Song of the Pines Horror Story

“Song of the Pines” is a psychological horror story about a father and his teenage son who are trapped in a forest that they cannot escape. Every path leads them back to where they started, and each day feels the same as the last. At night, the woods fill with a strange, haunting song that seems to mourn or call out to those who are lost. After years of trying and failing to escape, the father still hopes for freedom, but his son begins to wonder whether survival even matters anymore. As winter approaches and the song grows louder, the father must face what he is really trying to protect before the forest decides their fate.

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Part I

Last night, as the woodsong echoed around our hiding place, I realized we’re never getting out of here.

Even when I want to give up, I hold on to one last bit of hope. It’s all I have left for Chase. I still have to give him something, even if it isn’t true.

“Where’d you go, dad?” Chase says, stamping his feet to ward off the cold. He scans the pine forest carpeting the mountainsides. “Out there again?”

I force myself to look at our makeshift camp: a weak fire and worn-out gear we took from other camps, scattered with bodies.

We try not to think about it. We keep our eyes ahead and focus on what to do next.

I squeeze Chase’s shoulder. “It’s out there we’ll find a way home.”

He sighs and looks annoyed, just like any teenager. Of course, he is a teenager now.

Years. How did it turn into years? When we first got stuck here, after our road trip kept going in circles, I promised him we’d be home the next day.

Now our fourth winter is setting in.

“Dad, let it rest. We’re stuck here.”

We’re not stuck. I have to make him believe that. But the bond my dad had with Chase disappeared when he died.

“Don’t say that,” I say. “We—”

A shriek rises from the east. Maybe a person, maybe not.

Part II

The woodsong starts up again, which means someone else has been killed. A soft breeze mixes with the buzzing insects and birds, until every bit of life seems to ring out.

It feels like a soundtrack to my failure to fix things.

“That song could be *for* them, dad. Like a memorial,” says Chase.

I stay quiet. It’s better than saying, “It’s either to torture us, or it’s a fucking dinner bell.”

There are no friends here, only the creatures of the forest. They rest during the day, but at night they become hungry and hunt, whisper, and set traps.

I push Chase to keep moving, trying a new path, but it just leads us in another circle. When night falls, we squeeze between some rocks. Something huge moves along the ridge, only visible when it blocks out the stars.

We take turns sleeping. At first, Chase had nightmares, but now he sleeps so deeply it scares me. This can’t be normal for him.

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Part III

The land keeps repeating itself, and my rough maps never make sense. I’m not even sure we’re still in Oregon. We’ve met people from all over the world.

Every time we walk the same ground, it’s clearer that I have no new ideas.

At first, I had hope. We joined three Japanese travelers who talked about hidden passageways. If people could arrive from everywhere, there had to be a way out.

But the three of them got careless. What killed them looked like a group of trees until the trunks opened and revealed rows of curved teeth.

Since then, we’ve walked alone.

Part IV

The next day, we find a field full of butterflies. Butterflies in winter—who cares? Chase runs through them, wings fluttering around him, ignoring my whispered warnings. For a moment, he looks like the boy he never got to be.

“Don’t let your guard down. That’s how people die.”

He stops running. A dark look falls over his face. “I don’t want to end up like granddad.”

“You won’t.”

He looks away. “I already am.”

My dad died a few months before we ended up here. When I think back to the time between his diagnosis and funeral, I just see Chase holding his hand.

I couldn’t even save his grandad. I started letting him down long before we came here.

Part V

We stumble on a frozen lake, and Chase insists we skate on the ice.

“We should stop walking,” he calls. “I like it here.”

My heart sinks. He can’t give up. Not now. “We need to know the land better. When spring comes, we’ll try to cross the mountains.”

He arcs in a wide circle. “What if we die before spring?”

“I won’t let us.”

“I told you. I don’t want to be like granddad,” Chase yells, suddenly furious, his voice magnified by the ice.

“Look! I’m sorry I couldn’t save him. God knows, I spoke with every specialist, applied for every trial…”

“I’m not afraid to die, dad. I’m afraid of being invisible.” He jumps in frustration and lands hard. “It’s like you’re not even here. I’m talking to you, but you don’t see me—

A sound like a gunshot splits the air, then he’s gone into a wound of black water.

By the time I drag him out and start a fire, he’s unconscious, blue, but alive.

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Part VI

That night, hiding in a tree while my toes go numb from the cold, I realize my biggest regret is never teaching him to shave.

The creatures in the forest are closing in, sensing we’re too weak from the cold to run. Eyes open on the rocks. Trees grow strange, wailing fruits that look like fetuses. Huge shadows move under the lake, breaking the ice.

My whole body feels heavy. “We’ll think of something.”

“Dad, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not! I—”

“You can’t save us.”

It hurts to hear him talk that way, but it’s even worse that I don’t have the strength to argue.

Chase smiles. “It’s like with grandad.”

“I tried to save him, Chase—”

“He didn’t want you to save him. Grandad just wanted you to be there. For as long as it lasted.”

But I was always off trying to fix things. I held on to hope so tightly that I crushed it.

I take Chase’s hand and quietly say sorry over and over into his palm.

We listen as the woodsong starts again. Now that I pay attention, it doesn’t sound good or bad. It just is.

“Chase, how many beautiful things do you think we can find before it gets dark?”