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Names that should not be spoken
Last Updated:
2025-05-02 04:31:30
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A Night at Wildwood The fire buried in stone
Hollow Hill – Midday Clara hadn’t told anyone where she was going. Not Devon. Not the few rangers left who still patrolled the outer trails. Some places asked for silence. Hollow Hill was one of them. She hiked through overgrown trails lost to modern maps, past a dry riverbed and two fallen markers carved in spiral patterns. They were warnings, according to the Yanuwah texts — spirals meant a descent, a place where time curled inward and memory became a trap. As she reached the summit of the hill, the air changed. Still. Electric. The wind stopped, though the trees swayed slightly, as if breathing. And at the very top of the hill, buried in moss and half-swallowed by roots, lay a flat black stone. She brushed the leaves away. Beneath it, etched in a language she didn’t know — and yet somehow understood — was a single word: “Ishtaya.” Clara whispered it. The ground responded. ⸻ The Descent The stone shifted. Not away — but down. It sank, groaning, revealing a narrow spi
Last Updated : 2025-05-02A Night at Wildwood Blood remembers
Old Creek Crossing – Near Dusk Clara hiked back from Hollow Hill with the fire still burning inside her. It hadn’t faded. If anything, it had rooted itself deeper, spreading through her veins like wildfire stitched into bone. Every step she took left a tingling print of heat in the soles of her feet. The forest no longer whispered to her — it watched. Aware. Wary. She stopped at Old Creek Crossing to refill her canteen. The stream there had dried up years ago, but a narrow vein still trickled under the broken bridge. As she leaned down, she caught a reflection beside her own: A face. Painted. Eyes like flint. Clara spun, reaching for the blade on her hip — but the woman had already stepped back, hands raised in peace. “You’ve awakened it,” the woman said. Her voice was low, sharp. “I felt the ember flare from half a valley away.” Clara didn’t lower the blade. “Who are you?” The woman stepped closer. Late thirties, maybe. Hair braided tight, feathers laced through in the ol
Last Updated : 2025-05-02A Night at Wildwood Below the surface
Beneath WildWood – The Depths of the Forgotten Emily’s chest heaved in the damp air. Her arms, twisted and scraped, were held by the roots — no, by hands that were far older than the trees above. She had stopped screaming hours ago. There was no use in that anymore. Every time she had, the roots only tightened. There’s no escape, she thought. But she would not give in. The earth, once so alive beneath her feet, now felt like a grave. The roots had grown into her, had claimed her, but they didn’t just want her blood — they wanted her. They wanted to rewrite her. She gasped for air. It felt thinner the deeper she went, and the pain in her ribs was unbearable. There was nothing but the hum of the roots, the soft whispers of voices long lost. And beneath it, a darker presence. Her vision blurred. For a moment, Emily could hear Clara’s voice again, faint as if carried through time and space. Don’t stop fighting. But what could she fight when the forest had already made her part o
Last Updated : 2025-05-02A Night at Wildwood The root beneath the green
Deep WildWood — The Edge of the Threshold The ground had changed. The further Clara and Ashani moved into the WildWood’s heart, the more the forest stopped resembling anything earthly. Trees leaned at impossible angles. Bark had gone from deep brown to a pale gray, like the skin of something long dead. The leaves overhead no longer rustled — they hung still, as if holding their breath. The old ranger paths had vanished. Now, only roots marked the way — wide, veinlike things coiling through the dirt like exposed arteries. “We’re close,” Ashani murmured. “I can feel it pulling.” Clara nodded. The ember inside her had begun to burn hotter. Her chest felt tight — not from fear, but pressure, like something wanted out. “Clara…” Ashani paused, then lowered her voice. “What if what we find… isn’t Emily anymore?” Clara didn’t answer right away. Her eyes scanned the warped horizon, the way the trees bent away from some central point ahead, as though recoiling from something too ancient
Last Updated : 2025-05-03A Night at Wildwood chapter 1 - Into the mouth of madness
