Nightmare Gallery: A Treasury of Twisted Terror Tales

The Last Message

There was a place in the woods, deep enough that no one ever ventured into it anymore, where strange things had happened. The locals called it the Deadman's Hollow. The forest surrounding it was dense, thick with shadows, even during the brightest days. In the evening, when the sun dipped below the horizon, the forest became eerily still, as though the trees themselves were holding their breath.

It was there that Hannah found herself one rainy autumn evening.

Hannah had heard the stories, of course. Everyone had. How could they not? They were whispered around campfires, passed down in hushed tones. A long time ago, a boy named Jonathan had vanished in those woods, and no one had ever seen him again. His family had searched for weeks, days, months, but the forest had swallowed him whole. Some said he had wandered too deep into the hollow, some said he had found something there—a hidden cave, an abandoned house. Others claimed that something had come for him, something dark and ancient.

As a child, Hannah had believed in all the stories. She'd even had nightmares of the Hollow, of things moving in the shadows, of the whispers that came from nowhere. But as she grew older, her skepticism blossomed. She dismissed the rumors as just that—rumors. There were no ghosts, no monsters, no ancient forces. There was only nature, and nature was indifferent.

But when her brother, Jason, had gone missing three months ago, she had begun to doubt.

Jason had been different after that trip he took to the Hollow. He came back pale, with bags under his eyes, and a constant nervousness that never seemed to leave him. He didn't speak of what had happened, but Hannah could see the change. The fear. The way he flinched at loud noises or sudden movements. And then, one night, he had disappeared. Gone without a trace. No sign of struggle, no broken window or open door. Just gone. And all she had left was an unmarked letter in his handwriting, tucked under his pillow.

It was the letter that had brought her here.

She sat down on the damp ground beneath a thick oak tree, the remnants of rain still clinging to the leaves above. The paper was wrinkled and slightly torn from the years of neglect, but Hannah had memorized the words long ago.

"I'm sorry. They're coming. You shouldn't have come here. Don't listen to them. Don't go into the Hollow."

Hannah had tried to make sense of the letter, but the more she thought about it, the more confused she became. Who was "they"? What did Jason mean? The Hollow? Was it a warning, or was it something else?

Hannah wasn't sure what she was looking for, but she knew she had to find out. For Jason. For herself.

She had come to the forest at twilight, when the air was thick with mist. Her boots sank into the soggy earth as she made her way down the overgrown path. The further she went, the darker it seemed, even though the sun had barely set. A peculiar silence hung in the air, broken only by the occasional rustling of leaves. Hannah felt the weight of the forest around her, an oppressive presence that seemed to grow heavier with every step.

It wasn't long before she arrived at the heart of the Hollow.

The trees here were older, twisted in strange shapes, their gnarled roots snaking across the ground like veins. The air was thick, as though the forest was holding its breath, waiting for something. Something was wrong, but she couldn't put her finger on it. She felt eyes on her—something watching, something waiting.

And then she saw it.

There, in the middle of the clearing, stood an old stone well. Covered in moss and ivy, it looked out of place, like an ancient relic from a forgotten time. Hannah stepped closer, drawn to it as though by some unseen force. Her heart pounded in her chest. She could feel the energy of the place, a low hum that vibrated beneath her skin. It was as though the earth itself was alive, and it was trying to tell her something.

She knelt beside the well, her fingers brushing against the rough stones. They were cold to the touch, slick with moisture from the constant rain. But there was something else—something more.

A soft, almost imperceptible sound.

At first, she thought it was the wind, or perhaps her mind playing tricks on her. But then she heard it again, louder this time.

A voice. A whisper.

Her heart raced. She leaned in closer, her breath fogging up the stone. "Jason?" she called, her voice trembling.

The whisper came again, clearer this time. It was a voice, but not quite Jason's. It was distorted, low, guttural. The sound of something wrong.

"Help me, Hannah..."

Her breath caught in her throat. That voice—was it Jason? Was it really him? She tried to speak again, but the words stuck in her mouth.

The whisper continued, a frantic, urgent plea that seemed to echo through the trees. The voice became more desperate.

"It's too late... they're here... don't..."

Hannah's hands trembled as she reached into the well, her fingers brushing against something cold and damp. She could feel it—something at the bottom, something solid. Without thinking, she grabbed it.

It was a small, weathered box, bound in old leather. Her pulse quickened as she pulled it from the depths, its surface covered in strange symbols that seemed to shimmer in the dim light. She could feel the weight of it, an oppressive heaviness that almost made it difficult to breathe. It was as though the box had been waiting for her.

The whispering voice grew louder, now almost a scream.

"Don't open it, Hannah! Don't!"

But it was too late.

With trembling hands, she opened the box.

Inside, she found a single piece of parchment. It was a map—old, yellowed, and fraying at the edges. But there was more. On the back, in Jason's handwriting, were the final words that he had written before disappearing.

"I found it. I shouldn't have gone so deep. They're real. They're coming. But they'll never stop. I couldn't get away... but you can. Leave now. You're the last. Don't... don't let them have you too..."

A sharp, painful gust of wind swept through the clearing. The trees groaned, their branches creaking and shifting unnaturally. The air around her grew thick, almost suffocating. And then, from the shadows, something moved.

Something that was not human.

The whispers became screams. The ground beneath her feet began to tremble, and the world seemed to twist and distort, the trees warping, the sky darkening. A figure emerged from the darkness—tall, shrouded in shadow, its face hidden beneath a veil of blackness. Its eyes gleamed like white-hot embers, and its mouth stretched into a grin that was far too wide, too unnatural.

It was not Jason.

It was something else. Something that had been waiting, lurking beneath the surface, in the Hollow.

Hannah stumbled backward, the map slipping from her hands. She wanted to run, but the air was thick with the weight of the forest, and the ground felt like it was pulling her down. She couldn't move. She couldn't breathe.

The figure took a step forward, its eyes fixed on her. And then, in the same distorted voice that had called her name, it spoke again.

"It's too late... You should have listened..."

The map, with its cryptic warning, was found in the clearing the next day, scattered on the damp earth. But Hannah was never seen again. Only the whispers remained, echoing through the trees, waiting for the next lost soul to find them.