I don’t go into the woods at night. It’s not because I’m scared. I love the woods, know them like the back of my hands during the hours of daylight. I think something must change during the hours of darkness. Either that or something messes with your sense of direction.

No, I don’t go into the woods at night, but I don’t think anyone does. Not since that night, five years ago today, when my sister walked in there and never came back.

We had scoured the place the following day, and later there were the police with their dogs. There was no sign of Helen. Not only was she not there, but there was no sign that she had ever been. They said she must have run away, she wouldn’t have been the first to have done so. Just five years previously a young lad called Graham had disappeared, and even before him there had been others.

I knew Helen had gone into the woods. I had watched her go, peeping between my bedroom curtains. She hadn’t paused, hadn’t looked back; there was no way she could have known that I was there, spying, just like the nosey thirteen year old boy that I was. I told them she’d gone there, but after the search had come up empty no one seemed to believe me.

I don’t go into the woods at night except tonight there’s this compulsion growing inside my mind. It’s like I need to go... have to go. I try to ignore it, to drown out the whispers of voices calling to me with music blaring through my headphones. Even with the volume uncomfortably loud, I can still hear the whispers.

“Jasper. Jasper.” The sound won’t leave me alone, but pulls on me, drags at me until I am outside.

So tonight I am breaking my rule and I’m entering the woods. I’ve got boots on, a thick jacket, a beanie pulled low over my head. I’ll be okay.

Even though it’s as black as pitch I’m not scared. I’ve got a flash-light, I can turn it on if I need to. My pocket is empty. Should I go back? Pick up the flash-light from the table in the hallway where I must have left it?

“Jasper! Jasper!” That voice is calling me on, and it won’t be ignored. Now it’s a bit louder, I’m almost certain that one of the voices belongs to Helen.

I don’t pause my steps, don’t look back, but carry on further between the trees. I try to make my mind focus on the paths it knows so well but either my memory is not as good as I thought or the woods themselves have changed. My foot trips on one root then another. A branch whips my right cheek hard enough to draw blood – I can feel it trickling down my face.

“Jasper! Where are you, Jasper? I need you!”

That’s Helen! No other voices now. Just her and her alone. I pick up my pace but I’m completely disorientated. Surrounded now by the black shapes of trees in the darkness of night I stop, try to work out where I have come from. It’s hopeless. I haven’t a clue and can’t get my bearings at all. Even Helen’s gone quiet.

Which way should I go?

Something moves on my left. By the time I turn, it’s gone, leaving no more than a sense of it’s passing. It could have been a fox. Or maybe a deer. No need to panic, I tell myself although I can feel my heart begin to race.

“Jasper! Help me!” There’s a desperation to Helen’s voice now. I can’t ignore her. And anyway, I’m not scared.

I’m running. Carelessly plowing down pathways and pushing through trees. There’s nothing more in my mind than the echo of that voice. I have to concentrate, get to where it came from and rescue my sister who’s been five years gone.

Stupid! Too late I realize I should have taken more care where I put my feet. Falling, at least I know where I am. The rocks that jut through the earth cut through my skin as I crash face first to the ground.

Did I hit my head? I must have done, for I’m stunned, motionless. It’s only the laughter that makes me look up. Mocking laughter. Victorious laughter.

Blood trickles down from a cut above my eye. I try to wipe it away but my body won’t obey me. The only thing I can move is my head and what I’m seeing just doesn’t make sense. I’m hallucinating, that’s got to be it.

‘Shut your eyes, Jasper,’ I tell myself. ‘It’ll go away. It’s just your imagination playing tricks.’

What do you call something that morphs between people, male and female, young and old? Among them I recognize my sister, her face, her hair. I’ve found her then, or what remains of her. And then there are hands reaching out to touch me, to grab me, to pull me in.

Why did I break my own rule? Why did I come into the woods at night? A noise finally manages to drown out the voices. I hardly recognise my own voice as it screams out into the darkness where I know no one will hear it.

And I’m not scared. No, I’m not. I’m terrified!