Narrator

They don't usually feel coordinated.

That's when we finally opened the binder again.

Not as a quirky cabin accessory, but as a document.

We read every page slowly.

We found a section we'd skipped.

A loose sheet tucked into the back cover like someone had hidden it.

A photocopy of an old newspaper clipping.

Yellowed, the print blurred.

The headline was partially cut off, but I could make out enough.

Local hunter missing and search called off.

The date was in the 1970s.

The article described a man who'd gone out alone, familiar with the area, never returned.

There was a quote from a sheriff about dangerous terrain and wildlife.

At the bottom, in pen, someone had written, he wasn't taken by the woods, he was taken by what borrows voices.

The phrase hit me harder than it should have, because it was too close to what we'd experienced.

Borrowed voice, borrowed identity, a thing that uses your own people against you.

Eric wanted to leave the next morning.

Nora agreed immediately.

Maddie didn't argue.

I hesitated, not because I wanted to stay, but because leaving in fear felt like giving something power, and my ego wanted to believe I could outstubborn the unknown.