The Voice., a short story by kitosdad. Date added: 2011-08-22. Times viewed: 1085.
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As I wander through this lonely wood, my dogs by my side, I often hear it in the trees, the voice of my mother calling my name.
Is it just the rustling of the trees in the wind, or is it her using the unusual silence of the wood to increase the volume of her ethereal voice, a voice that would not be audible under normal circumstances? I hear it often, and I find myself being drawn more and more toward this isolated location.
Not many folk use this trail, as is evident by the grass growing right across it.
Many say it is haunted by the spirits of people who over the years have committed suicide by hanging themselves from the many stout limbed trees that grow in abundance here.
I sit at the base of a particularly stout tree and smoke my cigarette, my dogs at my feet.
Even Violetta, a fearless huntress, lays close to me. The dogs appear nervous and afraid, yet all I feel is calm and peaceful here in the heart of this deep, dark wood. No birds nest here, nor are there any signs or noises of any living thing.
I listen intently for her voice, but this is when I hear nothing, yet when I am walking unconcerned and thinking of mundane things, it is then that I hear her calling, softly yet clearly.
Is it purely imagination? Then why are the dogs eager to leave this deserted wood, breaking into joyous frolicking as we leave it behind us on our way back home? I'm not sure whether it is myself and my over-active imagination, but I do know that I am unable to resist the alluring voice softly calling me from the wood.
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