The Hollow Man pt2

The Hollow Man Part 2

It's been six months since Sam disappeared, and I've done my best to forget about what happened. I moved to a different town, far away from those cursed woods, but it's like trying to outrun a shadow. No matter how far I go, The Hollow Man follows.

It started small. I'd be walking down a busy street, and out of the corner of my eye, I'd see him—just a glimpse, a tall, thin figure slipping behind a corner. I thought I was imagining it at first. Maybe my mind playing tricks, a leftover scar from that night. But then it got worse. It was never clear, never right in front of me, but I'd catch reflections in store windows, in the dark glass of my computer screen, in the still water of a puddle. There'd be The Hollow Man, standing still, faceless, just... waiting.

Last week, I decided I couldn't take it anymore. I needed to know if he was real, or if I was just losing my mind. So, I went back. I know, I know how stupid that sounds, but when you see him every time you close your eyes, there's nowhere left to run. The only way to stop it was to face him. Or maybe I was hoping that by going back, he'd finally just finish whatever he started that night in the cabin.

I got back to town late in the afternoon. The sky was gray, thick clouds hanging low and heavy. I half-expected everything to look different, but it was like time had stopped. The same old shops, the same peeling paint on the diner's sign, even the same faded posters tacked onto the light poles. It was almost comforting, like maybe if everything else was frozen in place, I could freeze too, and The Hollow Man wouldn't be able to find me.

The hike to the cabin was as miserable as I remembered it. Wet leaves crunching underfoot, the air thick and damp. It felt like the forest was holding its breath, waiting. As I got closer, the familiar feeling of dread clawed at my chest, but I kept moving, following the trail until the rotting cabin came into view. The door was still hanging crooked on its hinges, like a mouth twisted into a grimace. I thought about turning back, but I knew I couldn't. Not until I knew for sure.

The inside was just as dark, just as empty. The air was thick with the smell of rot, but there was something else, too—something metallic, like old, rusted metal. My flashlight flickered, casting weak, shaky beams across the room. Everything looked the same, except for one thing: there was a piece of paper on the floor, half-buried under the dirt and grime. I picked it up, and my heart sank when I realized it was a photo.

It was of me. Taken from the same spot where I was standing now. My face was pale, eyes wide and frightened, like I knew something was behind me. I didn't remember taking it, but I recognized the background. The broken window, the splintered wooden wall... it was taken here, in the cabin.

Before I could process it, I heard a soft, low scraping sound coming from the corner. I didn't want to look. Every nerve in my body screamed to run, but I forced myself to turn my head, slowly, until I was facing the dark corner where the sound was coming from. My flashlight flickered again, just for a moment, and I saw him.

The Hollow Man was crouched low, almost crawling, his long limbs folded awkwardly, his head tilted at an unnatural angle. He was closer than I'd ever seen him before. Close enough that I could see the smooth, featureless skin stretched tight over his face. There was no expression, no eyes, no mouth, but I could feel it grinning. Not a grin that you could see, but one that seeped into the air, like a sick, twisted joy.

I stumbled back, dropping the flashlight. It hit the ground and rolled, the light spinning wildly, casting erratic shadows around the room. For a moment, The Hollow Man was gone, swallowed by the dark, but then the beam caught him again, closer this time. He was almost touching me, his hand—if you could call it that—reaching out, long fingers stretching toward my face.

I turned and ran. I don't know how I managed to find my way out of the cabin, but I did. My feet pounded the forest floor, my heart thundering in my ears. I didn't stop until I was back at the edge of town, gasping for breath, my mind a whirlwind of terror and confusion.

I thought I'd escaped, but then I saw the photo. Tucked into the windshield wiper of my car, fluttering gently in the breeze. It was another picture, this time of the cabin door. The same crooked door, but there was a figure standing in the doorway, just a silhouette, but I knew it was him. And written across the bottom, in a jagged, uneven scrawl, were the words: I SEE YOU.

I ripped the photo in half, but it didn't make a difference. Every day since, there's been a new one. In my mailbox, slipped under my door, taped to the bathroom mirror. It's always a picture of me, in places I thought were safe. My apartment, my office, even once in my car, with me sitting behind the wheel, eyes wide and staring, like a deer in headlights.

And now, he's getting closer. I can hear him at night, those slow, deliberate footsteps pacing outside my door, the soft, wet scrape of his hand trailing along the wall. Last night, I woke up to find another photo, this one lying on my pillow, like a taunt. It was a close-up of my face, taken while I was asleep. I could barely breathe when I saw it, but what scared me most wasn't the picture itself. It was what I saw behind me in the photo, just over my shoulder.

A hand. Pale, long, and thin, reaching out from the shadows.

I don't know how much longer I can keep running. I can't sleep, can't eat, can't think. The Hollow Man isn't just watching anymore. He's here, in my home, in my life, and I can feel him getting closer. He doesn't rush. He waits, just like before. But this time, I'm not sure I'll make it out alive.

If you find this, do yourself a favor: don't try to be a hero. Don't go looking for answers. Some things are better left unknown, and some shadows are better left undisturbed. Because once he sees you, once you see him... you're already his. And no matter how far you run, how fast you drive, The Hollow Man will always be one step behind, just waiting for you to stop looking over your shoulder.