The town of Black Hollow had always been shrouded in eerie silence. Tucked away in a forgotten corner of the country, it was a place that even maps seemed to avoid. It rained too often, the fog clung too thick, and the air carried a whispering hum that never quite faded.
Jonathan Crane never intended to return. He had left for college over a decade ago, vowing never to set foot in the place again. But when his sister, Emily, disappeared, he had no choice but to come back.
The streets were empty when he arrived. The houses loomed, their windows dark and vacant, like dead eyes watching his every move. He parked his car outside their childhood home—a rotting Victorian husk, its once-vibrant blue paint now peeling in thick, ugly strips. The front door creaked open under his touch, revealing the musty interior, preserved in time like a corpse trapped in amber.
Jonathan found Emily’s room untouched, her belongings precisely where she had left them. He picked up an old stuffed rabbit from her bed. It smelled of dust and something else—something faintly metallic. Blood?
The police had been useless. They found no forced entry, no struggle. It was as if Emily had simply vanished into thin air. But Jonathan knew better. The town was hiding something.
Determined, he walked to the library, one of the few places still open. Inside, the air was stale, the towering bookshelves like ancient sentinels. Miss Holloway, the librarian, regarded him with wide, glassy eyes. "Looking for something?" she rasped.
"I need to know about the disappearances. My sister’s gone."
A flicker of recognition passed across her face. "Your sister? Oh, dear boy… they’ve taken her."
Jonathan’s skin prickled. "Who?"
Miss Holloway lowered her voice. "The Hollow Ones. They come in the night. You don’t see them, only feel them. The moment you look at them, it’s already too late."
Jonathan recoiled. "That’s just a myth."
She shook her head. "Is it? Then why is your town empty? Why does no one talk about the missing?"
Jonathan left the library, her words rattling in his skull. That night, he searched through Emily’s journals. The last entry was disturbing:
The whispers are louder now. They call my name. I see shadows moving where there should be none. I think they’re inside the walls.
A scratching sound made Jonathan freeze. It came from inside the closet.
He approached, heart hammering, and flung the door open. Nothing.
Then the whispering began.
It was soft at first, like wind slipping through cracks. Then it grew—an unintelligible chorus of voices. Jonathan stumbled backward, gasping, as the walls seemed to ripple like disturbed water. A shadow peeled itself from the corner.
A faceless figure, dark as the void, emerged. No eyes, no mouth—just an emptiness where a face should be. The Hollow One tilted its head.
Jonathan fled.
The town was a graveyard, silent and watching. He ran to the church, banging on the heavy wooden doors. They opened slightly, revealing Father Calloway’s pale face. "They know you’ve seen them," he whispered. "Now they won’t stop."
"Tell me how to stop them!"
The priest hesitated before pulling Jonathan inside. The church was dimly lit with melted candles flickering along the walls. "They come for those who see them. The more you acknowledge them, the stronger they become. Black Hollow was doomed the moment we let them in."
Jonathan’s breath came in shallow gulps. "Let them in?"
"The town made a deal," the priest said gravely. "Long ago, we were dying. Crops failed, disease spread. So we invited them. They gave us prosperity… in exchange for silence. We never speak of the taken. Never search for them."
Jonathan’s stomach churned. "That’s why the police didn’t care."
Father Calloway nodded. "But you broke the rule. You came looking. Now they know."
A chill wrapped around Jonathan’s spine. "Emily. Can I save her?"
The priest hesitated. "There’s only one way. The Hollow Ones exist between worlds. They pull their victims into the in-between. If you enter willingly… you might find her. But you won’t return the same."
Jonathan’s jaw clenched. "I have to try."
That night, he returned to the house and stood in Emily’s room. The whispering swelled. The walls pulsed like a living thing. Taking a deep breath, Jonathan stepped forward and let the darkness take him.
He fell through nothingness. The air was thick, suffocating, filled with unseen hands that caressed his skin. Then—solid ground.
He stood in an endless void of cracked earth and rotting trees. Shadows moved at the edges of his vision. He called Emily’s name, his voice swallowed by the void.
Then, he saw her.
She stood still, staring blankly, her face pale. "Emily!" he ran to her, but she didn’t move. Her lips parted, and a whisper escaped:
"They hollowed me out."
Jonathan stepped back. Emily’s eyes were black voids, her mouth stretching too wide in an inhuman grin. Hands reached from the darkness, pulling her away.
"No!"
A cold hand grasped his wrist. The Hollow Ones were closing in. He had a choice—run or stay.
Tears burned his eyes as he turned and fled. Emily’s screams echoed behind him, distorting into something monstrous.
Then he was back. His childhood room. The house was silent.
But he wasn’t alone.
The whispering never stopped. And when Jonathan looked in the mirror, his reflection smiled back—though he hadn’t moved his lips.
Black Hollow had claimed another soul.
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