Emma had always been drawn to the old oak tree at the edge of the woods. Its gnarled branches seemed to whisper secrets in the wind.
One rainy afternoon, while exploring the roots, she spotted something glinting in the dirt—a tarnished silver locket, half-buried and forgotten. Her fingers trembled as she pried it open, revealing a faded photo of a woman who looked eerily familiar.
That night, Emma dreamt of a woman in a white dress, standing beneath the same oak tree, tears streaming down her face. The woman whispered a name—”Clara”—before vanishing into the mist. Emma woke with a start, the locket still clutched in her hand. Determined to uncover the truth, she returned to the woods at dawn, only to find fresh footprints leading deeper into the trees.
Emma ran home, her heart pounding. The next day, she returned to place the locket on Clara’s grave. As she turned to leave, the wind rustled the leaves, sounding almost like laughter. The whispers in the woods had finally found peace—and so had Emma.
