Whispers in the Woods

Arriate, a quaint small town nestled within the rolling hills of Spain, surrounded by dense woods. The town’s cobbled streets wind between whitewashed buildings, leading to cozy cafes, local markets, and hidden boutiques. It’s here that Charlotte Cooper finds herself, staying in a small inn, far from the bustling city life she’s used to.

Charlotte, a brunette with pink highlights in her hair, has always been the curious type—something that’s both a blessing and a curse. She’s come to Arriate for a reason that most wouldn’t understand, but she had to come.

The morning light filtered through the thin curtains of the small inn room. Charlotte sat on the edge of the bed, the old springs creaked under her weight as she stared at the items scattered across the floral-patterned quilt. Most of the things were Alaska’s—her passport, a book, and a pair of elegant shoes that Charlotte couldn’t take her eyes off. She continued to sift through Alaska’s belongings in silence.

It had been a few weeks since Alaska had vanished without a trace, but Charlotte still held on to the hope that she’d find some kind of clue—anything that could tell her what had happened. Just as she picked up a pair of shoes, her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She glanced at the screen, seeing her mum’s name flash across it. With a sigh, she answered. “Hey, Mum,” Charlotte said, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Hi, love,” her mum’s voice was warm, but there was a tension beneath it. “I was just thinking about you. I know this is hard, and I’m really worried about you being there on your own. How about I bring you a coffee and a snack? I found this cute little café nearby—wait until you see the pastries. They’re gorgeous.”

Charlotte bit her lip, and glanced around the room filled with Alaska’s things. “Thanks, Mum, but I really want to do this on my own. I need to figure this out.” There was a pause on the other end. “Okay, sweetheart. Just… take care of yourself, alright? I’ll be nearby if you need anything.”

“I will,” Charlotte promised, before ending the call. She stared at the shoes in her hand, her resolve hardened. I have to do this. She thought to herself as her eyes flicked back to the shoes. They were brand new, not scuffed or worn, like something Alaska would’ve picked up on a whim but next to never would have worn.

Why would Alaska buy these? she wondered as she picked one up. It was a designer brand, expensive and completely out of character for her friend, who was more comfortable in sneakers or sandals. Determined to trace the shoes back to their source, Charlotte decided to explore Arriate. If she could find the store where Alaska bought these, maybe she could find someone who remembered seeing her. The town wasn’t large, and with the shoes being so distinctive, surely someone would remember her friend.

Flashback:

Six months earlier, back in Australia, Charlotte had watched as Alaska excitedly packed her bags for Europe. Alaska had always been the adventurous one, itching to see the world, while Charlotte preferred the comfort of the familiar. “I can’t believe you’re leaving so soon, Alaska,” Charlotte had said as she leant against the doorframe of Alaska’s cluttered bedroom. “Are you sure this is the right time? Are you sure you don’t want to wait until I finish my degree? I have less than a year to go, then I can come with you!”

“It’s now or never, Char,” Alaska had replied with a grin, and she tossed a guidebook into her suitcase. “Europe has always been on my list, and I need this break. But I promise, time will pass quicker than you think, then you can meet me over there once you’ve finished your exams. I’ll be waiting for you there.”

That promise now felt hollow. Charlotte shook the memory from her mind and stood up, slipping on her jacket. She had a town to explore and a mystery to solve. The streets of Arriate were quiet, the morning air still cool. As Charlotte walked, she found herself drawn to a small, charming shop tucked away on a side street. The sign above the door was simple, hand-painted, with the words *Calzado Artesanal*—Artisanal Footwear.

Inside, the shop was filled with the scent of leather and wood polish. Rows of meticulously crafted shoes lined the walls, each pair unique, with a story of its own. Charlotte felt a pang of recognition when she spotted a pair almost identical to the ones Alaska had left behind.

A middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a warm smile stood behind the counter. “Buenos días,” she greeted Charlotte in Spanish. “Can I help you with something?”

Charlotte hesitated, then held up the shoes she’d brought from the inn. “Did you sell these shoes to anyone recently?” she asked in English, hoping the woman understood. The shopkeeper’s eyes narrowed in thought before she nodded.

“Yes, I remember these. A young woman bought them not too long ago. Very sweet, said something about needing an outfit for a party.”

Charlotte’s heart skipped a beat. “Do you know where this party was?” Charlotte pressed. The shopkeeper shook her head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t ask. Maybe some of the younger girls around town would know though.” She suggested with a warm smile. Charlotte thanked her and left to continue searching for answers.

Charlotte spent the rest of the day moving from store to store, café to café, and even stopping passersby on the streets. Each time, she held up a printed photo of Alaska, her heart sinking a little further with each shake of the head. In the photo, Alaska was her usual vibrant self. Her honey-blonde hair was swept over one shoulder, her eyes bright with mischief, and a wide, toothy smile that could light up any room. She had a certain glow about her, the kind that made people gravitate toward her effortlessly. But here, in Arriate, no one seemed to recognize that face at all.

