The Forest in Appalachia Remembered Her Face and Followed Her Home

Borrowed Voices

The phone rang again, but there was no caller ID. Harper let it go to voicemail. When she played it, her stomach dropped. It was her mother’s voice, shaky, scared. “Honey? Something’s at the door. It sounds like you, but it’s not.” Then a sharp knock. Then static. Her mother had died five years ago.

Harper checked the audio file, and it was labeled as an incoming call from Mom. She tried to delete it, but it kept reappearing, every hour, on the hour. Each time, her mother sounded more afraid. Each time, Harper’s voice outside the door grew calmer and more patient. “It’s okay. Just let me in.”

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