The Forest in Appalachia Remembered Her Face and Followed Her Home

Whispers in the Creek

Backtracking to one of her childhood campgrounds, Harper stopped by a creek she used to visit with Mike. The water was low and quiet. But as she knelt to rinse her hands, she heard a voice bubbling up beneath the surface. “Come back,” it whispered, sounding like Mike. Come see what you left.” She stumbled back.

The water turned dark, sluggish. Shapes writhed just beneath the surface—hands, maybe, or bones. Something flashed yellow beneath the ripple. Then silence. When Harper returned to her car, there were wet footprints on the driver’s side floor. No sign of a break-in. Just the smell of moss and rot.

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