The Girl in the Woods

Emily had never met her great-aunt Margaret. The family never spoke of her, and as far as Emily knew, she had lived alone in this secluded stone cottage for decades. So when she inherited the property, she was surprised—yet grateful. It was a chance to start over, to leave behind the noise of the city and find peace in nature.

The house was beautiful, nestled deep in the forest, with a cobbled path leading to the front door and tall trees surrounding it like silent guardians. It felt untouched, as if time had stopped there.

But not everything inside had been left behind.

Night One: The Swing

On her first evening, Emily took a walk around the yard, admiring the old stone wall and the overgrown garden. At the edge of the property stood a wooden swing, hanging from an ancient oak tree.

It creaked as it swayed.

But there was no wind.

She told herself it was loose, the rope stretched with age. Still, as she turned to walk back inside, she could have sworn she heard giggling.

Soft. Childlike.

Coming from the trees.

Night Three: The Footsteps

Emily had settled in, but something felt off.

She would wake up to find the front door slightly open, even though she locked it every night. Objects in the house weren’t where she had left them. The radio turned on by itself, always playing an old, crackling lullaby.

Then, one night, she heard them.

Footsteps.

Small. Light.

Running just outside her bedroom window.

She held her breath, waiting for them to stop. But instead, they moved toward the front door.

A gentle knock echoed through the cottage.

Then a voice—small, sweet, and distant.

“Can I come in?”

Emily stayed frozen in bed, her heart pounding.

The knocking came again.

“Please… it’s so cold out here.”

She gripped the sheets, remembering something.

The diary.

She had found it earlier that day, tucked away in a drawer. It belonged to her great-aunt, filled with strange warnings and frantic scrawls. One passage, in particular, had stood out:

“Never play with the girl in the woods. If she asks to come inside… say no.”

Emily squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to move, refusing to breathe.

The knocking stopped.

The swing outside creaked.

By morning, tiny footprints covered the porch.

Bare. Inhumanly small.

Leading from the trees.