Chapter Six: "Whispers of the Forest"
He woke to a weight on his chest, as if the forest itself had settled upon him to stop him from breathing.
The humidity clung to his body, dew seeping through the leaves to drip onto his pale face. The air was not ordinary; it was a suffocating mixture of mold, cold, and the scent of plants he had never known before.
He raised his head with difficulty and found himself staring at the dense green canopy above, his eyes still haunted by the nightmare that had pursued him through the night…
The image of the creature that had fallen beneath his blows.
That scene would not leave him.
Whenever he closed his eyes, the blood returned, and that final look in its eyes returned. He could not decide: had it hated him until the last moment, or had it silently begged him?
He felt a pang in his stomach, as if he had swallowed a cold stone that would not go down.
He whispered to himself in a hoarse voice:
— "I… killed?"
But did he have the right to call himself a killer? He had only fought to survive. Yet he could not shake the heavy feeling that he had crossed a threshold from which there was no return. In the world he had left behind, killing was a crime. Here, in this new world, was killing… instinct? Or sin?
He did not know. And he did not have the luxury of knowing.
---
The first thing that came to his mind after waking was to call out Fouad's name, or anyone who had been with him on the boat. But he quickly realized that would be useless—worse, it might attract the attention of other creatures.
He had no choice but to accept reality: he was alone. And this forest was not just any ordinary place he could wander through searching for a way out.
But how had he ended up here? Days ago, he had been merely a young man trying to migrate in search of a new opportunity—an ordinary human with all his worries, dreams, and frustrations.
Now? He had become someone else. A man alone in a desolate forest, pursued by strange nightmares and creatures that should not exist. Was this death? Or was he simply in an unknown land beyond the borders of the world he had known?
He did not want to think about it for too long. He had to move, to search for water, food, and shelter. Hunger was consuming him, and he knew he needed to eat something before exhaustion overtook him completely.
He remembered the strange fruit he had found yesterday. Despite his doubts, he had no other choice. It was the only food, and with sunset approaching and night falling, he could not search for a clear, known food source.
---
The first night was long.
He sat beneath a massive tree, its trunk too wide for his arms to encircle, his exhausted body draped in a cloak of darkness and moisture.
He tried to sleep, but his eyelids trembled every time they began to close. Every sound hurled him into a new wakefulness: the rustle of a leaf, the fall of a fruit, a distant screech whose source he did not know.
He opened his eyes every few minutes, making sure nothing was approaching him. The forest's darkness was so thick that he could not see his hand if he extended it before his face. He relied only on his ears, and they betrayed him constantly.
Once, he heard light footsteps. They approached slowly, then stopped, then approached again. He froze in place, gripping the small knife that had not left his side since the battle. He waited for minutes—or perhaps hours—until the footsteps disappeared.
He did not sleep that night. He only closed his eyes occasionally, but remained in a state of constant alert. He thought of his mother. Of Fouad. Of Mukhtar Mahmoud. Of the home he had left behind.
The memories came as quick images: his mother's hand reaching out with a cup of tea, Fouad's face laughing at a silly joke, the smell of wood in the carpentry shop.
He wondered: could Fouad and the others have survived and be in the promised land? They were merely questions Yusuf used to reassure himself, for the probabilities suggested he was the only living human here, and it seemed there was no place other than this land surrounded by all this water. Since he had been swept to this place, that alone negated the validity of his questions. But there was no harm in hoping the probabilities were wrong.
He stayed awake until light began to seep through the branches. Only then did he close his eyes, exhausted, but he could not sleep. Fear was stronger than fatigue.
---
The first day began slowly.
Yusuf could barely stand. His entire body ached, and his shoulder wound pulsed with hidden pain. But hunger was stronger than the pain.
He looked around for something to eat and found some fallen fruit beneath a nearby tree. They were small, red, resembling berries but larger in size.
He hesitated for a long time. There seemed to be many strange fruits in this place, but at least they resembled fruits he knew. The pear he had eaten earlier had not been bad, but here was a fruit resembling berries, and he knew that some berries were inedible. He would have to risk tasting it first.
It tasted sour like lemon, then changed at the last moment to a tangy sweetness simultaneously—like sour candy.
His stomach growled violently, as if mocking his hesitation. He bit into one fruit, then ate another, then a third.
