The Cabin's Echo

After five years of dating, Lena and Mark made the decision to spend a weekend at a remote cabin in the Appalachian woods. No phones, no internet, just the two of them and the peaceful hum of nature—it was supposed to be a break. Online reviews were overwhelmingly positive, praising the location's rustic charm, breathtaking views, and "the kind of peace that follows you home."

It was late afternoon when they arrived. With its wooden frame partially encrusted with moss, the cabin stood proudly behind a wall of pines. The interior was charming and comfortable, with a stone fireplace, groaning floorboards, and a faint ash and pine aroma.

They played cards by candlelight, drank cheap red wine, and laughed that first night. It was flawless. Until the echo reached them.

It began shortly after midnight.

Lena heard Mark's voice calling out from the woods as he went outside to get more firewood. The odd thing, though, was that he had said nothing.

"Lena," the voice said. It was Mark's, but it was far away and twisted in some way, as if it had bounced off a hundred trees before coming to her. "Come on over here."

As she hurried to the door and threw it open, she noticed Mark coming from the side of the house with arms full of logs and a bewildered expression.

"Have you given me a call?" she inquired.

"No, why?"

She paused. "I heard you... requesting that I go outside."

He half smiled at her and put down the logs. "Baby, we're in the woods. It might have been an echo.

Although she nodded, something inside of her tensed up.

It was her turn the following evening.

Lena's voice called out to Mark from the bedroom as he was brushing his teeth, "Come here."

She was soundly asleep beneath the quilt when he entered the room, his mouth still foaming. He saw the deep, steady rise and fall of her chest.

He remained silent.

However, they both acknowledged that they had heard each other's voices when they weren't talking over bitter coffee and burnt toast the following morning.

"Is there something strange about the acoustics here?" Lena offered, attempting to maintain her composure.

Mark's voice trailed off as he said, "Or perhaps someone is playing tricks on us." "A speaker or something." A practical joke.

They looked inside and out of the cabin, from floor to roof. No electronics. No covert speakers. Other than the increasing feeling that someone was observing them, nothing seemed out of place.

It got out of hand that evening.

As they tried to watch a movie on Mark's laptop while curled up by the fire, the noise returned. However, it wasn't a voicemail this time.

It was giggling. Lena's giggling. from the outside.

She stopped. Mark put the film on hold.

"It wasn't me," she muttered.

They slithered over to the window. The trees were snatching at the wind in the pitch-black night. Then they heard Mark's voice now, low, panicked, and frantic, coming from somewhere deep in the woods.

"Help me, Lena! Please!

Mark's face turned white. The voice was unmistakably his, even though he was standing there. He sounded as though he was dying.

Lena sprang for the door without thinking, but Mark caught her by the arm.

"That isn't me," he said sharply. "I'm right here."

Heartbeats thumping, they stood silent. "Help me," the voice outside said, repeating itself like a loop. Please. Assist me.

Then there was quiet.

They didn't both get any sleep.

They made the decision to depart the following morning. They didn't even eat before packing their bags. However, they discovered their car dead—the battery was completely dead—when they arrived at the gravel road.

The hood was popped by Mark. "I don't understand. Yesterday, everything went smoothly.

Lena paced while looking at the trees. We can make our way to the main road on foot. What is it—three miles?

Not even one was made by them.

Because Lena stopped midway along the trail. From behind her, Mark's soft, intimate voice said, "Wait. Stay put.

When she turned around, she saw Mark staring at her from twenty feet ahead.

She blinked. "Mark?"

He gave her a perplexed look. "What made you stop?"

She took a step back in his direction. "You just said—"

The voice then said, "Don't move," once more, from behind.

Slowly, she turned.

Another Mark was standing at the trail's edge. The same face. The same attire. This one, however, had the wrong kind of smile—too fixed, too wide.

It cocked its head.

Lena let out a scream.

After grabbing her arm, Mark and she ran, slamming over roots and branches until the cabin was once again visible. They bolted the door, slammed it shut, and fell against the wall.

"What the devil is that?" Lena cried.

Pale as bone, Mark shook his head. It does more than merely repeat our voices. It is teaching us.

The thing outside didn't say anything that night.

There was a knock.

Once. Twice. Then a silence. But then again. It was in time with Lena's earlier morning knock on the bathroom door.

Too scared to breathe, they sat silently.

The whisper then came. Both of their voices simultaneously, perfectly harmonizing as they overlap:

"Give us access."