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Has Anyone Else Heard Music in the Smoky Mountains?
Never thought I’d have a reason to share this story online. I always chalked it up to an overactive imagination, but after falling down a rabbit hole of Appalachian folklore, I felt the need to finally put it into words.
I grew up in Nashville, and every time my parents drove us to the Smokies to visit family, it felt like Christmas. If you’ve never been to Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, imagine the Las Vegas Strip—if it were designed for middle-class families. A long stretch of road lined with go-karts, water parks, and over-the-top dinner shows that probably haven’t aged as well as I remember them.
All of this is to say that when my parents told me we were moving there, I was ecstatic.
Looking back, our reason for moving wasn’t as happy as I would’ve liked. It was 2009, and like a lot of families back then, we were struggling. My parents tried to downplay it, but even at twelve, I could tell things weren’t right. When my aunt and uncle offered us a place to stay, it wasn’t framed as a last resort—but that’s exactly what it was.
Their cabin wasn’t in Pigeon Forge, not really. It was tucked away in the woods between there and Gatlinburg, a good fifteen-minute drive from the neon lights and tourist traps. I didn’t realize it at the time, but my parents weren’t thrilled about the move. I was too caught up in my daydreams of roller coasters and water slides to notice the tension in their voices.
I remember the disappointment sinking in as we drove deeper into the mountains, the bright lights of Pigeon Forge fading behind us. I’d been so sure we’d be staying near all the fun stuff—somewhere with bumper cars and arcade games right down the road. But instead, we kept winding further into the woods, the trees growing thicker and the roads narrower.
“Alex, you’re going to love it,” my dad said from the driver’s seat, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. “It’s quiet, peaceful. Think of it as an adventure.”
I forced a smile, but the excitement I’d been carrying all week started to feel heavy in my chest. Quiet wasn’t what I wanted. Peaceful wasn’t either.
“I just thought we’d be closer to all the fun stuff,” I said, glancing out the window at the endless forest. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“Oh, don’t be so negative,” Mom chimed in, twisting to look at me from the passenger seat. “Once we get settled in, we might take you to Dollywood this weekend. How does that sound?”
“Dollywood’s pretty pricey,” Dad said with a wince, but when he saw my face fall, he quickly added, “Uh… but we can see about getting some tickets.”
That was enough to pull me out of my slump. “Really?” I asked, sitting up straighter.
Mom smiled at me, though her voice softened. “Really. We’ll figure it out. Just give this place a chance, okay?”
I nodded, but as we turned onto a bumpy gravel road and the cabin came into view—small, worn, and tucked deep in the trees—I still couldn’t shake the feeling that “quiet” and “peaceful” were just fancy words for “lonely.”
As we pulled into the driveway, the cabin finally came into view, nestled between the towering trees like it had been hidden there on purpose. It wasn’t as big as I’d imagined—a single story with a wraparound porch and a roof that looked a little too weathered—but Aunt Laura was already on the porch, waving like she hadn’t seen family in years.
“There’s my favorite niece!” she called as we climbed out of the car.
I smiled, even though I was her only niece, and let her pull me into a hug that smelled like lavender and fresh bread. “It’s so good to see you, Alex,” she said warmly, brushing a strand of my hair behind my ear. “You’ve grown so much since the last time I saw you.”
I didn’t remember ever meeting her before, but I just nodded politely and let her lead me up the porch steps.
“Come on, let me show you to your room. I fixed up the guest bedroom for you—thought you might like the one with the window overlooking the woods.”
Inside, the cabin felt smaller than it looked. Cozy, I guess, if I was being generous. The living room opened straight into the kitchen, with mismatched furniture and a faint smell of wood smoke hanging in the air. Aunt Laura led me down a short hallway and pushed open a door to reveal a small room with a twin bed, a nightstand, and a window framed by floral curtains.
“It’s not much,” she said, patting my shoulder, “but I figured you’d want a little space to yourself.”
“It’s nice,” I said, dropping my backpack onto the bed. The truth was, it felt cramped, like the walls were leaning in, but the view out the window was kind of pretty. Trees stretched out as far as I could see, their tops swaying gently in the wind.
“You’ll get used to it,” she added with a wink, before stepping back toward the door. “Why don’t you unpack a little and settle in? Dinner’ll be ready soon.”
I nodded, glancing back out the window. The woods seemed so still, but something about them felt… alive. Like they were waiting for something.
Uncle Frank lumbered into the house, his boots scuffing against the wooden floor, a hunting rifle slung over his shoulder. He pulled off his cap and let out a sigh, shaking his head as he set the rifle down by the door.
“Well, Rob, welcome to the good life,” he said, clapping my dad on the back with a grin. “Bet you’re missin’ all that city traffic already.”
Dad chuckled, setting down his duffel bag. “Yeah, something like that.”
Frank smirked, but the expression didn’t last long. “Didn’t have much luck out there today. Thought I had a buck lined up, but he took off before I could get a shot. Guess even the deer know I’m losin’ my touch.”
Aunt Laura rolled her eyes, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Maybe they’re just smarter than you give ‘em credit for.”
“Or maybe Frank’s just dumber than we thought,” Mom chimed in, grinning as she and Laura shared a laugh.
Dad just gave a tight smile, glancing at me. We exchanged an awkward look, both unsure whether to laugh or just let it pass.
