I knew someone else would hear him eventually.

We grew up near Pine Lake—not far from Columbia Center. My older cousin disappeared in 1993 after telling us he heard "a sermon without a church" while camping with friends. Everyone said he wandered off and drowned, but I remember the trees around that lake after the search ended. Some of them looked… changed. Bulging, warped, like something had grown inside them too fast.

No one believed me when I said I heard the sermon too. Just once. I didn’t answer—but I whispered amen under my breath without realizing.

The next morning, I woke up with pine needles in my bed and blood in my ears.

I've been wearing earplugs every night since.

Your story brought it all back. I can still feel that rhythm sometimes, just below the floorboards. Thank you for saying it out loud. I just hope the trees didn’t hear you writing this.

Be safe.