The Hollow Whisper

There’s a place behind the thickest trees of Lochwood Grove that no one talks about, where light refuses to settle. Despite the small, forgotten warnings etched into stone at the grove’s entrance, people pass by with little regard, some even daring to wander close. But every town has its secrets.

Caleb Shaw hadn’t meant to find himself there. He’d gone out only to walk his dog, Jasper, on an aimless evening stroll, hoping to clear his mind. He was supposed to meet his cousin for coffee that afternoon, but Oliver hadn’t shown up. Caleb’s calls went straight to voicemail, the silence far too unsettling. Now, trudging through the thick autumn leaves, he tried to distract himself from his worry.

Jasper, however, seemed more than eager to explore and, halfway through their route, bolted. Caleb sprinted after him, struggling to keep up as Jasper tore deeper and deeper into the grove, veering toward the place that everyone knew was there but no one dared enter.

“Jasper! Here, boy!” Caleb called, his voice almost swallowed by the dense canopy above.

A chill wove itself around him as he stepped into the grove’s darkest corner. The air grew thin and silent, as if it carried the weight of things left unsaid for decades. But Jasper’s barks punctuated the quiet, echoing from just up ahead.

Finally, Caleb stumbled upon the old, broken gravestones. They jutted out from the ground like jagged teeth, twisted and wrong, with faded inscriptions from another century. Most were too worn to read, though he managed to make out a few names. His eyes settled on one in particular: C. Shaw.

His own name.

He stepped back, heart pounding, his mind reeling with a rational explanation. But his thoughts scattered when he noticed Jasper crouched in front of the stone, growling lowly at something—someone—just beyond.

At first, he thought it was a person, a shadow so tangible that Caleb could swear he saw a face within it. It stood across from him, watching, observing, but never moving. Slowly, it began to whisper, a voice like cracking wood and dust, each word deliberate and painful, as if dragged from the ground itself.

"Caleb Shaw… your place was prepared long ago.”

Caleb froze, feeling the dread curl in his gut. He tried to call for Jasper, but his voice fell to a mere rasp. The shadow’s gaze felt like a weight pressing down on his chest, a pressure so deep it reached his bones. He staggered backward, his feet slipping on the moss-covered ground as he fought against a dizzying sensation, a sense of something deeply, horribly wrong.

He turned to run, but something wrapped around his ankle—tight, cold, unyielding. The ground below him, previously solid, had opened slightly, just enough for something to snake out and pull. He struggled, gasping, kicking out wildly, but the force was relentless, pulling him closer to the gravestone.

"Jasper!" he choked, reaching for his dog, who was now barking furiously.

In one final effort, Caleb clawed at the earth, scraping his fingers raw as he yanked himself free and broke into a sprint. He didn’t stop until he burst through the trees, collapsing onto the path under the streetlight, gasping for air.

The grove behind him was silent once more, the darkness receding like the end of a nightmare. Jasper trotted up beside him, unharmed, wagging his tail like nothing had happened.

When he returned home, Caleb called his cousin once more, only for his phone to vibrate in his hand. A voicemail notification appeared—left at exactly 3:17 p.m., the same time he’d started his walk.

He pressed play, his fingers shaking as his cousin’s voice crackled through the line, low and distant.

"Caleb... it’s too late. Don’t go back.”

The line cut off, leaving only silence.