out loud. To the woods, to Marla, to my sister—maybe just to myself.

I told the truth.

I told them I’d been running from guilt for years. That I’d gotten really good at pretending I was a decent guy. That I’d chosen comfort over courage more times than I could count.

That I wasn’t a bad person—but I wasn’t brave, either.

I don’t know why that mattered. But it did.

Because when I opened my eyes, I saw the trail again.

The real one. The one I knew from childhood.

The air smelled different—fresher. Lighter. Birds chirped again.

I turned around to look one more time, just in case Marla was watching. But there was nothing behind me. No mushrooms. No stone pillar. Just trees. Plain, normal trees.

It took me an hour to make it back to the cabin. My cousin wasn’t even home yet. According to my phone, I’d only been gone six hours.

But it felt like weeks.

Back in the cabin, I showered. Sat on the floor. Let myself feel everything I’d avoided for years. And then I called my parents. Apologized for disappearing emotionally since Mo died. Told them I loved them. Meant it.

Later that night, I wrote a letter to my coworker—Elan—thanking him for the pitch he’d made two months ago. The one the company had praised me for. I told him the truth. That it was his idea, and he deserved the credit.

He didn’t reply right away. But a week later, he left a note on my desk that just said, That meant more than you know.

I don’t tell many people this story.

Because most people don’t believe in places like that. Places that test you without hurting you. That show you what you need to face, but never force it.

But I’ll tell you this:

The woods didn’t trap me. They gave me a choice.

To keep lying to myself. Or to come back different.

And if you ever hear a sound in the trees that makes no sense, one that calls you—not with fear, but with quiet insistence—listen.

Not to follow. Just to ask yourself what you’re carrying that might be too heavy.

Because sometimes, the way out isn’t forward. It’s inward.

You’re never really lost if you’re finally being honest.