They Whisper Back

The forest was dense and foreboding, the trees towering above like dark sentinels, casting long shadows across the narrow path. James and Clara trudged through the underbrush, their steps heavy with the weight of Rachel’s final wish. She had always been fascinated by the supernatural—by stories of spirits and ancient rites—and before she passed, she asked them to bury her body deep in the woods, far from any prying eyes. Near her cabin, she received as a family heirloom that resides deep in the forest, middle of nowhere.

At first, James hadn’t questioned it. But now, with the wind howling through the trees and the air growing colder, a sense of unease crept over him. He could tell Clara felt it too. She hadn’t spoken much since they began the hike, her eyes constantly darting to the thickening shadows around them.

“James,” Clara whispered, her voice barely audible over the wind. “Do you feel that? It’s... wrong. Like the woods don’t want us here.”

James glanced at her. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with fear. “It’s just your nerves. We’re almost there.”

But even as he said it, the air seemed to press in around them, heavy and suffocating, as though the forest itself was holding its breath.

They reach the old cabin, tired from all the hike they have done to fulfil a stupid wish James thinks. “How would she know if we really did bury her remains in the woods? She won’t right? We shouldn’t have come here.” James asks Clara. “Hey James, don’t say things like this, she was our best friend it’s our job to fulfil her wish.” “Ahhaaa Fine!!” James grunts.

As the last traces of sunlight were fading from the sky. They searched from the hidden spot Rachel mentioned and there it was as she had described—a hidden spot in the heart of the woods, isolated and forgotten by time. The grave was already dug, ready for her remains to be laid to rest. James knelt beside the hole, hands trembling as he began to lower Rachel’s remains into the earth, wrapped tightly in her ancestry vase. Clara stood nearby, her arms crossed, her face turned toward the forest, eyes darting nervously between the trees.

“I don’t like this, James,” Clara said, her voice tight with fear. “Something’s wrong. I can’t shake the feeling that we shouldn’t be here.”

James wiped his hands on his pants, trying to reassure her. “Rachel wanted this. It’s her final wish.”

Clara didn’t respond. She simply stared into the growing darkness, her breathing shallow, her lips parted as if listening for something.

Then, they heard it.

A low growl, deep and guttural, came from the edge of the clearing, its sound reverberating through the trees.

James’s blood ran cold. “What the hell was that?”

Clara exclaimed with a pale face. “James... I think it’s a skinwalker.”

“A what?”

“A skinwalker,” Clara repeated, her voice trembling. “It’s... a creature from Native American folklore. It can take the skin of animals, even people. It wears them. Becomes them. Rachel mentioned it several times, she said somewhere in the deep forest there might exist one. But I always thought she was joking.”

James shook his head, trying to push the rising panic from his chest. “That’s just a story, Clara. We need to finish this.”

But before he could say another word, the growl came again—closer, louder.

James felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. This wasn’t just some wild animal. This was something else. Something far worse.

The trees shifted, and out of the darkness emerged a figure—tall, unnaturally thin, its body flickering between man and beast. Its skin was stretched tight over its bones, its unnaturally strangled face, twisted version of humanity. Its eyes gleamed in the dark, burning like embers, as it stepped into the clearing.

Clara froze, her hand flying to her mouth in horror. “Oh God... It’s real.”

The skinwalker grinned, its mouth stretching wide, revealing rows of jagged teeth. Its voice was a rasping, guttural growl, low and unnatural. “You buried her... but she is still here.”

Before they could react, the creature lunged at them.

Clara screamed, and without thinking, James grabbed her arm and yanked her away, but the skinwalker was faster. It reached out with clawed fingers, slashing through the air, and Clara stumbled, falling to the ground with a cry. The skinwalker pounced on her, its claws sinking deep into her flesh, dragging her away from James’s grasp.

“Clara!” James shouted, but the words died in his throat. There was nothing he could do. The creature’s strength was monstrous, and Clara’s screams were quickly muffled as the skinwalker tore into her, clawing her intestines out and feasting on them.

James turned and ran, his heart pounding in his chest, the sound of Clara’s screams echoing in his ears as he stumbled through the forest. Branches whipped at his face, roots twisted underfoot, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop.

He pushed himself harder, faster, his body fueled by nothing but fear. The skinwalker’s growl followed him, growing closer with every step. He could hear its footsteps behind him—unnaturally fast, too fluid to be human. It was gaining on him.

He broke through the tree line, his breath ragged and chest burning. The road was in sight—he was almost there. He had to make it. He had to survive.

And then, he heard it. A voice.

“James...” It was Clara’s voice, but it wasn’t her voice. It was distorted, twisted, like something else entirely. It sounded wrong. Hollow.

James skidded to a halt, turning to see a figure standing just inside the tree line. It was Clara—or at least, it looked like Clara. Her face was pale, her body slumped as though injured. But there was something off about her—her eyes, wide and empty, glowed faintly in the dark. Her mouth twisted into an unnatural grin.

“Clara?” James whispered, his heart sinking. He knew, even before she spoke, that it wasn’t her.

“You left me, James,” the thing that looked like Clara said, its voice a twisted mimicry of her own. “You left me to die, just like you left Rachel.”

James took a step back, his breath caught in his throat. “No… no, you’re not her.”

The creature’s grin widened, and for a moment, it flickered, its body shifting unnaturally, its skin pulling taut like leather over bones. And then—it changed. The skin stretched and melted, the shape contorting as it morphed into Clara’s exact likeness, her eyes still glowing with that faint, unnatural light.

James’s stomach churned. The skinwalker had taken Clara’s form. It was wearing her skin.

“No!” James shouted, panic clawing at him. “Get away from me!”

With a shriek, the skinwalker lunged again, but James was ready this time. His legs pumped faster than they had ever before, his body moving on pure instinct. He crashed through the last of the trees, not daring to look back. The road was just ahead—freedom.

His heart pounded in his chest as he ran, the skinwalker’s grotesque laugh ringing in his ears. He reached the road, collapsed onto it, and didn’t stop until he was far away—until the woods were nothing but a dark, oppressive memory.

He never saw the skinwalker again, but he could still hear Clara’s voice—twisted, hollow—echoing in his mind.

“You left me, James.”

He saw a car rushing on the road and as soon as the car stopped, he collapsed murmering “it took her…..”

Next day he woke up in a hospital bed, what happened yesterday was a vague memory that he wanted to be a dream… no to be exact a nightmare. But it wasn’t, Clara was gone and now he was all alone with a memory that will always haunt him.

As they say, “Skinwalkers doesn’t just haunt the land. It haunts the soul.”