The Forest in Appalachia Remembered Her Face and Followed Her Home

A Knock on the Door

Harper’s doorbell rang just after 2 a.m. One ring. Then three knocks that were too slow to be casual and too deliberate to ignore. She froze, checked the peephole, and saw no one. Then a voice, her voice, called softly, “Hey. It’s me. I forgot my key.” Her stomach twisted. The voice was perfect. Except she was home already.

The door rattled once. Then the voice sounded again, this time sharper, “Harper, open the door. Let me in.” Harper backed away, trembling. Eventually, the knocks stopped. By daybreak, muddy footprints trailed away from her porch and vanished into the grass. The front doormat was missing.

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