The taste was not particularly to his liking—he did not care much for sour things or sweets—but it was edible in the end. Anything that filled the stomach would be enough. He felt some energy returning.
More important than food was water. His thirst was unbearable. It was strange—though he ate the sour, juicy berries, they never quenched his thirst; instead, his thirst increased after eating them.
He walked among the trees, scanning the ground for any sign of a watercourse. He listened to the forest's sounds, hoping to hear the gurgle of a river.
After an hour of walking, he heard something. A faint sound, barely audible, slipping through the rustle of leaves and the chirping of insects—but it was there. The gurgle of water.
He rushed toward the sound like a madman, pushing branches aside, stumbling over roots, heedless of any danger. When he arrived, he saw a small river flowing between rocks, its water clear as glass.
He fell to his knees at the water's edge and plunged his whole face into it. He drank greedily until he felt his stomach would swell. The water was cold, refreshing, but it left a strange metallic taste in his mouth, like the taste of iron or blood.
When he raised his head, he saw his reflection in the water.
For a moment, he did not recognize himself.
His face was pale, gaunt, his eyes sunken in their sockets. His beard had begun to grow haphazardly, his hair tangled and dirty. He looked older than he was—he looked like someone who had spent years in this forest, though only days had passed.
He wiped his face with his trembling hand and whispered:
— "Who are you now?"
No one answered. Only the water continued its flow, indifferent.
He sat on a rock by the river, watching the water for some time. He thought: if Fouad were here, what would he do? He would find a way out—probably not; he was too lazy to try seriously.
I think he would like this place, especially after seeing the strange fruits. That is, if a wild creature didn't catch him first, like it tried to catch me.
Yusuf continued posing trivial questions and imagining scenarios to pass the time.
---
He returned to the same tree at night, having found no better place. This time, he tried to prepare himself for sleep. He gathered some dry leaves and spread them beneath his back, and placed his knife beside him within reach.
But the forest was not in a mood to let him rest.
The sounds began at sunset. At first they were distant, faint, but they drew closer as darkness deepened. He heard screeching unlike anything he had heard before—a mix of a wolf's howl and a child's crying, repeating every few minutes.
He tried to convince himself they were just animals. Animals he did not know, but animals nonetheless. Yet his heart pounded violently every time the sound drew nearer.
In the middle of the night, he heard something different. A light sound, like the rustle of fabric on the ground. It approached very slowly. Yusuf froze in place, gripping his knife. He kept listening, holding his breath.
Then he heard something that made him freeze: a whisper.
He did not understand the words, but they were there. A faint whisper, as if someone were talking to themselves beside his ear. He tried to discern the direction, but the sound came from everywhere.
— "Who's there?" Yusuf whispered in a faint voice.
The whisper stopped suddenly. A heavy silence fell.
He waited for long minutes. The whisper did not return. But the feeling that something was watching him did not leave until dawn.
He did not sleep that night either.
---
The second day was more organized.
Yusuf woke exhausted, having not slept for two consecutive days. This was dangerous for him and his mental health, so he decided he could not continue like this. He needed a plan.
He began walking, but this time he was not walking randomly. He inspected the trees, searching for signs, for anything indicating that another human had passed through here.
He found nothing.
But he found something else: a pattern.
He noticed that some trees were unnaturally close together, as if they had grown in rows. He noticed that some stones were stacked in a way that could not be natural.
There was a hidden order in this forest, something resembling design, but he could not understand it.
He began talking to himself out loud. At first he was afraid someone would hear him, but he soon realized that silence was killing him.
— "Let's suppose this forest is haunted… well, that's obvious. The question is: is it haunted only by creatures, or is the forest itself… haunted?"
He laughed at the absurdity of what he had said. But the laugh was dry, short, and turned into a cough.
— "I've started talking to the trees. That's good. That means I haven't lost my mind yet. Madmen don't know they're mad. Right?"
He stopped for a moment and stared at a massive tree before him.
— "Right?"
The tree did not answer. He felt foolish and continued walking.
In the afternoon, he reached the river again. He sat on the same rock, removed his shoes and placed them beside him, then dipped his feet in the cold water. It was an indescribable feeling. For a moment, he felt as if some of his fatigue was leaving his body with each ripple that touched his feet.
