The train never stops. The rails never end. And I didn't know that once I stepped aboard, I'd never step back off. I thought I was leaving my old life behind - the numbness, the quiet depression, the feeling that nothing I did mattered. Maybe I did leave it. But I didn't expect to trade it for something worse. Something alive. Something that watches. Fear wasn't supposed to follow me here. Purpose wasn't supposed to find me here. But both did. I didn't expect to feel anything on this train. Not hope. Not connection. Definitely not love. And yet... her. Kasumi. The hostess who moves like she's made of silence. The girl who never speaks unless she has to. The one who looks at passengers like she already knows how they'll die. The one who feels more trapped than any of us. I shouldn't have wanted to know her. But I did. Something about her pulled me in - the way she spoke only when she absolutely had to, the way she tried to never show a real emotion, the way she whispered warnings she wasn't supposed to say. And yet... it noticed. The woman who is partly a serpent, and entirely deranged. The creature who controls every inch of this train in ways no one understands. She needs things done a certain way. Her way. Always. When she gets what she wants, she feeds. When she doesn't, she devours. Now the lights flicker when I walk by. Doors breathe. Mirrors show things I shouldn't see. And every night at 8 PM, I lie still and pretend to sleep while something with a long neck slides through the ceiling, checking each bed, making sure we're asleep when we're supposed to be - searching for the one person I can't stop thinking about. I boarded this train to escape my life. I didn't know I was stepping into hers. I didn't know she was already claimed. I didn't know the rails were endless. But I know now. And I know one more thing: I'm not letting that thing take her from me.

My name is Kaitlin Reid. I'm simple-minded, boring, and a little less than capable of dealing with stressful situations. When I witnessed my best friend being murdered, I did all that I knew how to do, and I called the cops. They captured the murderer and put him in prison, and for a while, I felt safe. I had the cops on my side and just enough strength left in me to try to get my life back in order. But of course, as the story goes, that illusion of 'safety' was short-handed. The murderer escaped a high security prison. I know I am the top of his hit list. And I'm not sure when he will find me, or how he will do it, but he is after me. And my limited time is running out.

There are things that happen at night that do not belong fully to dreams or to waking. Moments when the body goes still but the mind stays alert. When shadows feel deliberate. When voices sound familiar enough to answer, yet wrong enough to fear. When you are certain you are awake - and later realize you may not have been. This book is not about monsters. It is about losing control while fully conscious. What you will read here did not happen once, or in one place, or in one form. These experiences followed me across years, rooms, and stages of my life - changing shape, but never intent. Sometimes they whispered. Sometimes they watched. Sometimes they touched. Every incident in this book is real as I remember it. Some moments are clear. Others are fragments - sensations, fear, stillness, pain. Where memory faltered, emotion remained. Where certainty failed, awareness did not. If you have ever woken unable to move, if you have ever heard your name when no one was there, if you have ever felt fear before understanding why - this book may feel uncomfortably familiar. And if it doesn't, read carefully. Because once you become conscious in the dark, sleep is never entirely innocent again. Content Warning (15+) : This book contains intense descriptions of sleep-related experiences that may be disturbing for some readers. Themes include fear, loss of bodily control, altered states of consciousness, and psychological distress occurring during the night. Descriptions may trigger anxiety in readers with sleep-related disorders. Reader discretion is advised. Recommended for readers 15 years and older.

The boy stood in front of the bathroom mirror, a little too close, his tiny hands pressed against the cold surface. He smiled at his reflection, though it didn't smile back right away. He was used to this. It was always like that-he would smile, and then the reflection would follow, eventually. "Hi, there," the boy whispered, his voice a soft murmur in the quiet house. From the kitchen, the sound of pots clanging echoed, and his mother's humming filled the space. He could hear the rhythm of the spatula stirring in the pan, the sizzling of whatever she was cooking. His father, still seated at the dining table, rustled the newspaper, absorbed in the evening's headlines. "Mom, look, it's me," the boy called out, his eyes never leaving the mirror. He waited for her usual response-a glance over her shoulder, a quick nod of acknowledgment. But she didn't answer. She just hummed. The boy tilted his head, eyes narrowing. There was something about his reflection now that felt different, too still, too patient. "Hello?" His voice trembled slightly. "Why don't you say something?" In the reflection, his own lips parted in silent mockery. But this time, he swore it wasn't him. The boy swallowed hard, his pulse quickening. His reflection didn't mirror his every movement anymore. It was slightly delayed, like it was watching him instead. A whisper seemed to curl in the air around him, soft but distinct. "You're not alone here." His heart thudded. The voice, distant but clear, came from the mirror. "Who's there?" the boy asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His father grunted from the other room, and the boy glanced toward the dining table. His father was engrossed in his newspaper. The boy turned back to the mirror. The reflection was still staring, but now, something more than just the image of himself looked back. "Don't you want to play?" the reflection asked, its smile curling wider, unnaturally wide.

I came to The School looking for a reset - a place quiet enough that no one would judge me, a place where I could exist without being watched. For a moment, it almost felt possible. Until the calm cracked. Students vanish. Lights flicker even when the power is steady. Whispers slip through the halls saying my name like they've been waiting for me. And every time the shadows shift, they shift toward her. Bruce watches the corners with a tension that makes my pulse spike, like he's bracing for something he's seen before. Bilton hides jealousy behind sharp smiles, clinging to me in ways that feel more desperate than cruel. But Kairaness... she looks at me like she already knows she's the one The School wants - like she's afraid she'll disappear the second I look away. I don't know why she's being targeted. I don't know why the building's attention circles her like a predator choosing its prey. But something inside me reacts every time she flinches - something fierce, instinctive, protective in a way that scares me. It feels like a part of me I didn't know existed wakes up when she's in danger. I didn't come here to save anyone. Yet now survival means keeping Bruce steady when the shadows move, keeping Bilton from unraveling, and keeping Kairaness alive long enough for all of us to escape - even if it means becoming someone I never planned to be. Because once The School decides you belong to it, it doesn't just hold on. It chooses. It hunts. And it wants her. And whatever's waking up inside me refuses to let it take her.

Blade expected quiet trails and cold mountain air when he arrived at Shadow Hollow. Instead, the forest greets him like a living thing-breathing, listening, waiting. The trees lean too close. The shadows move with intention. And the silence feels like something holding its breath. On their first night, Blade wakes to an old woman hanging upside‑down outside his window, her smile stretched too wide, her eyes fixed on him like she's choosing him. By morning, the Hollow gives him something else: a girl in a crystal‑blue dress lying unconscious among the roots, as if the forest placed her there on purpose. Chrysalis is strange, soft‑spoken, and terrified of something she refuses to name. Saving her feels right. Keeping her close feels dangerous. Because the creature hunting them doesn't stalk like an animal. It selects. It studies. It hungers. As Blade, his father, and Chrysalis try to escape the shapeshifter that wears human faces like borrowed skin, the Hollow twists around their every step-warping light, bending sound, and pulling them deeper into its dreamlike nightmare. And somewhere in that darkness, Blade and Chrysalis form a bond sharp enough to cut through fear... or lure the creature closer. Shadow Hollow is a predatory paranormal New Adult horror about a forest that chooses its prey, a creature that never stops watching, and the dangerous connection between two strangers who were never meant to survive it.