The Hollow House

It was just another rainy evening in Millwood's small, worn-out town when Emma found herself standing in front of the old house, her heart racing. The house wasn’t perfect by any means, but for her and her three-year-old son, Luke, it was all they had.

She had walked away from a broken marriage with a man who showed no interest in her or their family, and now, she was on her own—responsible for a child who depended on her for everything. No job. No money. No friends. Just the weight of getting through each day.

The town felt eerily quiet. The rain drizzled down on the cracked sidewalks, and the streetlights flickered with a strange hum. Emma wasn’t fond of this place, but she had no other options.

After months of searching, she had finally landed a part-time job at a local diner. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep them going—for the time being. She pushed the door open, stepping into the cold, dimly lit house, the floorboards creaking beneath her. Luke was already asleep, curled up in the corner on an old blanket.

"Another day, another struggle," she murmured to herself as she took a deep breath.

Life had never been easy for Emma. Her husband, Peter, was a man who once promised the world but delivered nothing but disappointment. When she finally found the strength to leave him, she had no idea what awaited her. No family to turn to. No friends to rely on. Just herself and Luke, a toddler too young to grasp the situation but old enough to sense the tension in the air.

Every morning, Emma would rise early to prepare Luke for daycare, then rush off to her part-time job. By the time she returned home, the sun was setting, and she still had laundry to tackle, meals to prepare, and bills to manage. There was never any time for herself. She was always on the go, always battling, always worn out.

And on the days when the weight felt too heavy to bear, the house would whisper.

It began with odd sounds. The creaking of floorboards when no one was around. The faint scratching that seemed to come from within the walls. Emma tried to dismiss it. She had to. She couldn’t afford the luxury of fear.

But as the days passed, the noises intensified.

One night, after a long shift at the diner, Emma came home to find Luke standing by the window, his tiny hands pressed against the glass, gazing out into the darkness.

“Luke? What are you doing, sweetheart?” she asked, her voice laced with concern.

He didn’t answer. He just stared, his eyes wide with something Emma couldn’t quite identify. Fear? Curiosity? Or something more sinister?

Emma approached and gently pulled him away from the window. “It’s late. Let’s get you to bed.”

But Luke wouldn’t move. He clung to her, his small body shaking. “Mommy… there’s someone in the house.”

Emma froze, a chill running down her spine. She had heard the stories—the rumors about this house, about what had happened to the people who lived here before her. But she had never believed them.

“Luke, darling, there’s nobody here,” she said softly, though she could feel the unease creeping in.

But Luke only shook his head. “Mommy, he’s watching us.”

Emma’s heart skipped a beat.

She didn’t know what was worse—the thought that someone was actually in the house, or the idea that Luke’s young mind was playing tricks on him.

That night, she lay awake, listening. The house was quiet—too quiet. The rain had stopped, and only the occasional gust of wind could be heard. Yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Something was watching her.

The Desperate Search for Safety:

As the days dragged on, Emma’s anxiety grew. She had no time to investigate the strange happenings around the house. She had to keep working. She had to keep fighting. The bills were piling up, and Luke needed new clothes.

But something was changing inside her. She couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever was lurking in the house was growing stronger. It wasn’t just the strange noises anymore. It was the sensation of being watched, of something brushing past her in the dark corners of the rooms when she thought she was alone.

One evening, after another long shift at the diner, Emma came home to find the lights flickering. The house felt colder than usual. She rushed to Luke’s room to find him sitting in the middle of the floor, staring at the wall, his face pale.

“Mommy, he’s here,” Luke whispered, his voice trembling. “He’s standing behind you.”

Emma spun around her heart racing. There was nothing there, just shadows dancing on the walls. But Luke’s eyes—wide and terrified—told a different story.

Before she could comfort him, the house shook. The walls creaked loudly as if something was trying to break through.

Emma’s heart raced. She had to get out of there. She had to protect Luke.

She grabbed her purse and Luke’s small hand and rushed to the door. But before she could reach the threshold, the lights went out. Darkness enveloped the room.

She heard a low, guttural voice from the corner of the room—so faint it could have been a whisper, or...

“Leave... now...”

It was both a warning and a command. Emma didn’t hesitate to flee, not wanting to discover who or what had spoken. She ran.

The Escape:

For the next few nights, Emma and Luke found refuge in a motel, their savings barely covering the expenses. Each night, she meticulously checked the locks, drew the curtains tightly, and waited for dawn to bring a sense of relief.

Yet, the house continued to haunt her. The whispers, the shadows, the unsettling feeling that something was trailing them, observing them. Emma realized she had no choice; she needed a fresh start. A new home where Luke could sleep soundly, and she could breathe without the suffocating weight of anxiety.

But no matter where they went, the memories of the house clung to them.

A Glimmer of Hope:

A month later, Emma discovered a new apartment in a different town. It was small, but it felt safe and it was hers. There were no whispers, no creaks, no shadows lurking in the corners.

For the first time in months, Emma experienced a sense of tranquility. The battle wasn’t over, but perhaps—just perhaps—they had found a place to start anew.

Yet, late one night, as she tucked Luke into bed, she heard it. A soft whisper, carried by the breeze.

“Leave... now...”

She froze. The voice was faint but unmistakable. And it was waiting.

Emma glanced at Luke, whose eyes were wide with fear. "Mommy… he’s here again."

But this time, Emma felt no fear. This time, she was determined to do whatever it took to protect her son. Even if it meant confronting the darkness itself.

The End, or the Beginning?