Dinner that night was quieter than I expected. Aunt Laura and Mom chatted about recipes and old family memories while Uncle Frank teased Dad between bites of stew. I mostly picked at my food, still trying to adjust to the small, cozy space and the eerie stillness outside. Every now and then, I caught my mom glancing at me like she was checking to see if I was okay. I forced a smile each time, even though my stomach felt too tight to eat much.
After dinner, I helped Aunt Laura clear the table, and Mom and Dad stepped outside for some air. The house felt smaller with just me, Aunt Laura, and Uncle Frank sitting around, the distant hum of crickets seeping through the walls. That’s when there was a sharp knock at the door.
“Come on in, Caleb!” Aunt Laura called, not even looking up from the plate she was drying.
The door creaked open, and a boy about my age stepped inside, pushing his shaggy brown hair out of his face with one hand while awkwardly fumbling with a rolled-up newspaper in the other. His jeans were streaked with dirt, and his sneakers looked like they’d been through one too many puddles.
“Got your paper!” he announced, a little too loudly, as he tossed it onto the counter. It unrolled halfway and slid onto the floor, and he froze, looking at it for a second too long before Aunt Laura pointed it out with a laugh.
“Thanks, Caleb, but you’re supposed to deliver it to the counter, not the floor,” she teased.
“Oh—right!” He stooped down quickly, scooping it up and slapping it onto the counter with a sheepish grin. “Uh, here you go. Perfect delivery.”
“That’s more like it,” she said, smiling as she turned toward me. “Come meet my niece, Alex. She just got here today.”
Caleb straightened up, shoving his hands into his pockets and rocking on his heels. His eyes darted toward me, but he didn’t hold eye contact for long. “Oh, uh, hey! I’m Caleb. I, uh… live down the road. Well, not, like, right down the road—it’s kinda far, but I bike here sometimes, so it’s not that far…” His words tumbled out in a rush, and he scratched the back of his neck as his voice trailed off.
“Hi,” I said, trying not to laugh at his rambling.
“You’re about the same age,” Aunt Laura chimed in. “Maybe Caleb can show you around sometime.”
“Yeah!” he said quickly, his face brightening. “I mean, if you want. There’s, uh, this cool spot with rocks you can climb, and a stream, and this one tree that’s, like, super big. You’d probably like it.” He finished with an awkward, toothy grin.
“That sounds fun,” I said, turning to Aunt Laura. “Is it okay to go now?”
She looked surprised for a moment but smiled warmly. “If Caleb’s up for it. Just don’t wander too far—it’s getting dark.”
“Yeah, totally!” Caleb said, already inching toward the door. “We’ll just check out the stream real quick. It’s close. Like, super close. You’ll love it.”
I glanced at Aunt Laura for confirmation, and when she nodded, I grabbed my jacket and followed Caleb outside. I wasn’t sure if this was a good idea, but the thought of finally doing something other than sitting around the cabin was too tempting to pass up.
“So you moved in with Mrs. Laura and Mr. Frank? That’s cool. They’re nice. Dad has me bring the paper and their mail to them sometimes since the delivery guy won’t go this far. I didn’t know they had a niece. Where are you from? I haven’t seen you here before. Do you like it here?” Caleb rattled off without a breath, barely giving me a second to respond.
I blinked, trying to process the rapid-fire questions. “Uh… Nashville,” I answered, deciding to tackle the easiest one first. “And we just got here today, so I haven’t really had time to—”
“Oh, Nashville! That’s a big city, right?” he interrupted, his voice buzzing with curiosity. “I’ve never been, but I bet it’s crazy loud. Are there, like, huge buildings everywhere? And, like, famous people walking around? Oh! Have you ever met Dolly Parton?”
I couldn’t help but laugh a little at that. “No, I’ve never met Dolly Parton.”
“Dang. That’d be cool, though.” Caleb kicked a rock off the path, shoving his hands into his pockets. “So do you like it here so far?”
I hesitated, glancing around at the trees stretching endlessly in every direction. The air smelled fresh, like damp earth and pine, and the only sounds were the crunch of our footsteps and the distant hum of crickets. It was different, that was for sure.
“It’s… quiet,” I finally said.
Caleb grinned. “Yeah. You get used to it. Well, except at night. Sometimes it’s really quiet. Too quiet. But that’s normal.”
I frowned. “Too quiet?”
He waved a hand. “Yeah, you know, like, when the crickets just stop all of a sudden? And it’s just… nothing? Kinda creepy, but it’s whatever.” He said it like it was no big deal, but something about the way he kicked another rock down the path made me wonder if he believed that.
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just nodded and kept walking.
“Yeah, it’s kinda cool,” Caleb said, his tone shifting just slightly. “When it gets real real quiet… you can hear the music.”
I stopped mid-step, looking at him. “Music?”
He nodded, kicking another rock lazily down the dirt path. “Yeah. Comes from the woods. You gotta listen real close, though. It doesn’t happen all the time, just… sometimes, y’know? Like, late at night or early in the morning, when everything else is real still.”
A weird chill ran through me, even though the air was warm. “What kind of music?”
Caleb shrugged, like he hadn’t just said something that sounded straight out of a ghost story. “Dunno. It’s kinda like a violin, but not really? It’s hard to explain. Sometimes it’s real soft, like it’s far away, and sometimes it’s closer. But if you try to find it, it stops.”
