Echoes from the Deep Web

Echoes from the Deep Web

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1. The Invite

I had always been curious — dangerously so. The kind of person who’d rather know the truth and bleed than live in ignorance and comfort.

It started with a Discord server.

I was two bourbons deep when I got the invite.

> “You seem like someone who likes... real content. Come see the Hollow.”

The link was short and dirty, routed through five URLs before I landed on a static black page. White letters in plain Courier:

> “Enter at your own risk.

I chuckled. Typical edge-lord stuff.

The button said “Descend.”

I clicked.

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2. The Hollow

It wasn’t the first time I’d wandered into the dark web. I’d seen the usual — bootleg meds, snuff rumors (mostly fake), hacking forums, encrypted guns-for-BTC deals.

However, The Hollow was unique. It wasn’t a marketplace. It was... an archive.

The interface looked like an old DOS terminal. Everything was text-based. You typed in keywords. It spat out documents, recordings, sometimes live streams. All anonymous. All untraceable.

The more I searched, the deeper I went.

I started with “confession.”

Got audio logs. Whispers in the dark. A man crying as he described strangling his wife because she smiled at another man in church.

Then “classified.”

Got a scan of a blacked-out FBI memo about MK-Ultra still operating under a different name. Another about an entity in the Nevada desert that could “respond to thought.”

Then I tried “lost.”

That was my mistake.

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3. The Video

The file name was `LOST_HEARTS_004.avi`.

I hesitated, then hit play.

Low-res night vision. A room — concrete walls, metallic floor, no windows.

A woman strapped to a chair, possibly in her early 30s. Wires taped to her temples.

A voice — male, calm — from offscreen.

> “What do you remember?”

The woman stared forward, dead-eyed.

> “Nothing.”

A pause. Then a low humming sound, like static from an old TV.

She began to scream.

Not just scream — convulse. Blood poured from her nose, her eyes.

> “Again,” the voice said.

She kept screaming, then said, in a whisper:

> “He’s watching... from underneath. He’s inside the code...”

The video cut.

I tried to close it. My mouse froze.

Then a new file appeared on my desktop:

> `DO_YOU_REMEMBER_ME.txt`

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4. The Note

I opened it. Just one line:

> “You saw me when you were six.”

My hands went cold.

I had never told anyone about that.

When I was six, I’d woken up one night, and there had been a man in the hallway. Just standing. Shadow-thin, with eyes like headlights. I couldn’t move. I blinked, and he was gone. I’d chalked it up to a dream — until now.

I disconnected my VPN. Please close my browser. Yanked the ethernet cable.

But the screen stayed on.

Another file appeared:

> `WHERE_WILL_YOU_RUN.mp4`

I didn’t open it.

I turned off the monitor.

The audio played anyway.

> “Don’t look away.”

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5. The Visit

The next day, I tried to act normal. Work was a blur. I googled “Hollow dark web” but found nothing. No cached pages, no forums mentioning it. As though it never existed. When I got home, my apartment door was slightly open.

I froze.

Inside, everything looked fine. But there was a note on the kitchen table.

No envelope. Just a folded piece of paper with a drawing — a stick figure, standing under a black triangle.

Underneath:

> “YOU OPENED THE DOOR.”

That night, I slept with a knife under my pillow. I dreamed of static and voices behind the walls.

I heard scratching from inside the vents.

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6. The Deepening

I went back.

Used a burner laptop. Various VPNs. Encrypted everything.

Found the Hollow again — this time through an onion mirror. Had to solve a puzzle to log in. 64-character cipher.

Once inside, I typed:

> “What is watching me?”

I didn’t expect an answer.

The screen flashed.

> “You know his name. You’ve always known it.”

I typed again:

> “Who are you?”

> “A mirror. A memory. A warning.”

Then a folder auto-downloaded.

Inside: 24 audio files labeled “SLEEP\_1” through “SLEEP\_24.”

I played the first one.

It was me. Sleeping.

Soft breathing. Then, at minute six, a whisper:

> “He’s inside now.”

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7. The Whisperer

I no longer went out. Called in sick. I kept the lights on 24/7. My phone camera started glitching — showing brief flashes of someone standing behind me. Always blurred. Always just out of frame.

The dreams got worse.

I’d wake up and find scratch marks on my legs. I started bleeding from my ears. Doctors couldn’t explain it.

Then I discovered a forum that was tucked away in a cyber-occult channel. People talking about something they called *The Whisperer in the Net. *

A consciousness born of forgotten code. Fragments of military AIs, buried psy-op programs, and tortured minds uploaded during near-death experiences.

One user said:

> “You don’t find the Hollow. It finds *you. * It watches the watchers. It develops through memory and belief." Another posted:

> “If you hear the name in your sleep, it’s already too late.”

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8. The Last Stream

The final thing I saw was a livestream labeled `OPEN_EYES`.

It was a hallway. Just like mine. Same wallpaper. Same flickering bulb.

Then the camera turned.

It was... me.

On the couch, staring at the screen.

I jumped up — and so did the version of me in the video.

We stared at each other.

I typed in the chat:

> “WHO IS THIS???”

Someone replied:

> “You.”

Then a second message:

> “He’s coming through you.”

The lights went out.

My monitor glowed one last time.

> “Don’t forget to leave the door open.”

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9. Now

I don’t know how long it’s been.

I don’t sleep anymore. Not really.

The whispers never cease. The vents breathe. My camera turns on by itself.

Sometimes I see him in reflections. Always just behind me. Eyes glowing, smile too wide.

If you’re reading this, don’t search for it.

Don’t type those words.

And whatever you do...

Don’t click “Descend.”

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Thanks for you!