The Night We Heard Footsteps

So, Chloe and I once thought it'd be fun to head back to our old neighborhood, you know, for the memories. The nostalgia had been running high since we'd found old childhood photos in her attic. Both of us, now in our late twenties, sat sipping lukewarm coffee and musing on those sun-dappled days from our old treehouse. "Remember those stories about the Maple Valley woods?" Chloe said, eyes wide with enthusiasm. I nodded. Yeah, those stories had kept us awake many nights, the ones about the ghost that followed anyone entering its territory. "Anyone brave enough to enter will hear footsteps," they’d say, as if it were some sort of ominous echo. Still, we practically dared each other to go back. Couldn't resist. It was a warm September evening. The sun set far later than usual, draping the sky in deep oranges and pinks. And there we were, standing on the edge of the woods, as if we were about to step into a forgotten realm. Maple Valley was silent but for the whisper of leaves in gentle wind. We laughed, joking about how childish our fears had been back then. Rudy slipped his phone out, starting a video — "for memories," he winked. Trees swayed around us like gentle giants, almost comforting...and then, suddenly, the crickets stopped singing. Just like that. At first, we thought nothing of it. We shrugged it off. But then, those footsteps started. It was faint, behind...and then, startlingly close. Just four steps, paused, and then, another series. "Do you hear that?" Chloe's voice quivered like a leaf caught in the wind. "You think it's just an echo?" I almost lied saying 'probably,' but my heart was racing in conflicting beats. She clutched my arm tighter as reality began mushing up fantasy. We scanned the forest edges that swayed with unnerving grace. The sound came again, from the left this time, impossible footsteps, never consistent. Our bravado turned quickly into pebbles of fear rattling around, shaking loose logic from our minds. The woods felt like they were closing in on us. A sudden rustle nearby made us jump. A gasp escaped Chloe. My hand fumbled for the flashlight inside my bag, the beam rapidly searching through the thick foliage. Just trees, quivering under the light. Strange how quiet the world got in moments like these. The woods felt like a presence itself, alive and breathy. The realization settled cold in our stomachs—this was no trick. Part of me felt drawn back. Chloe tried to hail reason by suggesting we head home. But drawn I was, steps forward to where an old oak split from a lighting strike, left a peculiar hollow. Then, the footsteps began anew. A whispering song they were, echoing with persistence around us. Panic blurred out rational thoughts, and instinct took over. We bolted down the path. Our voices screamed into the night, calling for senses lost. A slip of Chloe's foot sent her down the muddy slope, pulling me along. And as our breaths came ragged, they too became a chorus with the chattering footsteps. Suddenly, Chloe stopped. Her back faced me. "I remember," she whispered, hardly audible. "Remember what?" my voice a broken whisper. "Linda's story," she paused. "The shadow that binds here, it wanted a way out. Linda... she spoke of helping, bringing crystals from the other side." Then, with wide eyes, I witnessed as her memory painted connections how the lingering child ghost by old urban legends was born out of help, not fright. By the glaring light of her phone, Chloe fished out a shinier fragment—a crystal once left in her play pouch. Instinct took over and together we gentled it into the hollow of the oak. The air reeked of calm soon after, lifting slowly as sobs of anguish dissolved in serenade. The footsteps, faded to humble whispers and soon after walked away entirely, in harmony, with secrets never told. We had lost time; minutes spilled like sand, leaving only peace. Returning home, our tired eyes spoke of stories worth telling. Yet the fear subsided into the labyrinth forgotten, leaving behind serenity within the confines of dusk