He watched the small fish swimming near the bank. They moved in strange harmony, as if following a rhythm he could not hear. He tried to catch one with his hands, but they were faster than him.
— "Even the fish here are smarter than me."
He sat there for a long time, doing nothing but watching the water. He thought of Fouad. Had Fouad survived? Had he reached somewhere? Was he now sitting on a riverbank somewhere, thinking of him?
He closed his eyes and imagined Fouad's voice. The voice was clear in his head: "Don't be a fool, Yusuf. Gather food, find shelter, then think about getting out. Step by step."
He opened his eyes. Fouad was not there. But for a moment, he felt as if he were not entirely alone.
At sunset, he heard the voice again. A faint whisper, barely audible, but this time it was clear:
— "Leave… do not stay…"
He froze in place. Every hair on his body stood on end. It was not an internal voice—it was something that slipped through the trees, as if the forest itself were speaking.
He wondered, his lips trembling:
— "Have I lost my mind… or is someone really calling me?"
But the forest did not answer. Only darkness began to creep between the trees, and the whisper faded as it had come.
---
On the third night, something he had not expected happened.
He was lying beneath the same tree, trying to sleep. He was so exhausted that he thought sleep would come quickly. But his body refused to relax. Every muscle was tense, every thought wrestling with another.
This was the effect of staying awake for so long.
Then suddenly, he felt something strange.
He had lost consciousness. He slept in a world of unconsciousness, in a gray zone. He saw the forest around him, but it was not as he knew it. The trees were taller, darker, their leaves shimmering with colors he had never seen before—deep blue, dark purple, red like clotted blood. The colors pulsed, as if each tree had a beating heart.
The air was heavier, the smell of mold stronger than ever. He felt his feet sinking into the soft earth, as if the soil was slowly swallowing him.
He walked—or thought he walked—between the trees. He did not control his steps, but he moved. Something was drawing him deeper, something he could not see but felt in his chest like a thread pulling him.
Then, from among the shadows, something appeared.
It was not like the one he had killed. This was different.
It had no fixed shape; it shifted like thick smoke, changing form every moment. Sometimes it looked like a tall, gaunt human, sometimes like an animal standing on two legs, sometimes like something the mind could not comprehend.
But its eyes were constant: two burning embers in an endless void, staring at him from the depths of darkness.
It moved toward him slowly, not with steps, but with a glide, as if floating above the ground. Wherever it passed—if it had feet—the earth cracked, emitting a sound like the creak of old wood.
It opened its mouth, and from it came a sound unlike any Yusuf had heard before. It was not speech, not a whisper, not a scream. It was something between all of these—a sound that pierced his bones before reaching his ears. He felt his ears bleeding, his chest tightening until he nearly suffocated.
He tried to scream, but his voice did not come out. He tried to run, but his feet were rooted to the ground as if they had grown roots.
It extended what resembled a hand toward him. It was long, thin, with more fingers than there should be. It approached slowly, like something savoring his fear before touching him.
And one touch was all it took.
He felt everything he was being torn into small pieces. He saw images he did not know, people he had never met, places he had never visited. He saw himself—but it was not himself. He was looking into eyes that were not his own, and he felt something that was not his feeling. Then he saw an endless darkness, and felt himself falling into it without stopping.
He screamed.
---
He woke to his own voice.
He was indeed screaming. He was standing on his feet without realizing it, his knife in his hand, his heart about to burst from his chest.
Sweat soaked his entire body, his breath ragged as if he had run for miles. He looked around in bewilderment. The forest was as he had left it. The trees were not taller, they were not shimmering. Everything was normal.
But something was different.
The silence.
The forest was completely silent. No animal cries, no rustling leaves, no birdsong. The silence was absolute, thick, as if the forest itself was listening to the remnants of his scream.
He whispered to himself in a trembling voice:
— "That wasn't an ordinary dream… it felt too real."
He sat on the ground, his knife still in his hand. He remained there for minutes—or perhaps hours—trying to understand what had happened. The sensation of the touch still lingered in his spirit, heavy, cold, as if it had left a scar that would not fade.
He fell into a deep sleep that night. The forest's terrifying silence had no bounds.
---
The third day began with indescribable exhaustion.
His body refused to move, but his mind pushed him forward. He felt that if he stopped now, he would collapse and never rise again.