“¿Has visto a esta chica?” Charlotte asked in her best Spanish, holding up the photo to a shopkeeper. “No, lo siento,” the man replied, shaking his head apologetically. “I’m sorry, I haven’t seen her.” It was the same response every time. By the time the sun began to set, casting long shadows over the town, Charlotte felt defeated. She made her way back to the inn, exhaustion weighed her down.

This time, she didn’t head straight for Alaska’s room but instead went to the main suite that she was sharing with her mum. As she opened the door, the sound of her mother’s voice drifted over from the adjoining living area. “Oh, it’s just wonderful here, Jenny! You wouldn’t believe how charming this town is, and the men—well, let’s just say there’s something about that Spanish accent…” Charlotte’s mum was on a video call with her friend back in Australia, her voice filled with the lightness that Charlotte hadn’t felt in days.

Charlotte paused as she overheard Jenny’s voice on the other end of the line.

“You should really get back out there, Rose. It’s been long enough. You’re in Spain, for goodness’ sake! Live a little. Go on a date, find yourself a handsome Spaniard.” She giggled.

Rose let out a nervous laugh, the sound touched with insecurity. “Oh, I don’t know Jenny. It’s been ages since… well, since I’ve even thought about dating. And besides, I’m not exactly in the best shape. I mean, look at me, I’m nothing like the women here. They’re drop, dead gorgeous!”

Jenny’s response was swift and encouraging. “Nonsense, Rose! You’re beautiful, and you deserve to be happy with someone who knows it! Don’t let self-doubt hold you back.”

Charlotte felt a twinge of sadness as she listened to her mum’s insecurity, coupled with a pang of frustration that such trivial things were being discussed when Alaska was still missing. She stepped into the small kitchenette and decided she did not have the energy to engage in the conversation.

She fixed herself a simple meal of bread and cheese, her stomach too tied up in knots to manage anything more substantial. As she spread butter over the bread, her mum appeared in the doorway. “How did you go today, love?” she asked, a trace of concern slipped into her otherwise chipper tone.

Charlotte shook her head, not trusting herself to speak without her voice cracking. “No luck,” she muttered, keeping her eyes on her task.

Her mum hesitated for a moment, as if unsure whether to press further, but then seemed to think better of it. “Well, I’m sure something will turn up soon,” she said, her voice too bright, too hopeful. Charlotte nodded absently, and finished her meal in silence. Without another word, Charlotte slipped into the bathroom for a quick shower before retreating to bed, determined to rest up for another long day of searching.

…

The next two days blurred together in a frustrating haze of dead ends. Charlotte continued her routine, approaching anyone who might have seen Alaska, clutching the photo in her hand as if it were a lifeline. A few people claimed they recognized the girl but offered no useful leads. Most, however, simply shook their heads or didn’t bother to answer at all.

By the third evening, Charlotte returned to the inn even more disheartened. As she approached the door, she could hear her mother’s voice carrying through the thin walls. “I just don’t know what that girl was thinking, traveling alone in a foreign country. Honestly, what did she expect?” her mum’s voice was sharp, filled with irritation.

Charlotte froze in place, her heart sank. She knew her mum was worried, but to hear her talk about Alaska like this—victim-blaming and dismissive—made Charlotte’s blood boil. “Of course it’s hopeless,” her mum continued, “She’s probably just gone off the grid to ‘find herself’ or something. I mean, who really knows with these young girls nowadays?”

Furious and hurt, Charlotte pushed open the door, her mum’s words hit her like a slap in the face. She stormed through the main room without a word, not even glancing in her mother’s direction, before she slammed the door to her room shut. She leant against it for a moment, and fought the tears that pricked at her eyes. I can’t do this alone, she thought, but she knew she had no other choice.

Flashback:

Charlotte was sitting in her university lecture hall, struggling to focus on the material. The end of the semester was near, and her final exams were looming. As her professor droned on, Charlotte’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She ignored it at first, thinking it could wait until after class, but then the vibration persisted. She pulled out her phone, expecting a message from a classmate or a notification, but her breath caught in her throat when she saw the name on the screen: Heather.

Heather was Alaska’s mother, and she never called Charlotte unless it was urgent. A pit formed in Charlotte’s stomach as she excused herself from the room, slipping out as quietly as possible so as not to disturb the lecture. Once outside, she answered the call with trepidation. “Heather? Is everything okay?” she asked, trying to keep her voice calm, though the anxiety gnawing at her made it difficult.