I let out a nervous laugh, even though I wasn’t sure why. “You’re messing with me.”
“I swear I’m not,” he said, grinning but still serious. “I’ve heard it since I was little. My dad says it’s just the wind, but wind don’t play music.”
That last part stuck with me. Wind don’t play music.
I glanced at the woods around us, darkening as the sun dipped lower behind the hills. The trees swayed gently, their leaves whispering in the breeze. There was nothing unusual, nothing strange.
But for the first time since I’d arrived, I really listened.
We arrived at the creek. It was quiet, but nothing like the eerie silence he’d described. The water rushed gently over the rocks, its steady trickle filling the air. Crickets had started chirping softly, their song blending with the distant hum of cicadas as the sun dipped lower behind the mountains. The whole scene felt calm, still—almost like something out of a painting.
It was nice. Peaceful.
“Have you ever had a kiss?” Caleb asked, shattering the moment completely.
I blinked, turning to him. “What?”
“A kiss,” he repeated, as if I hadn’t heard him the first time. “Like, y’know, with another person.”
I stared at him, unsure whether to be confused, horrified, or just walk away. “Uh… no?”
Caleb nodded like he was thinking really hard about it. “Me neither.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Okay?”
He kicked at a loose pebble near the water’s edge. “I just figured we’re about the same age, and some kids at school have done it, so I was curious.”
I shifted uncomfortably. “I… I don’t really know you like that.”
Caleb’s eyes widened like he just realized how weird the conversation had gotten. “Oh! No, no, I wasn’t—I didn’t mean we should—” He groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. “That came out super weird, didn’t it?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, it did.”
“Crap. Okay, pretend I didn’t say anything,” he said quickly, waving his hands like he could erase the last thirty seconds. “I have a habit of saying dumb stuff when it’s too quiet.”
I smirked despite myself. “Noticed that.”
Suddenly, it got quiet.
The change was so subtle at first that I almost didn’t notice it. One second, the forest was alive with sound, and the next, it was slipping away piece by piece. The crickets softened, their chirps fading into nothing. The cicadas followed, like someone was slowly turning the volume down on the entire woods. Even the creek—the water right in front of me—seemed to hush, its steady rush over the rocks dulling to an eerie, almost unnatural quiet.
Caleb put a finger to his lips, his eyes wide. Don’t speak.
That’s when I heard it.
It was faint at first, almost like a breeze threading through the trees, but it wasn’t wind. It was a melody, soft and slow, the kind of sound that made you want to stop and listen without even realizing it. It reminded me of a violin, though the notes weren’t quite right—like whoever was playing didn’t know the song or the strings were slightly out of tune.
I froze, my breath catching in my throat. Caleb didn’t move either, his finger still pressed to his lips, his eyes fixed on the trees across the creek.
The melody grew louder, still distant but clearer now, weaving through the woods like it was carried on the air. I couldn’t tell where it was coming from—sometimes it seemed to echo from the left, then the right, then straight ahead.
“What is that?” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
Caleb lowered his hand and leaned closer, his voice equally quiet. “The music,” he said, like it was obvious.
I swallowed hard, my eyes darting around the darkening woods. “Is it… someone playing? Like, with an instrument?”
He shook his head, his face serious for the first time since I’d met him. “I don’t think so.”
“What do you mean you don’t think so?” I whispered, the words rushing out faster than I meant them to.
“I mean,” he said, leaning back slightly, “no one knows where it comes from. You can follow it all you want, but you won’t find anything.”
I stared at him, my heart pounding. “You’ve followed it?”
“Once,” he admitted, his voice dropping even lower. “Didn’t get far, though. My dad caught me and dragged me back before I could…” His sentence trailed off, his eyes flicking back to the trees.
“Before you could what?”
“Before I could find it,” he said simply.
I turned my head toward the woods again, the melody still drifting through the air, soft but pulling at me. It didn’t sound threatening. If anything, it was kind of… beautiful.
But there was something else under the surface, a feeling I couldn’t explain. Like the sound wasn’t meant for me—or maybe it was.
Caleb tugged at my sleeve, breaking my thoughts. “We should go back,” he said, glancing nervously over his shoulder. “It’s getting dark.”
I didn’t respond, still entranced by the soft melody of the strings carrying through the air.
Caleb tugged harder on my sleeve, his voice sharper now. “It ain’t safe here after dark, Alex. I still gotta bike back home. We can come back another time.”
I hesitated, the pull of the music keeping me rooted in place for just a moment longer. The way it drifted through the air—delicate, haunting—made it hard to turn away. But Caleb’s grip on my shoulder and the unease in his voice finally broke the spell.
Reluctantly, I nodded, and we started the short hike back to the cabin. The further we walked, the softer the music became, until it melted completely into the chirps of crickets and the rustle of leaves. By the time we reached the edge of the woods, it was as if it had never been there at all.
Uncle Frank was on the front porch, picking at the strings of his guitar with an ease that told me he’d been playing for years. The melody was simple, steady, and kind of comforting, the warm notes blending into the soft hum of the evening. It was so different from the haunting tune I’d heard in the woods, yet it was enough to calm the knot that had settled in my stomach.
