The Hollow Man

It started as a rumor. A whisper that drifted through the town like a cold breath on a winter night. People spoke of strange sightings deep in the woods—of something lurking just beyond the tree line. They called it "The Hollow Man," but no one knew what it was. Just that it was there. Watching. Most said it was a ghost story, something the older kids made up to scare the younger ones. I didn't pay it much mind, but that was before Sam went missing.

Sam was my best friend. The kind of guy who never took anything seriously, always joking around, never scared of anything. When he heard about The Hollow Man, he laughed it off. "A faceless dude haunting the woods?" he scoffed. "Sounds like a bad horror movie." That was just Sam—always had to prove he wasn't afraid of anything. So when people dared him to check out the old cabin in the woods, where they said The Hollow Man had been seen, he didn't hesitate. He grabbed a flashlight, a camera, and said he'd be back before midnight. He never came back.

The police searched the woods for days. They didn't find anything. No tracks, no trace. It was like he'd vanished into thin air. People moved on, but I couldn't. I needed to know what happened to him. So, a week later, I decided to go to the cabin myself. Maybe it was stupid, but I couldn't just let it go. I had to see for myself. I started my hike just as the sun was beginning to set. The woods felt different that night—darker, heavier. The air was cold and damp, and every step felt like I was wading through something unseen, like the trees were closing in around me. I thought I heard footsteps behind me more than once, but when I turned around, there was nothing. Just the rustle of leaves and the whisper of the wind.

I found the cabin just as the last light of day was fading. It was a decrepit, rotting shack—something out of a nightmare. The windows were shattered, the door hung crooked on its hinges. I could see the dark inside, like a yawning mouth waiting to swallow me whole. I hesitated, just for a moment, before pushing open the door. The smell hit me first—damp wood and something sour, like spoiled meat. My flashlight barely cut through the darkness, and for a moment I thought I saw something move, just out of the corner of my eye. But when I turned, there was nothing. I found Sam's camera on the floor, covered in dirt and something else—dark, sticky, and dried. I almost dropped it when I picked it up.

The camera still worked, though, and there were photos on it. My hands were shaking so bad I could barely hold it steady as I flipped through them. The first was of the woods, taken at dusk. The second was the cabin, silhouetted against the setting sun. The third... was of Sam. But he wasn't smiling. He looked scared, more scared than I'd ever seen him, his eyes wide and unfocused, like he was looking at something just out of frame. Then there was another photo. It was blurry, taken in a rush, but I could make out a shape in the background—a tall, thin figure standing among the trees. Its skin was pale, almost glowing in the dark, and its face... God, its face. It was completely smooth, without eyes, without a mouth, just a blank, empty mask of skin. But even without eyes, I knew it was looking at Sam. Watching him.

The last photo was even worse. It was taken inside the cabin, and it was clear this time. The thing was standing in the corner, half-hidden in the shadows, leaning forward like it was about to pounce. It was taller than I thought—its head nearly touched the ceiling, and its arms were long, too long, hanging limp at its sides. And that face, that blank, faceless mask... I could almost see my reflection in it. I don't know how long I stood there, staring at that last photo, but I was snapped back to reality by a sound—a soft, wet scraping, like something being dragged across the floor. I spun around, shining my flashlight wildly, but there was nothing there. Just the empty, dark room.

Then the flashlight flickered, just for a moment, and I saw it. Standing at the far end of the room, still, silent, like it had been waiting for me. The Hollow Man. It didn't move, didn't make a sound, but I could feel it watching me. Even without eyes, I could feel it. I ran. I don't even remember getting out of the cabin, just that I was running, crashing through the woods, branches tearing at my clothes and skin. I didn't stop until I was back in town, my lungs burning, my legs aching, but I couldn't shake the feeling that it was still there, right behind me, just out of sight.

I tried to tell people what I saw, but no one believed me. They said I was just scared, that I imagined it all because I was worried about Sam. But I knew what I saw. I knew it was real. It got worse after that night. I started seeing things—shadows moving at the edge of my vision, figures standing in the dark corners of my room, just barely out of the light. Once, I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of breathing, soft and shallow, like someone was standing right next to my bed. But when I turned on the light, there was no one there.

Last night, I heard it again. That wet, scraping sound, coming from outside my window. I didn't want to look, but I couldn't help it. I pulled back the curtain, and there it was. Standing in the street, its head tilted up, looking straight at me. I couldn't see its face, not clearly, but I knew it was smiling. The police found Sam's body this morning, half-buried in a shallow grave out by the cabin. They said it looked like he'd been there for weeks, even though he'd only been missing for a few days. The coroner's report said he'd died of exposure, but that didn't explain the look on his face.

It was the same look he had in that photo. I know I'm next. I can feel it. Every night, I hear it—soft footsteps outside my window, the slow, deliberate creak of the floorboards downstairs, like someone's pacing, waiting. The Hollow Man doesn't rush. He waits. If you're reading this, don't come looking for me. And for the love of God, don't go to the cabin. The Hollow Man isn't just a story. He's real, and once he sees you, once you see him... you're his.