He began walking without a clear goal. He talked to himself out loud, telling stories from his childhood, remembering street names in his neighborhood, singing old songs he had memorized. He knew he looked insane. He did not care.
In the middle of the day, he stopped suddenly.
Before him, on the earth, were footprints.
They were not human. Long, pointed, with three sharp toes. They were deeply embedded in the ground, as if whoever left them weighed many times more than any human. They scattered in different directions, then converged, as if something had walked, then stopped, then walked again.
Yusuf hesitated for a long time. His mind screamed at him to run. But his curiosity—or perhaps his despair—pushed him forward.
He began following the tracks slowly. His heart pounded violently, and each step increased his tension. He followed them between the trees, over fallen trunks, until he reached a place where the tracks became clearer.
Then they suddenly disappeared.
Yusuf stood before a massive tree trunk, hollow on the inside. The opening was dark, deep, like a black eye staring at him from within the earth. The tracks led here, but did not emerge on the other side.
What did this mean? Had the creature entered the trunk? Or had it… flown? Or had it disappeared? Or had it never existed in the first place?
He sat on the ground near the trunk, watching the dark opening. He thought: if this were a movie, the hero would enter the trunk to discover a secret. But this was not a movie. And he was not a hero. Just an ordinary, frightened young man who only wanted to stay alive.
He remained there until evening, watching, listening. Nothing came out of the trunk. No sounds entered it. It was just a dark hole in an ordinary tree.
But in his heart, he felt it was not ordinary. He felt the forest had let him see these tracks deliberately. As if it were saying to him: There is something greater than you. Something deeper. Do you want to know?
He was not sure that he did.
---
He sat by the hollow tree trunk until the sun had completely disappeared. Darkness crept between the trees, shadows stretching like giant fingers touching everything. He did not want to return to his usual spot. He suddenly felt that the tree he had been sleeping under had become exposed, unsafe. But where could he go? The entire forest was unsafe.
He gathered some dry branches and spread them on the ground, then sat leaning against a rock near the trunk. He was far enough to see if something emerged from the opening, and close enough to watch it.
In the darkness, he began talking to himself again. His voice was faint this time, as if afraid someone would hear:
— "Let's suppose I never get out. Let's suppose this is my life now. A strange forest, monsters that won't die, talking trees. Could I adapt? Could I live like this?"
He paused. Then he answered himself:
— "I have no choice. That's always the answer: no choice."
He gave a short, dry laugh that turned into a cough.
— "It's always been like this. No choice. Wait your turn for the interview, no choice. Pay the rent, no choice. Watch your mother die, no choice. Board a boat unfit even for death, no choice. Now here… no choice."
He raised his head to the sky. Stars appeared between the branches, distant, cold. They were the same stars he had seen from his home. Were they the same? Or did this world have its own stars?
— "Mother…" he whispered. "Do you see me now? Do you know where I am?"
No answer came. But he felt for a moment a faint warmth in his chest. Perhaps it was a memory. Perhaps it was his mother. Perhaps it was just hunger.
Before he drifted off—truly this time, after days of insomnia—he heard the whisper again. But this time, it was not faint. It was clear, close, as if someone was whispering directly into his ear:
— "The path has only just begun…"
He opened his eyes suddenly and looked around. He saw nothing. But the forest was still. Not the terrifying silence he had known, but a different stillness—a stillness that waited. As if the forest was waiting for something from him.
Yusuf whispered into the darkness:
— "What path?"
No one answered. But he felt that the question itself was the beginning of the answer.
He sat there, staring into the darkness, listening to the forest's silence. He knew he would not sleep this night either. But he knew something else: that this night would be the last of blind fear. Tomorrow, he would begin searching. Tomorrow, he would find answers. Or die trying.
He remained awake until dawn broke, his eyes on the dark opening in the tree trunk, his ears attuned to the forest's whispers that no longer frightened him so much as… piqued his curiosity.
In the morning, when light began to seep through the branches, he rose slowly. His body ached, his stomach was empty, his head heavy. But he was standing. He was alive. And he was ready for what was to come.
He looked at the forest around him. It no longer seemed like an enemy. It seemed like a great question that did not want to be answered. Or perhaps it had begun to seem… like a new home.
Yusuf smiled a small, tired smile, then turned his back on the hollow trunk and began walking. He did not know where. But he knew he would not stop.
---
End of Chapter Six