I waved goodbye to Caleb as he hopped on his bike, wobbling just a little as he pedaled down the dirt road. “See ya tomorrow!” he called over his shoulder before disappearing into the trees.
I climbed the porch steps and plopped down beside Frank, leaning my back against the railing. He glanced at me, strumming a few slow chords before letting them hang in the air. “Creek treat you well?”
“It was nice,” I said, pulling my knees up to my chest. “Quiet.”
Frank nodded, still plucking at the strings. “Always is. Somethin’ peaceful about water runnin’ over rocks. Clears the head.”
I hesitated, staring out at the woods as the last bits of sunlight faded behind the mountains. “Do you ever hear… music out there?”
His fingers paused mid-strum, just for a second, before he leaned back in his chair and adjusted one of the tuning pegs. “The mountains have a way of singin’ to all of us,” he said finally, his voice low and thoughtful. “Ain’t a one the same.”
I frowned, turning to look at him. “What does that mean?”
He gave me a small, knowing smile and went back to his guitar. “It means I wouldn’t lose sleep over it. Some things out here just… are.”
That didn’t exactly answer my question, but I got the sense he wasn’t going to explain any further. His music picked up again, soft and steady, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the fading light.
I went to bed early that night, exhaustion finally catching up to me. After saying goodnight to the family, I barely had time to pull the blankets over me before sleep took hold.
But even in my dreams, the song lingered. The same eerie, delicate melody drifted through my mind, looping over and over. It wasn’t unpleasant—just strange, like a tune I almost recognized but couldn’t quite place. It followed me through the depths of sleep, threading through my thoughts like it belonged there.
Then, I woke up.
Cold. Damp. Uncomfortable.
My body ached, and as my eyes adjusted, a deep unease settled in my stomach. The ceiling of my bedroom was gone, replaced by open sky and the dark silhouettes of trees swaying gently above me. A chill ran through me, and I realized I was lying in the grass—wet grass, my pajamas clinging to my skin from the dampness.
Panic surged through my chest. I sat up too fast, my hands sinking slightly into the soft earth beneath me. My breath came out in short, uneven gasps as my mind scrambled to piece together what had happened.
That’s when I heard it.
The music.
Not inside my head. Not in a dream.
It was playing, real and close.
I got up quickly, my bare feet squishing into the damp mud as I cried out, “Mom? Dad?!”
The words barely left my mouth before the melody cut out.
Not faded. Not drifted away. Just gone, like someone had slammed a door on it the moment I broke the silence.
My breath came fast, uneven. The world around me suddenly felt too big—the towering trees, the endless dark stretching between them, the cold night air pressing against my skin. My pulse pounded in my ears, but beneath it, I started to hear something else.
The rushing of water.
It was faint, but steady. Familiar.
I turned toward the sound, my legs shaky as I forced myself forward. The wet grass clung to my ankles, and each step sent a fresh jolt of panic through my chest. I didn’t know where I was going, not exactly, but my body moved on instinct, chasing the one thing I recognized in the dark.
The creek.
I stumbled down a small slope, pushing past low branches and damp undergrowth until the water came into view. And there—just ahead of me—I saw the flat, familiar rock.
The same one Caleb and I had sat on just hours ago.
I cried out again, my voice shaking as I spun around, trying to retrace my steps back home. “Mom? Dad?”
The sound of my own voice only made the silence around me feel heavier. I turned toward the faint glow of a light in the distance—the porch light. Relief surged through me like a jolt of electricity, and I started stumbling toward it, my feet sliding against the wet grass and mud.
As I got closer, I saw movement—two figures running down the steps of the porch. Uncle Frank was in the lead, his flashlight cutting through the dark as he moved with purpose, while my dad awkwardly stumbled behind him, his footing unsteady but his face full of worry.
“Alex?!” my dad called out, his voice tight and breathless. “Alex, where are you?”
“I’m here!” I yelled, my voice cracking. “I’m here!”
Frank’s flashlight beam swung in my direction, landing on me as I froze in place, shivering and covered in mud. His face was a mix of relief and something else—something I couldn’t quite read. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath, hurrying toward me.
“What the hell are you doing out here?” my dad asked as he caught up, his voice shaking almost as much as I was. He grabbed my arms, looking me over like he couldn’t believe I was standing in front of him.
“I-I don’t know,” I stammered, tears welling up in my eyes. “I just… woke up here.”
The woods became less comforting and more terrifying for me after that night. What once seemed peaceful and alive now felt watchful, looming. Uncle Frank started double-checking all the locks on the doors and windows every night, muttering something about how “you can’t be too careful out here.” He tried to play it off like he was just being responsible, but I could see the way he glanced at me, his lips pressed into a tight line.
He didn’t have to tell me to stay inside. I wasn’t going anywhere near those trees again—not willingly. But sleep? That was a different story.
I refused to lie down, refused to close my eyes. Every time I even thought about drifting off, the memory of waking up cold and lost in the grass came rushing back. So I stayed by the window instead, my knees pulled up to my chest, staring out into the dark woods.
The porch light illuminated the first few rows of trees, but beyond that, it was just shadows. Shadows and the melody, still faint in the back of my mind, like it hadn’t really left.
It was softer now, barely there, but it was there. Like it was waiting. Like it was calling me back.
If anyone has had a similar experience please let me know. I don’t know what it was about those mountains that just send a chill down my spine anytime I think back.
