Ghost Tour

Dante Holloway had two rules: never work overtime, and never ask why the headcount at the end of his tours was always wrong. The tiny town of Cinderfall was a quaint and idyllic area in the daytime, but the frosty wind and eerie fog rendered its nightscape chilling. Not to mention the recent disappearances in the area, which further loomed over the citizens. This area was without a doubt, ideal for the supernatural tourism industry. 

He glanced at the crowd of enthusiastic tourists, each with spirited eyes. An odd group it was. There were children, elderly and people wearing all sorts of questionable garments. It was certainly a mismatched group. 

After he counted thirteen tourists, he sighed and began his speech. “Welcome friends,” Dante announced as he took a breathful of cold air, “to TheSupernaturallyCuriousandUneasy-CinderfallLegendsTrek.”

Upon hearing the ridiculously long title, many tourists appeared confused, but ultimately anticipated the upcoming experience. “My name is Dante Holloway and I shall be your tour guide today.” He said before motioning to the pitch black path. “Our first stop is the famous Wych Elm tree. Legend has it that this is a cannibalistic tree, which chews up inhabitants and eats them alive,” he chucked a little, “but I suppose we’d have no way of knowing.” 

The air along the trail smelled damp and faintly metallic. And as they walked deeper into the woodland, the melody of the wind started to resemble that of a siren’s song. 

A lady with mahogany lipstick shivered and hugged herself, hoping that the walk would be over as soon as possible. She murmured, rubbing her arms, “Huh, I can’t feel my fingers…so cold.” 

“Hey, shouldn’t there be crickets or something?” A young man nervously quipped. 

Aside from the wind and the sound of their own steps, there seemed to be no life in the forest. The silence was oppressive and crushing. Meanwhile, the fog enveloped the surroundings like a thick veil, obscuring the path ahead. It appeared that the group could only rely on their guide for directions. 

Another skeptical tourist scoffed and muttered, “What are y’all so scared of? I’m sure this is just some dumb tree with a fake plaque or something. Anyways, when are we getting there? We’ve been walking on the same path for ages!” 

Dante glanced back, but did not say anything. He opened his pocket watch, only to find that they were on pace, despite the tourist’s grumbling. The minute hand had not budged since they started the tour, it was exactly as it was supposed to be. One tourist checked their phone, only to find that there was no signal and no time…

After what seemed like an eternity, Dante gestured lazily to a twisted tree with a small swing attached: “Here we have the Wych Elm, known for its great historical and supernatural significance," Dante droned. "This is where Boonie Clooney was last seen before she disappeared under ‘mysterious’ circumstances, which I’m sure had nothing to do with the fact that she walked into a haunted forest at night.”

A little girl froze upon hearing the name. Suddenly, with tears welling up in her eyes, she bolted in front of the group onto the trail ahead. “Wow, I guess she couldn’t hold in her anticipation. Anyway, the legend says that if you listen closely, you can still hear her voice calling for help, or maybe it’s just the wind. Who knows.” 

The group watched in horror as he just continued his speech, “Right, some say that if you touch the tree, you’ll see visions of your past life too or you may just get swallowed whole. It’s quite a spooky entity. Does anyone dare to try?” 

The brave skeptic was the only one who dared to take the risk. He tentatively stretched out this hand to touch the sable bark. Suddenly, his body went stiff as a board and his eyes were glassy. He refused to look at the group, only staring at his hands in a daze. 

“Ah, classic reaction. I thought I’d get to see something new this time.” He double checked his pocket watch, “Okay, moving on. We still have two more stops left.” He briefly glanced at the whispering and twitching tourist, but ultimately concluded that he was fine. 

The group shuffled uncomfortably, eyes flickering from one tourist to another. The air grew colder and the fog heavier. One by one, they all shifted their feet, but no one wanted to speak up. 

“Yeah, yeah, spooky tree.” Dante continued, his voice monotonous, “Nothing to worry about, keep it moving folks.”

“Um how much longer until we-”

Before the tourist could finish, Dante held up a hand to interrupt them. With one hand holding his pocket watch, his face remained impassive. “Don’t worry, we’re almost at the second stop,” he said, gesturing to the darkened path. 

Something was wrong… the forest seemed to close in on them. The sound of footsteps grew distorted, as if it was echoing from another place. The lady with the mahogany lips contorted her face, “wait…did I step off the path?” 

Dante didn’t respond, instead he glanced back at the group, his gaze lingering on the lady for a moment too long. Her eyes widened in shock, her primal instinct told her that something was out there…they weren’t alone. She instantly fled into the shifting night, leaving behind her bag and other possessions behind. 

“Well,” Dante said, breaking the silence with a grin. “There’s still ten of you left. Let’s see how long that lasts.” 

With that, he motioned forward. The path twisted unnaturally, as if it was inviting them into its lair. The fog thickened once again, swallowing their figures one by one.