Travis, Eve, and their 8-year-old son, Robin, were wandering through the thick, rustling woods, a place they’d grown to love since moving to Maine. The crisp autumn air felt fresh against their skin, a welcome change from the scorching heat of Texas. They’d made it a weekend ritual to gather mushrooms for dinner, a quiet family activity that kept them grounded in their new life.
It had been three months since they left Texas, and though the move was meant to help Travis, now 34, deal with his health problems—issues worsened by the unbearable Texas heat—it still felt like a fresh start. The change of scenery had done wonders for his health, but it hadn’t yet solved the unease creeping inside him.
The peaceful day, however, was about to take a bizarre turn. Travis had ventured deeper into the woods than he’d ever dared before, driven by curiosity. Eve and Robin followed close behind, but as they walked along the familiar gravel path, they noticed something odd: Brandy, their usually loyal Doberman, was nowhere in sight.
Travis thought little of it, assuming the dog had just wandered off to do his business. But then, they heard it—a ferocious bark, filled with a mix of fear and aggression, coming from somewhere deeper in the forest.
“Brandy?” Travis called, stepping off the path and pushing through thick grass, following the sounds of the dog’s frantic barking. The closer he got, the more unsettling the scene became. Brandy was crouched, sniffing something in the underbrush, barking repeatedly, but not approaching it. It was almost as if the dog were too afraid to get any closer.
“What is it, boy?” Travis muttered under his breath, crouching beside the dog. Then, his eyes widened in disbelief. Before him stood not just one, but over a hundred tombstones—some standing proud, others crumbled under the weight of time. They were scattered among the trees, hidden deep within the woods. The wind seemed to pause for a moment, the eerie silence weighing heavy on him.
“Eve, Robin, come here!” Travis called to his family, heart pounding.
Eve arrived first, her eyes widening as she took in the strange sight.
“Travis, this isn’t right,” she said, her voice low, uneasy. “This place… It feels wrong.” She pulled Robin closer, her eyes scanning the eerie graves. “Look at that—those antlers, the bones, the strange dolls…” She shuddered, her fear palpable. “We shouldn’t be here.”
But before Travis could say anything, Robin, in his usual boundless curiosity, darted ahead.
“Look, Daddy! Mommy! Look what I found!” Robin’s voice rang out, sharp with excitement and something else—something darker.
Travis and Eve rushed toward their son. Robin stood frozen in place, pointing to a crumbled grave. His finger was aimed at a headstone that, despite its worn edges, had a peculiar detail that made Travis’s blood run cold: a childhood photo of Travis himself. The image, encased in ceramic, was yellowed with age. Travis could barely breathe as he stepped forward and brushed off the debris, revealing the inscription beneath the photo: January 29, 1984, his birthday.
“No… no way…” Travis muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “How could this be? This doesn’t make sense.”
Eve gasped, clutching Robin’s hand tightly. “Travis, this is insane. That’s your photo… but how is it here?”
Travis felt dizzy as he stared at the grave. “I… I don’t remember anything about this shirt. I don’t even remember my childhood that clearly.” He quickly snapped a photo of the headstone, his hands shaking as he pulled out his phone.
“Let’s go, Travis,” Eve pleaded, her voice trembling. “Please, this is too much. There’s something wrong with this place. I don’t feel safe here.”
“I’ll drive,” Travis said, his voice distant, his mind still reeling. He could barely focus as Eve slid into the driver’s seat of their jeep. Travis sat in the passenger seat, hands gripping the sides, lost in his thoughts.
“This is crazy,” he muttered. “Maybe I’m overthinking it. It’s just a photo. I mean, we all have doppelgangers, right? But then… why is it on a tombstone?” His voice trailed off as he stared at the photo on his phone, zooming in on the image of the young boy who resembled him so eerily.
Eve glanced over at him. “Travis, you’re just stressing yourself out. You don’t remember your childhood. It’s probably just a coincidence. It’s not like we can just dig up answers, right? Let’s just go home. We have dinner to make. It’s your turn tonight.” She tried to lighten the mood, but Travis couldn’t shake the feeling gnawing at him.
“But what if it’s not a coincidence? What if this boy on the headstone is somehow connected to me? To my past?” Travis asked, his mind still spinning with thoughts of his childhood, his adoption, and the mysterious note he’d found when he was abandoned at a Texas church.
He had been left there on a rainy night, March 11, 1987, with nothing but a note: “This boy’s name is Travis. He was born on January 29, 1984. He is 3 years old and needs help. Please do not send him back to where he came from.”
The memory of that note, the bloodstains on his clothes, and the uncertainty of his origins had haunted him for years. He never learned who his real parents were or why he was left alone. His life had gone on, and though he had long given up searching for answers, this headstone—this photo—had opened an old wound he couldn’t ignore.
The next day, Travis set out to ask the locals about the cemetery. Most of them reacted with fear, unwilling to talk about it. However, one person seemed to know more: an elderly widow named Lois Woods, who had lived in town for decades. She was said to be the oldest resident in the area, and if anyone knew about the strange happenings in those woods, it was her.
Travis and Eve knocked on her door the following morning. The moment Lois opened the door, her face turned pale, and her eyes locked onto Travis’s with a look of fear. She ushered them in immediately, muttering something about not being safe near the woods.
“You have a young son, don’t you?” she asked, her voice quivering.
“Yes, Robin,” Travis replied, his curiosity growing with every passing second.
Lois’s frail hands gripped her walking stick tightly. “Don’t take him near the woods, not after what happened.”
“What do you mean?” Eve asked, her voice laced with confusion and concern. “What happened there?”
Lois looked down, hesitating. “I… I don’t know if I should be telling you this. But it’s best you know the truth. A cult… a dangerous cult lived in those woods, long ago, in the late 1800s. They performed dark rituals—sacrifices, they say—to please their gods.”
“Are you saying… the cult is connected to that grave? To my photo?” Travis interrupted, his pulse quickening.
Lois nodded slowly. “The cult was destroyed by the police in the late ’80s. They were believed to have kidnapped and sacrificed children. After that, nobody dared go near the woods. There were rumors… about people disappearing. Some say they still hear strange noises from that part of the forest.”
Eve gasped in horror. “That’s insane. Why would people put up graves like that, to scare kids? And we saw… dolls, bones, strange things there. It’s like it was a shrine.”
Lois’s face grew grim as she whispered, “That’s because it was. They worshipped something dark… something that haunted those woods. But there’s one person who might know more about it. Teddy Sutton. His father was the officer who led the raid on the cult. Teddy might be the only one who knows what happened… but he never talks about it.”
Travis’s mind raced as they made their way to Teddy’s house. The house was isolated, with a broken chimney and the sounds of barking dogs from within. Eve was reluctant to go, but Travis was determined.
Teddy was an old man, in his late 70s, his face grim and cold. When Travis and Eve explained their search for answers, Teddy was initially hostile. But when Travis showed him the photo from the headstone, something in Teddy’s eyes shifted.
“That boy… that’s you?” Teddy’s voice was shaky, his hands trembling as he looked at the picture.
“Yes,” Travis replied, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on him. “I need to know how my picture ended up on that grave. I’ve never been to Maine before. This doesn’t make sense.”
Teddy’s face paled, and he invited them in. After a long silence, he finally spoke.
“My father was the cop who raided the cult. They were involved in terrible things, but the worst was the night before they were taken down. It’s about you, Travis. It’s about your mother… Nedaara.”
Travis’s breath caught in his throat. “My mother? You knew her?”
Teddy nodded, tears streaming down his face as he revealed a dark and tragic story. A story that tied Travis to the cult—and to a past he could never have imagined.
