That morning began like so many others. I woke early, brewed my tea, and packed my old wicker basket. My pension wasn’t much, so for years I had survived by gathering mushrooms in the nearby forest. It wasn’t just work — it was therapy. The smell of moss, the birdsong, and the rustling leaves brought back the memory of my husband, who had once shown me every hidden path of those woods.😨🫣
The rain had stopped the day before, leaving the forest damp and rich with life. Perfect for mushrooms. The sun slipped through the branches, scattering golden light across the mossy ground. My basket filled quickly with fat, golden-brown porcini. I felt light, almost happy — humming to myself as I followed a familiar trail that curved deeper into the woods.
Under an enormous old pine, I spotted what looked like the biggest white mushroom I had ever seen. I smiled, stepping carefully toward it. But the moment my foot touched the ground, everything gave way beneath me. The earth crumbled, and I plunged downward.
The fall wasn’t long, but it was enough to knock the wind from my chest. I landed on damp soil, coughing, dazed. When I looked up, I realized I was trapped — inside a deep hole, maybe ten feet down, its sides crumbling and slick with mud.
I shouted for help, but only the echo of my voice came back. The forest, usually alive with chirps and rustles, was eerily silent. I tried to climb out, but the dirt walls broke apart under my fingers. Each time I thought I found a hold — a root, a rock — it tore free, showering me with earth.
My heart pounded. I sat back to catch my breath, staring at the dark, wet soil. Then I saw something strange — a pale shape embedded in the side of the pit. At first, I thought it was a smooth stone. But something about it… didn’t seem right.
I leaned closer, brushed away a bit of mud with my trembling hand — and froze. It wasn’t a stone. It was bone.
A human bone.
A chill ran down my spine. My hands began to shake as I pushed away more earth. Then, suddenly, a hollow space appeared — and from the mud, a face emerged.
I gasped and stumbled backward, my back slamming against the opposite wall. The face was that of a man — pale, lifeless, half-buried in the earth. His empty eye sockets seemed to stare right through me.
I couldn’t breathe. My mind screamed that it was impossible. But as I looked closer, something about the collar of his tattered shirt, the rusty button still clinging to it… looked familiar.
And then I understood.
It was my neighbor — the man who had vanished from our village a year earlier. The one everyone thought had run away, leaving his wife behind. I remembered how the search parties combed these woods, how people whispered that he must have gone off to start a new life. But he hadn’t gone anywhere. He had been here all along.
The truth hit me like ice. The ground had collapsed because the earth over his grave had finally given way. The forest had hidden him, holding its secret until I stumbled upon it.
For a long time, I couldn’t move. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of wet soil and decay. My hands, covered in mud, trembled uncontrollably. I felt as if the forest itself were watching me, its ancient trees whispering in a language I couldn’t understand.
Finally, I gathered the courage to scream again — louder this time. My voice cracked through the stillness, echoing endlessly until, at last, I heard faint footsteps and the sound of a man calling back. A group of hikers appeared above the pit. Their shocked faces peered down at me before one of them ran to fetch help.
When they pulled me out, I collapsed on the ground, shaking. The police came soon after. They covered the hole, marked the area, and gently led me away.
Later, one of the officers told me the body had indeed belonged to my missing neighbor. No foul play was suspected — perhaps he had fallen by accident, just as I did. But somehow, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the forest had wanted him to be found… and had chosen me to do it.
Even now, when I close my eyes, I can still see his face beneath the soil — and I still hear that terrible silence that followed my fall.
Sometimes, when the wind rustles through the trees outside my window, I imagine the forest whispering again — calling, reminding me of the secret it made me uncover. 🌲
