Shadows of the Hollow

Shadows of the Hollow

Chapter 1: The Hollow’s Curse

The town of Ravenswood had always been quiet, a place where time felt like it had stopped. At its edge lay the Hollow, a forest thick with gnarled trees and whispering winds. No one dared to enter after dark. Not because of superstition, but because those who did never returned—at least, not whole.

Legend told of The Maw, a presence that lurked in the Hollow, feeding on those who ventured too close. Some said it was a creature, others swore it was a cursed man who had made a deal with something much worse. Whatever the truth was, the Hollow remained untouched, an abyss of darkness even during the brightest days.

Jack Mathers had never been one for ghost stories. A journalist with a skeptical mind, he believed in facts, not folklore. So when he was assigned to write a piece about the Hollow’s curse, he welcomed the challenge.

That was his first mistake.

Chapter 2: Whispers in the Wind

Jack arrived in Ravenswood just as dusk settled, the last streaks of light bleeding behind the treetops. He checked into the only motel in town, a crumbling structure with flickering neon lights. The receptionist, an old woman with sunken eyes, barely acknowledged him as she slid the key across the counter.

“You’re here for the Hollow,” she murmured. It wasn’t a question.

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. Why?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she reached into a drawer and pulled out a small bundle of dried herbs. “Take these.”

Jack smirked. “What, to keep the ghosts away?”

Her expression darkened. “To keep it away.”

He shoved the bundle into his pocket, humoring her, but as he walked up to his room, a feeling of unease coiled in his chest. The hallway was dimly lit, and the air smelled damp, like earth after a storm.

That night, he dreamed of whispers. Faint voices tangled in the wind, speaking in a language he didn’t understand. When he awoke, the motel room was ice-cold, and the window—though he swore he had locked it—was wide open.

Chapter 3: Into the Hollow

The next morning, Jack set out for the Hollow, ignoring the stares of the townsfolk as he passed. They knew where he was going, and they pitied him for it.

At the Hollow’s entrance, the trees stood like skeletal hands, their branches clawing at the sky. The deeper he walked, the heavier the air became, thick with the scent of damp wood and something… rotting.

The deeper he went, the more unnatural it felt. The trees were wrong, their bark twisted, faces seeming to emerge in the knots and cracks. He brushed it off as paranoia.

Then, he saw it.

A figure.

Not quite human, not quite beast. Its limbs were too long, its head tilted unnaturally to the side. Hollow eyes stared from beneath the tangled mess of hair and skin.

Jack’s breath hitched. It didn’t move. It only stood there… watching.

Then, it smiled.

Chapter 4: The Maw

Jack turned to run, but the forest had changed. The path he had taken was gone, swallowed by an endless maze of gnarled trees. His breath came in ragged gasps as he sprinted forward, branches slashing at his arms.

Behind him, the thing followed.

Not chasing. Just walking.

Its limbs creaked like old wood bending under pressure. The whispers he had dreamed of filled the air, louder now, overlapping into a deafening roar.

Jack stumbled and fell into a small clearing. His hands scraped against something soft and wet. He looked down—bones. A pit of them, some fresh, others gnawed clean.

Then he saw the truth.

The Maw wasn’t a creature. It wasn’t a legend.

It was the Hollow itself.

The trees breathed, the ground pulsed, and from the darkness, hands emerged—skeletal, rotted, clawed—grasping, reaching. Jack screamed as they dragged him down, his body sinking into the earth like quicksand.

The last thing he saw was the figure, still smiling.

Then, darkness.

Epilogue: A New Whisper

The town of Ravenswood remained quiet. Another stranger had disappeared, but no one asked questions.

One week later, a new tree stood at the Hollow’s entrance. Its bark was fresh, its surface smooth—except for a single, twisted face carved into the wood.

And if you listened closely…

It whispered.