Epilogue -It all started back in 2002, when three fearless teenagers were dared to sneak into Camp WildWood at Terrell State Hospital.They were boys, of course — eager, cocky, and desperate to impress a group of girls from school.The oldest, Ben, had just turned seventeen. Dylan and Mark, sixteen-year-old twins, were right behind him. All three were star football players at Terrell High, convinced that spending a night at the abandoned camp would be a piece of cake.They were wrong.Chapter 1 -The night was thick with cackling laughter and blood-curdling screams that would have sent anyone sane running for their lives.It was ten o’clock when the boys, their bags packed, said goodbye to their friends.The girls they were trying to impress cried, begging them not to go, calling them crazy.Ben just chuckled as he climbed into his new Chevy truck, Dylan and Mark piling in beside him. They drove off without a care in the world.An hour later, they reached the hospital grounds.Ben s
Last Updated : 2025-04-27A Night at Wildwood Shadows at the edge of the woods
It was a little past midnight by the time the boys finished pitching the tent.They picked a hidden spot near the woods — close enough for cover, just in case someone drove by.Dylan and Mark stayed close together, letting Ben take the lead as they explored the area.“Guys, wait a minute,” Dylan whispered, his voice shaky. “I swear I just heard something… in the woods.”Ben turned, unimpressed.“Dude, it’s the woods. What do you expect? Kids laughing? Car alarms? It’s just animals,” Mark said sarcastically.Still, they moved carefully, every snap of a twig putting them more on edge.Suddenly, headlights flashed up the road.The boys froze, panic setting in.Without thinking, they bolted — sprinting toward the lake, away from the road.“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Mark hissed, stumbling over a root. “This is insane. We should’ve skipped this dare! I could be with Cassidy right now — not stuck here with dead people!”The headlights slowed at the gates to the cemetery…And then, in an instant, th
Last Updated : 2025-04-27A Night at Wildwood The hunt begins
Ben burst out of the woods, lungs burning, legs pumping harder than they ever had on the football field.He could see the gate ahead — and just beyond it, Dylan and Mark waiting, waving frantically.Almost there. Don’t stop.But then, from somewhere behind him, a horrible wild laugh echoed through the night.Ben glanced back.Out of the trees, two figures barreled toward him — Willy leading the charge, his mouth twisted into a manic grin, with Sue trailing behind, a look of pure desperation on her face.Ben threw himself at the fence. He scrambled up the rusted iron bars, his fingers slipping on the cold metal.Halfway up, a hand grabbed his ankle — Willy.“Gotcha, boy,” Willy hissed, yanking him downward.Ben kicked wildly, fighting to stay on the fence, but the madman’s grip was like iron.“Let go, you psycho!” Ben shouted.Willy only laughed harder — a bone-chilling, broken sound — and bit down on Ben’s leg.The pain made Ben lose his grip. He fell with a hard thud to the ground.B
Last Updated : 2025-04-27A Night at Wildwood No safe place
The truck roared down the country highway, its headlights cutting a frantic path through the darkness.Inside, the boys sat in stunned silence.Ben’s knuckles were white against the steering wheel.Mark stared blankly ahead, his chest heaving.Dylan kept glancing over his shoulder, half expecting to see Willy sprinting after them out of the darkness.No one spoke until they reached the safety of town.Ben jerked the truck into the driveway of their friend’s house, killed the engine, and turned to the others.“We can’t tell anyone,” he said hoarsely.Mark shook his head violently.“Are you crazy? We have to tell the cops — tell someone! That guy… those people… they’re still out there!”Ben leaned his forehead against the steering wheel, trying to breathe.“And say what, Mark? That we snuck onto state property because of a dare? That we saw ghosts? That some psycho tried to eat us?”Dylan finally spoke, his voice small:“What if they don’t believe us?”The truck sat silent for a long mo
Last Updated : 2025-04-27
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A Night at Wildwood The root beneath the green
