The Whispering Woods - New Project

Psalm wasn’t coming. She’d gotten a summer job at the coffee stand in town — 5 a.m. shifts, free hot chocolate for the family — so she made Go-Diddy promise to “not do anything interplanetary without writing it down for me.”

That left the rest of the crew.

It was a Tuesday, which in Wasilla in June means it’s light until midnight. Go-Diddy found Bitty and Dassah already at the fort, with Ocean, Harbor, and Nation sitting in a circle around the Stargate like it was a campfire.

Ocean had his notebook, three flashlights, and a compass. “For data collection.”

Harbor had brought chips, his three-string guitar from Jeffrey, and a pillow. “For morale.”

Nation had brought his G-Soccer hoodie, even though it was 68 degrees. He’d already muttered “Big Daddy” twice under his breath when he tripped over a root, and when Ocean asked, he said, “I said… backpack-y.” Nobody was fooled.

Bitty looked at Go-Diddy. “We want to go somewhere a little scary. Together.”

Dassah nodded. “Not too scary.”

Go-Diddy pulled out the old planet list. He flipped past Moink world, past Chocolate Rivers, past Mt. Cheeks.

He stopped on one in Nation’s handwriting from years ago:

Nation blinked. “I wrote that?”

“You did,” Dad said. “You came back and slept with the hall light on for a week.”

Ocean lit up. “Perfect. Controlled fear exposure. For bonding.”

Harbor clutched his pillow. “I don’t like bonding that much.”

Go-Diddy dialed anyway. Seven chevrons locked. The wormhole opened, but this time it was dark purple, and it didn’t roar — it hummed, low, like someone humming through their teeth.

“Thirty minutes,” Dad said. “We stay together. We hold hands if we get scared. Lovely Law #1 and #2: love others as yourself, and nobody walks alone.”

They stepped through.

P3X-EEK

It was immediately darker than Alaska at night. Not pitch black — twilight. Tall, skinny trees rose up everywhere, their bark smooth and silver. The leaves didn’t rustle. They whispered.

Literally. Every time the wind moved, the trees said things. Not words, just soft shhhh, shhhh, come closer.

The path was made of white stones, glowing faintly.

“Stay on the path,” Ocean read from his notebook. “Nation’s note, age 7, underlined twice.”

Bitty took Dassah’s hand. Dassah took Harbor’s hand. Harbor took Nation’s sleeve. Nation took Ocean’s backpack strap. Ocean took Go-Diddy’s hand. A full chain.

They walked.

After about fifty steps, the lights appeared.

Little blue orbs, floating just off the path between the trees. One, then three, then ten. They bobbed, curious.

Harbor whispered, “They’re pretty.”

One drifted closer to him. Then it darted away, giggling — an actual giggle.

Then the path forked.

Left: white stones continued. Right: white stones stopped, but there was a bridge made of roots over a little creek, and on the other side, something glinted.

Ocean pulled out his compass. It spun in circles. “Magnetic anomaly. Cool.”

“It’s probably treasure,” Harbor said, suddenly brave because he was holding his guitar like a shield.

Nation squinted. “I think… I think I remember this. When I was little, I went right. I got lost.”

Go-Diddy knelt down. “What do you all think?”

Bitty said, “We stay together.”

Dassah said, “We go left. Path.”

Ocean said, “Data supports staying on marked path.”

Harbor looked at the glint. “But… what if it’s for Jeffrey? A present?”

Nation surprised everyone. He put his hand on Harbor’s shoulder. “We’ll go look, but together, and we come right back. I’ve been scared here before. I don’t want you to be.”

That was the moment. Harbor, the Couch Growth, who usually cried when he had to take out trash, looked at his big brother and nodded.

They went right. Together. Chain unbroken.

The glint was a pile of smooth stones, each one glowing faintly from inside. In the middle was a wooden box. Ocean opened it with a stick.

Inside were five little carved whistles, shaped like leaves.

And then the lights went out.

Not the orbs — the path stones. All at once. Dark.

The whispering got louder. Shhhh. Shhhh. Lost. Lost.

Harbor froze. His breath got fast. “Dad?”

“I’m here,” Go-Diddy said, squeezing his hand.

“I’m here too,” Ocean said, even though his voice shook. He clicked on all three flashlights and handed them out. “Science says light reduces fear response by 40%.”

Bitty started singing, very quietly, the Jeffrey song. “Come on Jeffrey, you can do it…”

Dassah joined. Then Nation. Then Harbor, shaky at first, then stronger. Then Ocean. Then Go-Diddy’s deep voice.

The trees seemed to listen. The whispering softened.

Nation, in the middle of the song, tripped over a root in the dark and went down hard on his knee. He hissed in pain, and under his breath, automatic, “Big Daddy!”

This time he didn’t cover it. He just sat there, holding his knee, tears coming.

Harbor knelt next to him, pillow and all. “You miss him, huh?”

Nation nodded, crying for real now, not hiding. “Yeah. I just… I wish he was here for this. He’d think it was cool.”

Ocean sat on his other side and put an arm around him. “He would. And when we get home, we’ll call him and tell him about the whispering trees. We’ll play G-Soccer and you can tell him yourself.”

Bitty took the leaf whistle from the box and blew it. It didn’t make a sound humans could hear — but the blue orbs all turned at once and floated toward them, forming a line.

Dassah blew hers. The orbs got brighter.

“The lights follow you,” Go-Diddy remembered. “Nation wrote it.”

One by one, they each blew their whistles. Harbor’s hands were shaking, but he did it. The orbs lined up like runway lights, all the way back to the fork, all the way to the white stone path.

“Follow the lights,” Bitty said.

They walked back, chain together, orbs bobbing alongside like puppies. The trees whispered, but now it sounded like safe, safe, safe.

When they reached the main path, the white stones lit back up. At the end of the path, the Stargate was waiting, humming purple.

They stepped through together and tumbled out onto the soft moss behind the fort in Wasilla. It was still light out. 10:17 p.m.

They were muddy, scratched, and Harbor was still clutching his pillow.

Go-Diddy powered down the gate. “Everyone okay?”

Ocean was already writing: “Conclusion: fear shared is fear halved. Bonding increased 100%.”

Nation was wiping his eyes and smiling. “Can we call Big Daddy now?”

Harbor flopped onto the moss and pulled Dassah and Bitty down with him. “I was scared. But I wasn’t alone.”

Dassah yawned. “We did good.”

Bitty held up her leaf whistle. It glowed faintly in her palm.

Later, at home, Mom Brandy made hot cocoa for everyone — even though it was June — and they all sat on the living room floor in a pile. Psalm came home from her shift, smelling like espresso, and demanded the full report.

Harbor told most of it, doing the voices for the trees. When he got to the part where Nation fell, Nation didn’t say “pignaddy.” He just said, “Yeah, I cried. I missed Big Daddy. Dad said we’ll call him.”

And they did. On speakerphone. Big Daddy answered on the second ring, yelled “NATION!” and they set up a G-Soccer match for Saturday.

Before bed, the five of them — Bitty, Dassah, Ocean, Harbor, and Nation — sat in the hallway with their leaf whistles. On three, they blew.

No sound. But downstairs, Rowdy’s ears perked up, and all the nightlights in the house flickered blue for just a second.

Harbor grinned at his brothers and sisters. “Next time, we bring Jeffrey. He’d love the whispering trees.”

Ocean nodded. “And we stay on the path. Mostly.”

And they all laughed — a little tired, a little brave, and a lot more together than they were before.