The jungle had a way of swallowing sound.
At dusk, when the sky bled from orange into bruised purple, the trees stood unnaturally still, as if listening. Mist crawled low across the forest floor, sliding around roots like living breath. Birds had gone silent. Even insects knew better than to speak.
That was when they ran.
A man and a woman burst out of the jungle as if expelled by something that no longer wanted them inside. Branches snapped behind them. Their clothes were torn, skin streaked with mud and blood. The woman’s shoe was gone. The man’s hands shook so badly he could barely keep his balance.
Their eyes were the most frightening part.
They weren’t just scared.
They looked wronged.
“START THE CAR! START THE CAR!” the man screamed, his voice cracking like glass under pressure.
Near the car stood an old, handsome man — silver hair, sharp jawline, calm eyes that had seen too much life to be surprised easily. He had been waiting there longer than anyone should wait near a jungle like this.
He froze.
“What happened?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. “Why are you—”
The running man grabbed the car door with both hands, knuckles white, breath tearing through his chest.
“We’ll tell you later,” he gasped. “Just—just drive. Please. NOW.”
The old man didn’t argue.
The engine roared alive.
INSIDE THE CAR
The doors slammed shut.
Silence swallowed them.
The car sped down the narrow dirt road, headlights slicing through fog. Inside, no one spoke. Sweat rolled down faces. The woman hugged herself, rocking slightly, lips moving without sound.
The driver — the old man — glanced at them in the mirror.
The man in the back seat stared at his hands. They were trembling, and no matter how tightly he clenched them, they wouldn’t stop.
The woman suddenly whispered, “Did it follow us?”
No one answered.
Another mile passed.
Then—
WOOSSH.
Something brushed the back of the car.
The engine sputtered for half a second.
The lights flickered.
The old man’s jaw tightened.
He knew that sound.
TWELVE HOURS EARLIER
They had entered the jungle smiling.
It was supposed to be simple.
A shortcut. A rumor. A story locals told tourists to scare them away from land disputes and illegal mining sites. The map showed an abandoned trail cutting through dense forest, saving four hours of driving.
The old man — Mr. Rao — had warned them.
“Some roads are erased for a reason,” he had said calmly.
The younger man laughed. “Sir, with respect, it’s just trees.”
The woman hesitated, but trust won.
They walked in.
At first, the jungle was beautiful. Sunlight spilled through leaves. The air smelled clean. Their footsteps echoed softly, almost welcoming.
Then the birds stopped singing.
The path narrowed.
And the jungle began to repeat itself.
They passed the same twisted tree three times.
The same rock shaped like a broken tooth.
The man joked nervously. “We’re walking in circles.”
“No,” the woman said slowly. “We’re being walked.”
They heard footsteps behind them.
When they turned, nothing was there.
THE FIRST SIGN
They found the watch hanging from a branch.
Old. Rusted. Still ticking.
Engraved on the back were words scratched deep:
DON’T ANSWER IT
The woman reached for it.
The jungle breathed.
A voice whispered her name.
Not shouted.
Not echoed.
Spoken softly — from nowhere.
She screamed.
That was when they ran for the first time.
THE THING THAT WALKS WITHOUT FEET
As darkness thickened, the jungle changed shape. Trees leaned inward. Roots rose like fingers. Paths vanished behind them.
They heard breathing that did not belong to any living thing.
Not heavy.
Not light.
Measured.
Patient.
The man turned once.
He regretted it instantly.
It had no face.
Only the idea of one.
A tall silhouette darker than the dark, its shape bending wrong, as if joints were optional. It didn’t walk.
It slid, soundlessly, like reality stepping aside for it.
The woman cried. “What is that?”
The answer came from behind the trees.
A voice that sounded like many voices learning how to be one.
“You came when called.”
They hadn’t called it.
But something inside them had listened.
THE TRUTH ABOUT THE ROAD
They reached a clearing with stones arranged in a circle. Symbols carved deep, old enough to be grown into by moss.
At the center lay bones.
Human bones.
Neatly stacked.
And fresh ones, still wet.
That’s when they understood.
This wasn’t a shortcut.
It was a gate.
The jungle didn’t trap people.
It answered them.
Fear. Greed. Curiosity. Desperation.
Every person who entered brought something unfinished.
And the jungle collected payment.
The thing stepped into the clearing.
“You may leave,” it said kindly. “But one must stay.”
The woman screamed no.
The man stepped forward.
Then the jungle laughed.
WHY THEY ESCAPED
They never remembered how they ran again.
Only pain.
Only heat.
Only the sound of branches snapping behind them.
Something chased them — not fast, not slow — just close enough to remind them escape was allowed… for now.
When they burst out of the jungle and saw the car, it felt unreal. Like waking from a nightmare that hadn’t ended yet.
And the man near the car—
The old man.
He wasn’t surprised.
He was waiting.
BACK IN THE CAR
Mr. Rao tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
“You heard it, didn’t you?” he said quietly.
The man nodded.
The woman whispered, “You knew.”
“Yes,” Mr. Rao replied. “And I warned you.”
Another WOOSSH brushed the car.
This time closer.
The mirrors fogged.
The temperature dropped.
“You didn’t close the gate,” the old man continued. “You can’t. Once it knows you, it follows.”
The man’s voice broke. “Then why help us?”
Mr. Rao smiled sadly.
“Because it doesn’t want you.”
The car slowed on its own.
The engine died.
Darkness pressed in from all sides.
A shape formed ahead.
Tall.
Waiting.
The woman screamed.
Mr. Rao opened his door.
“Go,” he said.
“What?” the man shouted. “You’ll die!”
Mr. Rao stepped out calmly, adjusting his coat.
“No,” he said. “I’ll go home.”
The jungle leaned closer.
The shape bowed.
Respectfully.
The man and woman watched in horror as the old man walked into the darkness — and vanished like he had never existed.
The engine restarted.
The road appeared.
The jungle released them.
AFTER
They never spoke about it publicly.
But sometimes, at night, the man hears his name whispered gently.
Sometimes the woman wakes with mud under her nails.
And sometimes, on empty highways near forests erased from maps, people see an old handsome man standing beside a parked car—
Waiting.
Listening.
For someone to call.
