**Diary Entry: May 3rd, 2024**

I arrived in Ashgrove today. The village is just as I remember: quaint, tucked into the arms of the forest, but there’s a weight here now that wasn’t there before. Aunt Martha’s cottage looks untouched, yet somehow lonelier, as if it’s been holding its breath since she vanished.

The locals won’t talk about her. I asked the butcher if he’d seen her, and he just shook his head, muttering something about “the forest claiming its own.” The grocer wouldn’t even look me in the eye.

Inside the cottage, everything is exactly as she left it—her knitting on the chair, her favorite mug on the table. It’s eerie. It feels like she’s just stepped out for a moment, yet it’s been months since anyone saw her.

And the forest… it feels alive. The trees seemed to lean closer as I walked toward them, their branches intertwining above me, blocking out the sky. I heard something—a rustling that wasn’t the wind—and I swear I felt eyes on me.

——————

Later that evening, Eliza sat by the fire, Aunt Martha’s journal open on her lap. The pages were warped from water damage, the ink smudged, but some entries were still legible. One caught her attention.

“The Sanctum is alive,” Martha had written. “It watches, it waits. I feel its pull, stronger with each passing day. I fear what it wants of me.”

Eliza frowned, her pulse quickening. Sanctum? She’d never heard the word before.

Setting the journal aside, she reached for the strange map she’d found in the pantry earlier. It was a crude sketch of the forest, marked with symbols she didn’t recognize, all leading to a place labeled Sanctum.

Her fingers traced the lines as unease settled in her chest.

——————

**Diary Entry: May 4th, 2024**

The map led me deeper into the forest today. I followed the faint trail, past the bluebells that lined the path, until they disappeared, replaced by twisted roots that seemed to writhe underfoot.

The trees felt closer, the air thicker. Every sound—the snap of a twig, the rustle of leaves—made me jump. I swear I heard my name, whispered faintly, carried on the breeze.

Hours later, I found the clearing. The stones stood in a perfect circle, their surfaces slick with moss and etched with symbols that glimmered faintly even in the shadows. The air hummed, low and steady, vibrating in my chest.

I didn’t stay long. Something about the place felt wrong, like I was trespassing. But when I turned to leave, I thought I saw movement in the corner of my eye—a shadow slipping between the trees.

——————

That night, sleep evaded her. She lay in Aunt Martha’s bed, staring at the ceiling as the forest seemed to press against the cottage walls. The whispers had returned, clearer now, weaving through the air like a melody she couldn’t quite place.

She sat up, heart pounding, and glanced toward the window. The forest loomed, dark and endless, its branches moving as if stirred by an unseen force.

Eliza lit a candle and opened Aunt Martha’s journal again.

“The Sanctum demands balance,” one entry read. “It gives and takes. I feel it calling to me, pulling me deeper. But at what cost?”

Her hand trembled as she turned the page. Another line stood out:

“If I fail, it will choose another. Eliza must never come here.”

——————

**Diary Entry: May 5th, 2024**

I tried to leave Ashgrove today. I packed my bags, started the car, and drove toward the main road. But no matter how far I went, I ended up back at the cottage. The same twisting trees, the same gravel under my tires.

It’s as if the forest won’t let me go.

I walked, hoping to find a way out on foot, but every path led me back to the clearing. The stones were brighter this time, their hum louder, resonating in my skull until I thought it might crack.

The forest feels alive, watching me, waiting for something. I can feel its pull now, stronger than before.

——————

Eliza stared at the stones, her breath hitching. The runes glimmered faintly, casting a soft, eerie glow over the clearing. The hum had grown louder, vibrating through the air, through her bones.

“I know you’re here,” she said, her voice trembling. “I know you took her.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, a shadow emerged from the trees. It was indistinct, shifting like smoke, yet its presence was undeniable.

“You’ve come,” it whispered, the voice echoing in her mind. “As she did before you.”

“What do you want?” she demanded, her fists clenched.

“Balance,” it replied simply.

Eliza’s pulse quickened. The air grew colder, the hum rising to a deafening roar. The shadow moved closer, its form towering over her.

She thought of Aunt Martha, of her warnings, of the journal entries filled with fear and resignation.

“No,” Eliza said, stepping back. “I won’t be your sacrifice.”

The shadow paused, its form flickering. “Then you will stay,” it said, its voice carrying a finality that made her stomach drop.

——————

**Diary Entry: May 6th, 2024 (Last Entry)**

The forest doesn’t just guard itself—it owns everything within its bounds.

I see that now. Aunt Martha didn’t leave; she became part of it.

And now it’s my turn.

——————

Epilogue

The local newspaper carried a brief article weeks later:

“Mystery Deepens in Ashgrove: Second Disappearance in the Forest”

Eliza Caldwell, a 28-year-old woman, has vanished under mysterious circumstances while staying at her aunt’s cottage. This marks the second disappearance in the area in recent months. Authorities are investigating, but no leads have been found.

Locals warn travelers to stay clear of the forest, claiming it’s cursed. They say the trees remember, and the forest always takes what it’s owed.

But no one listens.