When The Ash Trees Whispered

The road into Hollowmere curved through a stand of ash trees so dense that daylight thinned into a pale uncertain glow. Their branches leaned inward, leaves trembling though there was no wind, creating a tunnel that felt less like an entrance and more like a passage. Isla Marrow drove slowly, hands tight on the steering wheel, her breath shallow as if the air itself had grown heavier. She had not returned in eleven years. She had promised herself she never would. Yet the call from the town council had come like a summons rather than a request, and something in her chest had answered before her mind could object.

Hollowmere appeared all at once after the trees opened, a scatter of stone houses and narrow lanes wrapped around a shallow lake that reflected the sky too perfectly. Smoke curled from a few chimneys. The church bell stood silent above the rooftops. Isla parked near the square and sat for a long moment, listening to the ticking engine and the distant call of birds she could not name. Grief stirred, old and deep, accompanied by a sharper ache she had never fully understood.

She stepped out into cool air that smelled of damp earth and woodsmoke. The lake lay just beyond the square, its surface glassy and dark. Memories rose unbidden. Summer evenings on the shore. Laughter echoing across water. And one night when the ash trees had whispered too loudly and everything had changed.

You should not be standing there.

The voice came from behind her, calm but urgent. Isla turned. A man stood a few paces away, tall and lean, his dark hair falling loosely around a face marked by quiet intensity. His eyes were an unusual amber, catching light in a way that made them seem almost luminous.

The lake draws people in when they are tired, he continued.

Isla felt a jolt of recognition so strong it stole her breath. I know you, she said slowly.

He studied her as if she were a fragile thing. You did. My name is Rowan Calder.

The name struck her chest like a physical blow. She remembered shouting it into the trees. Remembered hands slipping from hers beneath the water.

You died, she whispered.

Rowan did not look away. Yes.

The house Isla inherited stood at the edge of town near the ash grove. Dust coated every surface, yet the space felt charged, as though it had been waiting. She unpacked mechanically, her thoughts tangled in the encounter by the lake. Exhaustion pressed down on her, but sleep came only in fragments. She dreamed of branches scratching at windows, of water closing over her head, of Rowan voice calling her back.

Morning brought no clarity. She walked through town, noting how people greeted her with careful warmth. Their eyes lingered on her longer than comfort allowed. When she asked about Rowan Calder, conversations stalled. Some shook their heads. Others changed the subject entirely.

She found him again by the ash trees at dusk. Light filtered through the leaves, turning the air gold and green. Rowan stood with one hand pressed to a trunk, his expression distant.

You should leave Hollowmere soon, he said without turning.

Isla anger flared, fueled by confusion and pain. You do not get to tell me that. I lost everything here.

He faced her then, sorrow etched deeply into his features. And if you stay, you will lose more.

They spoke in careful fragments. Rowan explained what the town never would. The lake held those who drowned with unfinished bonds. The ash trees fed on memory and longing, binding the dead to the living world through echoes of love.

You were my anchor, Rowan said quietly. When you left, I weakened. When you returned, I woke.

The admission wrapped guilt around Isla heart. She had fled Hollowmere after Rowan death, unable to breathe in a place where every sound reminded her of loss. Survival had felt like betrayal.

Days passed with dangerous ease. Isla spent hours walking with Rowan along the lake and through the ash grove. His presence was both comforting and devastating. She noticed things she could not ignore. He never cast a reflection in the water. The leaves never brushed his skin. And when she touched him, warmth flickered then faded, like heat from a stone left too long in the sun.

Her own body changed subtly. She tired easily. Food lost its taste. The whispers of the ash trees grew louder, curling into her thoughts at night.

They want you, Rowan said one evening as twilight deepened. They always take what lingers too long.

I am not afraid, Isla replied, though her voice shook. I would rather be here with you than anywhere else alone.

His jaw tightened. That is what scares me.

The truth came in pieces over several nights. The ash trees required balance. For Rowan to remain solid, Isla life force fed the bond. Each shared moment anchored him further and pulled her closer to the edge between worlds.

You will fade, he said hoarsely. And I cannot watch that happen.

The tension built relentlessly. Storm clouds gathered without warning. The lake grew restless, its surface rippling even on windless days. Townspeople began leaving offerings at the grove again, murmuring old prayers Isla barely remembered.

The climax arrived on the night the ash trees bloomed out of season, pale flowers glowing faintly in the dark. The air thrummed with energy that made Isla skin prickle. Rowan came to her door for the first time, urgency blazing in his eyes.

It is tonight, he said. The bond will seal if we do nothing.

They ran to the grove together, flowers drifting down like ash. The lake roared behind them, water surging against the shore. Isla felt the pull now, a tangible force tugging at her chest.

I can stay, she said, tears streaming freely. I can choose this.

Rowan took her face in his hands, his touch solid and burning. You already chose life once. Choose it again.

He stepped back, placing himself among the trees. The whispers rose to a deafening chorus. Rowan form began to fracture, light spilling through him like cracks in glass.

Remember me, he said, voice breaking. But do not belong to this place for me.

With a final look filled with love and unbearable sadness, he let go. The ash trees shuddered, their flowers dissolving into dust. Rowan faded into the glow and vanished.

The storm broke all at once. Rain poured down, washing the grove clean. Isla collapsed to her knees, sobbing until her body shook with exhaustion. The pull receded, leaving behind a hollow quiet.

Morning dawned clear and still. The ash trees stood silent. The lake lay calm, reflecting a soft blue sky. Isla felt pain in its full weight, but beneath it pulsed a fragile sense of grounding.

She stayed long enough to settle affairs, to say goodbye properly this time. When she left Hollowmere, the road through the ash trees felt lighter, the branches no longer leaning inward.

As the town disappeared behind her, Isla carried Rowan with her not as a wound, but as a truth etched into her heart. Love did not always mean staying. Sometimes it meant listening to the whispers, understanding their warning, and walking forward anyway, alive and breathing, into a world that still needed her.