Deep WildWood — The Edge of the Threshold The ground had changed. The further Clara and Ashani moved into the WildWood’s heart, the more the forest stopped resembling anything earthly. Trees leaned at impossible angles. Bark had gone from deep brown to a pale gray, like the skin of something long dead. The leaves overhead no longer rustled — they hung still, as if holding their breath. The old ranger paths had vanished. Now, only roots marked the way — wide, veinlike things coiling through the dirt like exposed arteries. “We’re close,” Ashani murmured. “I can feel it pulling.” Clara nodded. The ember inside her had begun to burn hotter. Her chest felt tight — not from fear, but pressure, like something wanted out. “Clara…” Ashani paused, then lowered her voice. “What if what we find… isn’t Emily anymore?” Clara didn’t answer right away. Her eyes scanned the warped horizon, the way the trees bent away from some central point ahead, as though recoiling from something too ancient
A Night at Wildwood Below the surface
Beneath WildWood – The Depths of the Forgotten Emily’s chest heaved in the damp air. Her arms, twisted and scraped, were held by the roots — no, by hands that were far older than the trees above. She had stopped screaming hours ago. There was no use in that anymore. Every time she had, the roots only tightened. There’s no escape, she thought. But she would not give in. The earth, once so alive beneath her feet, now felt like a grave. The roots had grown into her, had claimed her, but they didn’t just want her blood — they wanted her. They wanted to rewrite her. She gasped for air. It felt thinner the deeper she went, and the pain in her ribs was unbearable. There was nothing but the hum of the roots, the soft whispers of voices long lost. And beneath it, a darker presence. Her vision blurred. For a moment, Emily could hear Clara’s voice again, faint as if carried through time and space. Don’t stop fighting. But what could she fight when the forest had already made her part o
A Night at Wildwood Blood remembers
Old Creek Crossing – Near Dusk Clara hiked back from Hollow Hill with the fire still burning inside her. It hadn’t faded. If anything, it had rooted itself deeper, spreading through her veins like wildfire stitched into bone. Every step she took left a tingling print of heat in the soles of her feet. The forest no longer whispered to her — it watched. Aware. Wary. She stopped at Old Creek Crossing to refill her canteen. The stream there had dried up years ago, but a narrow vein still trickled under the broken bridge. As she leaned down, she caught a reflection beside her own: A face. Painted. Eyes like flint. Clara spun, reaching for the blade on her hip — but the woman had already stepped back, hands raised in peace. “You’ve awakened it,” the woman said. Her voice was low, sharp. “I felt the ember flare from half a valley away.” Clara didn’t lower the blade. “Who are you?” The woman stepped closer. Late thirties, maybe. Hair braided tight, feathers laced through in the ol
A Night at Wildwood The fire buried in stone
Hollow Hill – Midday Clara hadn’t told anyone where she was going. Not Devon. Not the few rangers left who still patrolled the outer trails. Some places asked for silence. Hollow Hill was one of them. She hiked through overgrown trails lost to modern maps, past a dry riverbed and two fallen markers carved in spiral patterns. They were warnings, according to the Yanuwah texts — spirals meant a descent, a place where time curled inward and memory became a trap. As she reached the summit of the hill, the air changed. Still. Electric. The wind stopped, though the trees swayed slightly, as if breathing. And at the very top of the hill, buried in moss and half-swallowed by roots, lay a flat black stone. She brushed the leaves away. Beneath it, etched in a language she didn’t know — and yet somehow understood — was a single word: “Ishtaya.” Clara whispered it. The ground responded. ⸻ The Descent The stone shifted. Not away — but down. It sank, groaning, revealing a narrow spi
A Night at Wildwood Names that should not be spoken
Ranger Station – Just Before Dawn Clara hadn’t slept. She sat at her desk surrounded by books — some borrowed from the Terrell Historical Society, others from the dusty back shelves of the town’s near-forgotten library, and one, far older, bound in worn deer hide. It was a gift. Left anonymously at her door six months ago. No note. No return address. Only a title burned into the cover in no language she could read. But tonight, when she flipped to its center, the same split tree symbol was there. Beneath it, in delicate, angular script: “Kaarayael. The Forgotten Root.” Clara exhaled, slow. The name vibrated in her skull. Just like the whisper from the forest. A call from below. She kept reading. ⸻ The Fragmented Record – Translated Excerpts “Before the settlers came, the Yanuwah spoke of two spirits: the Guardian and the Dreaming Root. One kept the balance. The other longed to become something else.” “The Root was not evil… but incomplete. Hungry. It did not understand dea