“Charlotte,” Heather’s voice cracked on the other end of the line, filled with uncharacteristic panic. “I haven’t heard from Alaska in over three weeks. I’ve been trying to contact her, but she’s not responding to any of my messages or calls. The inn she was staying at just called me—they say she hasn’t paid for her room for the past week. They wanted to know if I could cover the cost, but I’m more worried about what this means. This isn’t like Alaska at all…”

Charlotte felt the world tilt slightly. Alaska, the girl who was always so vibrant and full of life, had gone silent? The idea was absurd, terrifying even. “Are you sure she’s just not caught up in something? You know how she gets when she’s on one of her adventures…” Charlotte’s eyes squeezed shut tightly, silently she begged for Heather to agree, but alas she did not.

“No, Charlotte, this is different,” Heather interrupted, her voice trembling. “She always checks in, even if it’s just a quick text. And now, with everything I’m going through, I can’t… I just can’t go there myself.” Charlotte’s heart ached at the realization. Heather had been diagnosed with skin cancer not long ago, something she had downplayed, but it was serious enough that she couldn’t travel.

Without a second thought, Charlotte made a decision. “I’ll go,” she said, her voice firm. “I’ll book a flight and head over as soon as I can. Don’t worry, Heather. I’ll find out what’s going on.”

“Oh, Charlotte, thank you. I didn’t know who else to turn to. I know she trusts you more than anyone. Please, find her.”

“I will,” Charlotte promised, already planning the logistics in her head. She would have to postpone some of her exams, but she couldn’t care less at that moment. Alaska needed her. The call ended with Heather’s quiet gratitude. Charlotte stared at her phone, the now black screen reflected her own worried expression. She had no idea what she was walking into, but she knew she couldn’t sit idly by.

End of Flashback

Charlotte lay in bed, the weight of that memory pressing down on her. She was exhausted, but sleep eluded her. The thought of Alaska alone, possibly in danger, tormented her mind. With a heavy heart, she closed her eyes and finally succumbed to the darkness of sleep, hoping that tomorrow would bring new answers.

…

The next day, as the early afternoon sun beat down on the town, Charlotte found herself growing increasingly frustrated. Her search had yielded nothing but exhaustion and anxiety. The local police had been of little help, their polite yet dismissive attitudes suggested they had more pressing matters to attend to.

Desperate for a break, Charlotte wandered into a small ice cream shop she hadn’t noticed before. The cool air inside was a welcome relief, and the cheerful clinking of spoons against bowls offered a brief respite from her troubles.

As she glanced around the shop, her eyes fell on three girls sitting together at a cute, intricately designed, white table. They were chatting, laughing, and eating gelato, their carefree joy was a stark contrast to the heaviness that weighed on Charlotte’s heart. For a moment, she was transported back to a time when she and Alaska had been just like them.

Flashback:

It was a warm summer evening in Australia, and Charlotte and Alaska had just finished their finals. They were celebrating with ice cream at their favourite spot by the beach, a tiny shop known for its outrageous flavours. “I dare you to try the wasabi and lime,” Alaska teased, her eyes sparkled with mischief as she nudged Charlotte.

“Only if you try the lavender and honeycomb,” Charlotte shot back with a grin. They’d ended up laughing so hard at the faces each other pulled and the sounds they made at the odd-tasting ice-cream, that they had tears in their eyes. They spent the rest of the evening walking along the shore, ice-creams in hand, talking about everything and nothing.

Those were the moments Charlotte cherished the most—the ones where the world seemed perfect, if only for a little while.

End of Flashback.

Charlotte blinked, the memory fading as the sound of the woman behind the counter brought her back to the present. She was grateful for the brief escape, but the reality of why she was here quickly set back in.

Behind the counter, the woman with a friendly smile greeted her in Spanish. “Hola, ¿en qué puedo ayudarte hoy?”

Charlotte’s eyes drifted to the menu, but her thoughts were stuck on that now bitter sweet memory. She ordered a simple chocolate gelato, hoping the familiar taste would provide some comfort. As the woman prepared her order, Charlotte mustered the courage to ask, once again, if anyone had seen Alaska. She held up the now slightly crumpled photo, her voice tired as she repeated the question in Spanish. The woman behind the counter shook her head, offering a sympathetic smile. “Lo siento,” she said. “I haven’t seen her.”

Just as Charlotte was about to turn away, a young man who had been making a milkshake for another customer looked up. “¡Esperar! ¡La he visto!” he spoke rapidly. “¡Es la chica australiana que estuvo en todas esas fiestas en Ronda!”

“Sorry,” she interrupted, switching to English. “I speak English—could you write that down?” The young man chuckled, realizing his mistake.

“Of course,” he said, his Spanish accent making the English sound musical. He quickly explained that Alaska had been seen at several parties in Ronda, often hanging out with him and his friends. Charlotte felt a surge of hope.

“Can you point me in the direction of Ronda?” she asked eagerly. The young man, who introduced himself as Pedro, nodded. “I’m heading that way after my shift ends in half an hour. I can show you the way, if you’d like.” Charlotte agreed, her heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and anxiety.