The phone rang at 11:13 p.m.

Marlene froze. The sound always struck her like a knife, a cold stab of dread cutting through her chest. No one ever called this late. She picked up the old landline with trembling fingers.

“Hello?”

There was a pause. Then a quiet, trembling voice:

“Mom?”

The world tilted as Marlene sank into her old armchair, heart racing. Her husband, David, looked up from his paper at the sound, concern furrowing his brow. 

“Mom, it’s me. It’s Grace.”

Marlene’s throat closed, a shiver running down her spine. David stood up from his own chair, face pale, stepping toward his wife.

“That’s not funny.” he said, voice unsteady. “Who is this?”

“Dad, it’s me.” the voice said softly. “It’s been so long. I just want to come home.”

“It sounds like her, David.” Marlene said, turning to her husband as she pressed the receiver to her chest. 

He shook his head. “Don’t. Don’t do this.”

“Please.” Grace said. “I want to see you again. Family should be together.”

Marlene’s heart cracked. “Grace, you- you can’t come home. You know-” She cut herself off.

“I do know.” The voice on the line was terrifyingly quiet. “I know everything. I know where you took me. What was in that dinner. Why we went hunting on a Thursday when we always went on Saturdays. I know.” 

Marlene gasped. David went rigid. “Enough!” he snapped, snatching the phone and slamming it down. There was a beat of silence, broken only by the wind whistling through the rafters of their old cabin. Marlene opened her mouth to speak, but a soft beep interrupted her. Grace’s voice slipped through the phone again, calm and deliberate. 

“Dad, that temper of yours will get you into trouble one day. But don’t worry… all families have their quirks.”

“You are not a part of this family!” David roared, panicked.

A soft chuckle echoed through the room. But it wasn’t from the phone. Both adults turned toward the window, terror in their eyes. 

Outside in the front garden stood a small figure in a poppy red dress. The same dress she’d worn the night she disappeared. The figure raised the phone it was holding, and the soft whisper of, “I’m home.” echoed in the cabin.

“Grace.” Marlene approached the glass, tears running down her face. “Please-”

Her plea died as the red figure put its hand on the window, sharp veins of frost spreading across the glass. 

“I want you to know…” Grace said, in a voice as soft and cold as falling snow, “I forgive you.”

Marlene’s eyes widened. “R-Really?” 

The figure smiled-the same grin their daughter had once worn.

“No.” 

And in the deep woods of Maryland, the screams never made it past the trees.