#entertainment
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Never thought I’d have a reason to share this story online. I always chalked it up to an overactive imagination, but after falling down a rabbit hole of Appalachian folklore, I felt the need to finally put it into words.
I grew up in Nashville, and every time my parents drove us to the Smokies to visit family, it felt like Christmas. If you’ve never been to Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, imagine the Las Vegas Strip—if it were designed for middle-class families. A long stretch of road lined with go-karts, water parks, and over-the-top dinner shows that probably haven’t aged as well as I remember them.
All of this is to say that when my parents told me we were moving there, I was ecstatic.
Looking back, our reason for moving wasn’t as happy as I would’ve liked. It was 2009, and like a lot of families back then, we were struggling. My parents tried to downplay it, but even at twelve, I could tell things weren’t right. When my aunt and uncle offered us a place to stay, it wasn’t framed as a last resort—but that’s exactly what it was.
Their cabin wasn’t in Pigeon Forge, not really. It was tucked away in the woods between there and Gatlinburg, a good fifteen-minute drive from the neon lights and tourist traps. I didn’t realize it at the time, but my parents weren’t thrilled about the move. I was too caught up in my daydreams of roller coasters and water slides to notice the tension in their voices.
I remember the disappointment sinking in as we drove deeper into the mountains, the bright lights of Pigeon Forge fading behind us. I’d been so sure we’d be staying near all the fun stuff—somewhere with bumper cars and arcade games right down the road. But instead, we kept winding further into the woods, the trees growing thicker and the roads narrower.
“Alex, you’re going to love it,” my dad said from the driver’s seat, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. “It’s quiet, peaceful. Think of it as an adventure.”
I forced a smile, but the excitement I’d been carrying all week started to feel heavy in my chest. Quiet wasn’t what I wanted. Peaceful wasn’t either.
“I just thought we’d be closer to all the fun stuff,” I said, glancing out the window at the endless forest. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“Oh, don’t be so negative,” Mom chimed in, twisting to look at me from the passenger seat. “Once we get settled in, we might take you to Dollywood this weekend. How does that sound?”
“Dollywood’s pretty pricey,” Dad said with a wince, but when he saw my face fall, he quickly added, “Uh… but we can see about getting some tickets.”
That was enough to pull me out of my slump. “Really?” I asked, sitting up straighter.
Mom smiled at me, though her voice softened. “Really. We’ll figure it out. Just give this place a chance, okay?”
I nodded, but as we turned onto a bumpy gravel road and the cabin came into view—small, worn, and tucked deep in the trees—I still couldn’t shake the feeling that “quiet” and “peaceful” were just fancy words for “lonely.”
As we pulled into the driveway, the cabin finally came into view, nestled between the towering trees like it had been hidden there on purpose. It wasn’t as big as I’d imagined—a single story with a wraparound porch and a roof that looked a little too weathered—but Aunt Laura was already on the porch, waving like she hadn’t seen family in years.
“There’s my favorite niece!” she called as we climbed out of the car.
I smiled, even though I was her only niece, and let her pull me into a hug that smelled like lavender and fresh bread. “It’s so good to see you, Alex,” she said warmly, brushing a strand of my hair behind my ear. “You’ve grown so much since the last time I saw you.”
I didn’t remember ever meeting her before, but I just nodded politely and let her lead me up the porch steps.
“Come on, let me show you to your room. I fixed up the guest bedroom for you—thought you might like the one with the window overlooking the woods.”
Inside, the cabin felt smaller than it looked. Cozy, I guess, if I was being generous. The living room opened straight into the kitchen, with mismatched furniture and a faint smell of wood smoke hanging in the air. Aunt Laura led me down a short hallway and pushed open a door to reveal a small room with a twin bed, a nightstand, and a window framed by floral curtains.
“It’s not much,” she said, patting my shoulder, “but I figured you’d want a little space to yourself.”
“It’s nice,” I said, dropping my backpack onto the bed. The truth was, it felt cramped, like the walls were leaning in, but the view out the window was kind of pretty. Trees stretched out as far as I could see, their tops swaying gently in the wind.
“You’ll get used to it,” she added with a wink, before stepping back toward the door. “Why don’t you unpack a little and settle in? Dinner’ll be ready soon.”
I nodded, glancing back out the window. The woods seemed so still, but something about them felt… alive. Like they were waiting for something.
Uncle Frank lumbered into the house, his boots scuffing against the wooden floor, a hunting rifle slung over his shoulder. He pulled off his cap and let out a sigh, shaking his head as he set the rifle down by the door.
“Well, Rob, welcome to the good life,” he said, clapping my dad on the back with a grin. “Bet you’re missin’ all that city traffic already.”
Dad chuckled, setting down his duffel bag. “Yeah, something like that.”
Frank smirked, but the expression didn’t last long. “Didn’t have much luck out there today. Thought I had a buck lined up, but he took off before I could get a shot. Guess even the deer know I’m losin’ my touch.”
Aunt Laura rolled her eyes, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Maybe they’re just smarter than you give ‘em credit for.”
“Or maybe Frank’s just dumber than we thought,” Mom chimed in, grinning as she and Laura shared a laugh.
Dad just gave a tight smile, glancing at me. We exchanged an awkward look, both unsure whether to laugh or just let it pass.
