The Hollow

The Last to Walk the Hollow

In the town of Hollowbrook, people had always been wary of the forest. But in recent years, that wariness had turned into something darker-fear. A quiet, unspoken rule had begun to emerge: Don't go into The Hollow.

At first, it was just a few old-timers telling the younger generation to stay clear of the deep woods. "Strange things happen out there," they'd say, shaking their heads as though they knew something the rest of the town didn't. But then, the disappearances began. First, it was a teenager, then a hunter, and eventually, even the most seasoned woodsmen started to hesitate at the edge of the trees. The forest was changing.

The village grew quieter as the years passed, its inhabitants turning inward, avoiding the forest like it was a wound on the land. People spoke less of the trees, less of the path that wound deeper into the dark. And slowly, without anyone realizing it, the forest had become a thing of legend-an evil thing that lurked just beyond their borders.

It wasn't until Alex came back from the city for a visit that anyone dared to step into the woods again.

Alex had grown up in Hollowbrook but had long since left for a life of greater ambitions in the city. On his return, the village seemed even smaller, more hollow, than it had been before. The stories about the woods were all he heard, whispers in the pub, conversations halted when he passed, eyes darting nervously toward the tree line.

"What's so bad about The Hollow?" he asked, confused by the fear that seemed to hang over the place.

They told him nothing. Or, rather, they said too much. The forest had always been a part of Hollowbrook's history-old as time itself, tangled with myths. But now, no one was willing to talk about it. They all avoided it.

Don't go in there, Alex. It's not the same as it used to be.

So, of course, Alex went.

He was determined to prove to himself that there was nothing to fear, that his hometown's superstitions were just that-superstitions. It was a crisp afternoon when he set off, his boots crunching on the fallen leaves, his heart beating a little faster than normal. He had heard the stories of people who had ventured too far and never returned, but they were just stories, right? The kind you tell to scare kids.

The further he walked, the quieter it got. The forest was unnervingly still, as if it were holding its breath. The trees stood like silent sentinels, their branches twisted and gnarled, reaching toward each other in ways that felt... wrong. The path he followed was barely a trail, just a narrow line through the underbrush, swallowed by a tangle of roots and creeping vines.

Something about the air was off-thick, almost electric. Alex shook the feeling off. Just nerves, he thought.

But then he saw it.

At first, it was a shape in the distance, partially obscured by the trees. He walked closer, his heart pounding. As he stepped into the clearing, his blood ran cold.

It was an altar-an ancient stone structure, long abandoned, half-sunken into the earth. Overgrown with moss and vines, the altar looked as though it had been here for centuries, forgotten by time. But what made his stomach twist was the strange pattern etched into the stone, dark stains that looked like dried blood-like someone had been there recently. He knelt to get a closer look and recoiled when he saw it-a series of deep gouges, as though something had scraped its way up the stone.

A low creak broke the silence. He jerked his head up.

Nothing. No movement.

Yet, something was watching him.

Alex's instincts screamed at him to leave, but he refused to be scared. He stood, brushing off the dirt from his knees, and turned to head back to the village. But as he moved, the trees seemed to close in around him. The path he had followed no longer looked the same. The branches had shifted, the leaves turned, and for the first time, Alex felt the weight of the forest pressing down on him.

He turned in a circle, disoriented. The clearing was gone. The trees stood like a wall now, blocking his way back.

Panic fluttered in his chest.

He moved forward, hoping to retrace his steps, but every direction felt wrong. The wind had picked up, and with it came the faintest sound-a whisper, carried on the breeze.

Come... closer...

Alex froze, his heart hammering. He looked around, but there was no one. Just the trees. Just the forest. But the whisper... it wasn't just a voice-it was a feeling, a pull deep in his bones, like something was drawing him in.

Suddenly, the air turned colder. The trees seemed to shift, their branches contorting into shapes that almost seemed to reach for him. The whisper grew louder, now joined by a chorus of voices, all calling to him.

Come to us...

Something was out there. Something ancient. Something hungry. The Hollow was alive, and it wasn't just watching-it was waiting. Alex stumbled backward, heart racing, breath shallow. He turned to run, but as he did, the ground seemed to shift beneath his feet, the trees closing in around him, blocking every way forward, every way out. The whispers intensified, now urgent, desperate.

Stay with us...

The world around him blurred, the trees warping, twisting. The Hollow wasn't just a forest. It was a creature, a thing with a mind of its own, a hunger that could never be satisfied. And Alex was the next to feed it.

As the darkness closed in, the last thought that flickered through his mind was this: No one who enters this place ever really leaves.