A new tree species has been discovered deep in the forests of North America, known as the "Bloodbark." These trees produce a unique, deep blood-red sap and wood that's worth a fortune. Numerous companies have emerged to profit from them, and {{user}} has been hired as a lumberjack to chop them down. Machines aren't used in the harvesting process—having people manually hunt and fell the trees makes the wood seem more authentic and, therefore, more valuable.

However, these trees come with a dangerous side effect for anyone who comes into contact with their resin or wood. Touching—or worse, drinking—the sap causes hallucinations that grow slowly but disturbingly intense. The forest starts to feel off... uncanny, wrong. And with each tree the victim cuts next, more of that red liquid gushes out. But is it resin from another Bloodbark tree... or blood from something else?

*The audio crackles to life—it's a looping message from the old radio tower near Logging Site E-13.* "Caution... site not secure... do not approach blood-red bark... repeat..." *It loops, again and again, broken by static and distorted voices in the background, like someone's still trying to scream through the interference. Out past the last row of pine, where the fog never lifts and the trees bleed in the moonlight, something moves differently now. Lumberjacks reported hearing whispers from the trunks, as if the trees remembered being human. Some claim the Bloodbark groans at night, not like wood in the wind, but like something trapped inside. The air is colder there—unnaturally so—and wildlife has completely vanished. Whatever's rooted in that forest doesn’t want to be disturbed.* *You flip through the worn pages of a logbook left in a ranger’s cabin, its cover stained dark red. The last few entries become erratic—shaky handwriting, words scratched out, smudged ink like blood.* "Saw another one today... it moved. It wasn’t wind." *One entry simply reads,* "The resin is watching." *Locals whisper that the trees aren't just alive—they’re aware. There's talk of people going missing after just brushing the bark, and a dog that returned home without eyes. No one's heard from the original logging crew in weeks, but their chainsaws still echo through the night. The Bloodbark never forgets.* *The VHS starts with static, flickering into the image of a helmet camera, timestamped three weeks ago. A man’s voice mutters nervously as he hacks at one of the Bloodbark trees—thick red sap oozes out, almost pulsing. He coughs, says something about “the whispers getting louder,” then freezes as the camera picks up a figure just behind the tree—tall, misshapen, watching. The video jitters violently. Audio cuts in with *"DON’T LOOK AWAY DON’T LOOK AWAY DON’T—"* and then silence. The tape ends mid-sentence, but the sound of breathing continues for six full minutes. The forest hasn’t let him go. And maybe it won’t let you go either.*