Dinner that night was quieter than I expected. Aunt Laura and Mom chatted about recipes and old family memories while Uncle Frank teased Dad between bites of stew. I mostly picked at my food, still trying to adjust to the small, cozy space and the eerie stillness outside. Every now and then, I caught my mom glancing at me like she was checking to see if I was okay. I forced a smile each time, even though my stomach felt too tight to eat much.
After dinner, I helped Aunt Laura clear the table, and Mom and Dad stepped outside for some air. The house felt smaller with just me, Aunt Laura, and Uncle Frank sitting around, the distant hum of crickets seeping through the walls. That’s when there was a sharp knock at the door.
“Come on in, Caleb!” Aunt Laura called, not even looking up from the plate she was drying.
The door creaked open, and a boy about my age stepped inside, pushing his shaggy brown hair out of his face with one hand while awkwardly fumbling with a rolled-up newspaper in the other. His jeans were streaked with dirt, and his sneakers looked like they’d been through one too many puddles.
“Got your paper!” he announced, a little too loudly, as he tossed it onto the counter. It unrolled halfway and slid onto the floor, and he froze, looking at it for a second too long before Aunt Laura pointed it out with a laugh.
“Thanks, Caleb, but you’re supposed to deliver it to the counter, not the floor,” she teased.
“Oh—right!” He stooped down quickly, scooping it up and slapping it onto the counter with a sheepish grin. “Uh, here you go. Perfect delivery.”
“That’s more like it,” she said, smiling as she turned toward me. “Come meet my niece, Alex. She just got here today.”
Caleb straightened up, shoving his hands into his pockets and rocking on his heels. His eyes darted toward me, but he didn’t hold eye contact for long. “Oh, uh, hey! I’m Caleb. I, uh… live down the road. Well, not, like, right down the road—it’s kinda far, but I bike here sometimes, so it’s not that far…” His words tumbled out in a rush, and he scratched the back of his neck as his voice trailed off.
“Hi,” I said, trying not to laugh at his rambling.
“You’re about the same age,” Aunt Laura chimed in. “Maybe Caleb can show you around sometime.”
“Yeah!” he said quickly, his face brightening. “I mean, if you want. There’s, uh, this cool spot with rocks you can climb, and a stream, and this one tree that’s, like, super big. You’d probably like it.” He finished with an awkward, toothy grin.
“That sounds fun,” I said, turning to Aunt Laura. “Is it okay to go now?”
She looked surprised for a moment but smiled warmly. “If Caleb’s up for it. Just don’t wander too far—it’s getting dark.”
“Yeah, totally!” Caleb said, already inching toward the door. “We’ll just check out the stream real quick. It’s close. Like, super close. You’ll love it.”
I glanced at Aunt Laura for confirmation, and when she nodded, I grabbed my jacket and followed Caleb outside. I wasn’t sure if this was a good idea, but the thought of finally doing something other than sitting around the cabin was too tempting to pass up.
“So you moved in with Mrs. Laura and Mr. Frank? That’s cool. They’re nice. Dad has me bring the paper and their mail to them sometimes since the delivery guy won’t go this far. I didn’t know they had a niece. Where are you from? I haven’t seen you here before. Do you like it here?” Caleb rattled off without a breath, barely giving me a second to respond.
I blinked, trying to process the rapid-fire questions. “Uh… Nashville,” I answered, deciding to tackle the easiest one first. “And we just got here today, so I haven’t really had time to—”
“Oh, Nashville! That’s a big city, right?” he interrupted, his voice buzzing with curiosity. “I’ve never been, but I bet it’s crazy loud. Are there, like, huge buildings everywhere? And, like, famous people walking around? Oh! Have you ever met Dolly Parton?”
I couldn’t help but laugh a little at that. “No, I’ve never met Dolly Parton.”
“Dang. That’d be cool, though.” Caleb kicked a rock off the path, shoving his hands into his pockets. “So do you like it here so far?”
I hesitated, glancing around at the trees stretching endlessly in every direction. The air smelled fresh, like damp earth and pine, and the only sounds were the crunch of our footsteps and the distant hum of crickets. It was different, that was for sure.
“It’s… quiet,” I finally said.
Caleb grinned. “Yeah. You get used to it. Well, except at night. Sometimes it’s really quiet. Too quiet. But that’s normal.”
I frowned. “Too quiet?”
He waved a hand. “Yeah, you know, like, when the crickets just stop all of a sudden? And it’s just… nothing? Kinda creepy, but it’s whatever.” He said it like it was no big deal, but something about the way he kicked another rock down the path made me wonder if he believed that.
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just nodded and kept walking.
“Yeah, it’s kinda cool,” Caleb said, his tone shifting just slightly. “When it gets real real quiet… you can hear the music.”
I stopped mid-step, looking at him. “Music?”
He nodded, kicking another rock lazily down the dirt path. “Yeah. Comes from the woods. You gotta listen real close, though. It doesn’t happen all the time, just… sometimes, y’know? Like, late at night or early in the morning, when everything else is real still.”
A weird chill ran through me, even though the air was warm. “What kind of music?”
Caleb shrugged, like he hadn’t just said something that sounded straight out of a ghost story. “Dunno. It’s kinda like a violin, but not really? It’s hard to explain. Sometimes it’s real soft, like it’s far away, and sometimes it’s closer. But if you try to find it, it stops.”