A Night at Wildwood The other half
Terrell State Hospital – Sub-Basement Level 3 The fluorescent lights above flickered once, then died. It didn’t matter. He didn’t need them. He moved by memory now — not his own, but inherited. Hand-me-down thoughts from long-dead voices. He muttered names as he walked: Halloway. Ishtaya. Marla. Emily. Over and over. Like steps in a staircase made of blood. In one hand, he carried a canvas duffel filled with tools: a chisel, two glass vials, and a fragment of bone etched with symbols that hummed if you tilted it just right. In the other, he held a map. Not one of paper. One burned into his palm. He had followed the corridor that used to house the hydrotherapy ward — the deepest part of the hospital. The place that, officially, no longer existed. Half collapsed after the fire in ‘73. Sealed since. Forgotten by the state. But the forest remembered. The Door Beneath the Ashes The hallway ended in melted iron bars and charred stone. He knelt, brushing away soot and ash until hi
A Night at Wildwood The first name
Hello! Before diving in I was just hoping to say I hope everyone has liked or enjoyed the story so far.. I know it’s changed a lot! I have decided this is the turn the story will take and I hope you all enjoy it as much as I have while working on it! Thank you all for the support! Now back to the book!! ————————————————-Long Ago — Before the Founding of Terrell The forest did not yet have a name. It breathed with the quiet of sacred things, watched over by those who knew the rhythms of root and sky, who spoke to stone and river as kin. The people — the Yanuwah — did not fear the woods. But they respected it. And they never went beyond the Hollow Hill after dusk. Not even the elders. Because something had fallen there, long before even their time — not a god, not a demon, but something stranger: a dream left unfinished, still writhing beneath the earth. And its name was Kaarayael. The Dreaming Root. It whispered in the soil. ⸻ The Healer and the Flame Ishtaya was
A Night at Wildwood The forest waits
Six Months Later — Late Autumn in Terrell WildWood had grown still. Not silent — the birds had returned, deer moved carefully along the outer trails again — but the forest no longer watched. It no longer reached for blood or whispered in tongues older than man. The rift was gone. The old altar beneath the roots had collapsed into itself, swallowed by earth, sealed by whatever strange magic Clara had invoked. Yet something new had taken its place — a single grove of pale white trees, grown in a perfect circle, their bark smooth as bone. Locals called it the Heart Ring. No one entered it. No one even tried. Clara Moss — Caretaker Clara lived in the old ranger station now. Alone. The others had moved on. Devon, still shaken but alive, had returned to his life — a little quieter, a little less smug. Lucas had left Terrell altogether, vanishing into the city, chasing some promise of peace he hadn’t yet found. But Clara stayed. Every morning she walked the forest lin
A Night at Wildwood The hollow god
The Core of WildWood — Where the Rift Bleeds Through They stepped out of the tunnel and into a cathedral of rot. Above them, the sky was wrong — not made of clouds, but of tangled roots pulsing like muscle, and torn open to expose a void beyond comprehension. Below, the altar Emily had once bled upon now crackled with black fire. The vines had formed a crude throne where a figure sat hunched, spasming in fits of unnatural movement. Vareth’kaal. Or what remained of him. He was unraveling. Smoke bled from his seams. His limbs twitched in broken, uneven rhythms. From his chest leaked streaks of golden light, not his own, but stolen — borrowed — from Emily. Her essence. Her defiance. It was killing him. Clara gripped the bone key tighter. Lucas whispered, “Do you see that? His chest— It’s like something’s trying to burn its way out.” Devon, pale with awe, added, “It’s her. She’s still inside.” Vareth’kaal rose from his throne, taller than before — but less stable. One of his
