The Collector of Whispers

A hunter's children heard whispers near their banyan tree. Their father had ventured deeper

into the forest than usual, leaving them truly alone for the first time.

The voice started soft, almost melodic, calling their names like a lullaby.

But it grew hungry, desperate, pulling them toward a cave they'd never noticed despite

years of playing in those woods. At the entrance stood something that wore human

shape but moved all wrong. Its joints bent backward as it shuffled closer,

their names dripping from its lipless mouth like poison. The children's screams echoed through the

trees. When they burst through their door, gasping out their story,