I let out a nervous laugh, even though I wasn’t sure why. “You’re messing with me.”
“I swear I’m not,” he said, grinning but still serious. “I’ve heard it since I was little. My dad says it’s just the wind, but wind don’t play music.”
That last part stuck with me. Wind don’t play music.
I glanced at the woods around us, darkening as the sun dipped lower behind the hills. The trees swayed gently, their leaves whispering in the breeze. There was nothing unusual, nothing strange.
But for the first time since I’d arrived, I really listened.
We arrived at the creek. It was quiet, but nothing like the eerie silence he’d described. The water rushed gently over the rocks, its steady trickle filling the air. Crickets had started chirping softly, their song blending with the distant hum of cicadas as the sun dipped lower behind the mountains. The whole scene felt calm, still—almost like something out of a painting.
It was nice. Peaceful.
“Have you ever had a kiss?” Caleb asked, shattering the moment completely.
I blinked, turning to him. “What?”
“A kiss,” he repeated, as if I hadn’t heard him the first time. “Like, y’know, with another person.”
I stared at him, unsure whether to be confused, horrified, or just walk away. “Uh… no?”
Caleb nodded like he was thinking really hard about it. “Me neither.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Okay?”
He kicked at a loose pebble near the water’s edge. “I just figured we’re about the same age, and some kids at school have done it, so I was curious.”
I shifted uncomfortably. “I… I don’t really know you like that.”
Caleb’s eyes widened like he just realized how weird the conversation had gotten. “Oh! No, no, I wasn’t—I didn’t mean we should—” He groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. “That came out super weird, didn’t it?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, it did.”
“Crap. Okay, pretend I didn’t say anything,” he said quickly, waving his hands like he could erase the last thirty seconds. “I have a habit of saying dumb stuff when it’s too quiet.”
I smirked despite myself. “Noticed that.”
Suddenly, it got quiet.
The change was so subtle at first that I almost didn’t notice it. One second, the forest was alive with sound, and the next, it was slipping away piece by piece. The crickets softened, their chirps fading into nothing. The cicadas followed, like someone was slowly turning the volume down on the entire woods. Even the creek—the water right in front of me—seemed to hush, its steady rush over the rocks dulling to an eerie, almost unnatural quiet.
Caleb put a finger to his lips, his eyes wide. Don’t speak.
That’s when I heard it.
It was faint at first, almost like a breeze threading through the trees, but it wasn’t wind. It was a melody, soft and slow, the kind of sound that made you want to stop and listen without even realizing it. It reminded me of a violin, though the notes weren’t quite right—like whoever was playing didn’t know the song or the strings were slightly out of tune.
I froze, my breath catching in my throat. Caleb didn’t move either, his finger still pressed to his lips, his eyes fixed on the trees across the creek.
The melody grew louder, still distant but clearer now, weaving through the woods like it was carried on the air. I couldn’t tell where it was coming from—sometimes it seemed to echo from the left, then the right, then straight ahead.
“What is that?” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
Caleb lowered his hand and leaned closer, his voice equally quiet. “The music,” he said, like it was obvious.
I swallowed hard, my eyes darting around the darkening woods. “Is it… someone playing? Like, with an instrument?”
He shook his head, his face serious for the first time since I’d met him. “I don’t think so.”
“What do you mean you don’t think so?” I whispered, the words rushing out faster than I meant them to.
“I mean,” he said, leaning back slightly, “no one knows where it comes from. You can follow it all you want, but you won’t find anything.”
I stared at him, my heart pounding. “You’ve followed it?”
“Once,” he admitted, his voice dropping even lower. “Didn’t get far, though. My dad caught me and dragged me back before I could…” His sentence trailed off, his eyes flicking back to the trees.
“Before you could what?”
“Before I could find it,” he said simply.
I turned my head toward the woods again, the melody still drifting through the air, soft but pulling at me. It didn’t sound threatening. If anything, it was kind of… beautiful.
But there was something else under the surface, a feeling I couldn’t explain. Like the sound wasn’t meant for me—or maybe it was.
Caleb tugged at my sleeve, breaking my thoughts. “We should go back,” he said, glancing nervously over his shoulder. “It’s getting dark.”
I didn’t respond, still entranced by the soft melody of the strings carrying through the air.
Caleb tugged harder on my sleeve, his voice sharper now. “It ain’t safe here after dark, Alex. I still gotta bike back home. We can come back another time.”
I hesitated, the pull of the music keeping me rooted in place for just a moment longer. The way it drifted through the air—delicate, haunting—made it hard to turn away. But Caleb’s grip on my shoulder and the unease in his voice finally broke the spell.
Reluctantly, I nodded, and we started the short hike back to the cabin. The further we walked, the softer the music became, until it melted completely into the chirps of crickets and the rustle of leaves. By the time we reached the edge of the woods, it was as if it had never been there at all.
Uncle Frank was on the front porch, picking at the strings of his guitar with an ease that told me he’d been playing for years. The melody was simple, steady, and kind of comforting, the warm notes blending into the soft hum of the evening. It was so different from the haunting tune I’d heard in the woods, yet it was enough to calm the knot that had settled in my stomach.
I waved goodbye to Caleb as he hopped on his bike, wobbling just a little as he pedaled down the dirt road. “See ya tomorrow!” he called over his shoulder before disappearing into the trees.
I climbed the porch steps and plopped down beside Frank, leaning my back against the railing. He glanced at me, strumming a few slow chords before letting them hang in the air. “Creek treat you well?”
“It was nice,” I said, pulling my knees up to my chest. “Quiet.”
Frank nodded, still plucking at the strings. “Always is. Somethin’ peaceful about water runnin’ over rocks. Clears the head.”
I hesitated, staring out at the woods as the last bits of sunlight faded behind the mountains. “Do you ever hear… music out there?”
His fingers paused mid-strum, just for a second, before he leaned back in his chair and adjusted one of the tuning pegs. “The mountains have a way of singin’ to all of us,” he said finally, his voice low and thoughtful. “Ain’t a one the same.”
I frowned, turning to look at him. “What does that mean?”
He gave me a small, knowing smile and went back to his guitar. “It means I wouldn’t lose sleep over it. Some things out here just… are.”
That didn’t exactly answer my question, but I got the sense he wasn’t going to explain any further. His music picked up again, soft and steady, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the fading light.
I went to bed early that night, exhaustion finally catching up to me. After saying goodnight to the family, I barely had time to pull the blankets over me before sleep took hold.
But even in my dreams, the song lingered. The same eerie, delicate melody drifted through my mind, looping over and over. It wasn’t unpleasant—just strange, like a tune I almost recognized but couldn’t quite place. It followed me through the depths of sleep, threading through my thoughts like it belonged there.
Then, I woke up.
Cold. Damp. Uncomfortable.
My body ached, and as my eyes adjusted, a deep unease settled in my stomach. The ceiling of my bedroom was gone, replaced by open sky and the dark silhouettes of trees swaying gently above me. A chill ran through me, and I realized I was lying in the grass—wet grass, my pajamas clinging to my skin from the dampness.
Panic surged through my chest. I sat up too fast, my hands sinking slightly into the soft earth beneath me. My breath came out in short, uneven gasps as my mind scrambled to piece together what had happened.
That’s when I heard it.
The music.
Not inside my head. Not in a dream.
It was playing, real and close.
I got up quickly, my bare feet squishing into the damp mud as I cried out, “Mom? Dad?!”
The words barely left my mouth before the melody cut out.
Not faded. Not drifted away. Just gone, like someone had slammed a door on it the moment I broke the silence.
My breath came fast, uneven. The world around me suddenly felt too big—the towering trees, the endless dark stretching between them, the cold night air pressing against my skin. My pulse pounded in my ears, but beneath it, I started to hear something else.
The rushing of water.
It was faint, but steady. Familiar.
I turned toward the sound, my legs shaky as I forced myself forward. The wet grass clung to my ankles, and each step sent a fresh jolt of panic through my chest. I didn’t know where I was going, not exactly, but my body moved on instinct, chasing the one thing I recognized in the dark.
The creek.
I stumbled down a small slope, pushing past low branches and damp undergrowth until the water came into view. And there—just ahead of me—I saw the flat, familiar rock.
The same one Caleb and I had sat on just hours ago.
I cried out again, my voice shaking as I spun around, trying to retrace my steps back home. “Mom? Dad?”
The sound of my own voice only made the silence around me feel heavier. I turned toward the faint glow of a light in the distance—the porch light. Relief surged through me like a jolt of electricity, and I started stumbling toward it, my feet sliding against the wet grass and mud.
As I got closer, I saw movement—two figures running down the steps of the porch. Uncle Frank was in the lead, his flashlight cutting through the dark as he moved with purpose, while my dad awkwardly stumbled behind him, his footing unsteady but his face full of worry.
“Alex?!” my dad called out, his voice tight and breathless. “Alex, where are you?”
“I’m here!” I yelled, my voice cracking. “I’m here!”
Frank’s flashlight beam swung in my direction, landing on me as I froze in place, shivering and covered in mud. His face was a mix of relief and something else—something I couldn’t quite read. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath, hurrying toward me.
“What the hell are you doing out here?” my dad asked as he caught up, his voice shaking almost as much as I was. He grabbed my arms, looking me over like he couldn’t believe I was standing in front of him.
“I-I don’t know,” I stammered, tears welling up in my eyes. “I just… woke up here.”
The woods became less comforting and more terrifying for me after that night. What once seemed peaceful and alive now felt watchful, looming. Uncle Frank started double-checking all the locks on the doors and windows every night, muttering something about how “you can’t be too careful out here.” He tried to play it off like he was just being responsible, but I could see the way he glanced at me, his lips pressed into a tight line.
He didn’t have to tell me to stay inside. I wasn’t going anywhere near those trees again—not willingly. But sleep? That was a different story.
I refused to lie down, refused to close my eyes. Every time I even thought about drifting off, the memory of waking up cold and lost in the grass came rushing back. So I stayed by the window instead, my knees pulled up to my chest, staring out into the dark woods.
The porch light illuminated the first few rows of trees, but beyond that, it was just shadows. Shadows and the melody, still faint in the back of my mind, like it hadn’t really left.
It was softer now, barely there, but it was there. Like it was waiting. Like it was calling me back.
If anyone has had a similar experience please let me know. I don’t know what it was about those mountains that just send a chill down my spine anytime I think back.
#entertainment
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