The Cursed Village of Hollow Creek.

By Md. Abul kasem, Homeopathic consultant

When the autumn fog rolled into Hollow Creek, the villagers locked their doors before sunset. Everyone knew the legend — that after dusk, the dead walked again.

But when Evelyn Carter, a travel blogger obsessed with forgotten places, read about the cursed village of Hollow Creek, she couldn’t resist. She wanted the perfect headline:

“I Spent a Night in a Ghost Village and Survived.”

The Arrival

She arrived just before twilight. The village looked frozen in time — broken windows, creaking windmills, and a chapel half-swallowed by ivy. Her flashlight flickered as she crossed the wooden bridge that moaned under her feet.

The air smelled like damp soil and iron. The silence was heavy, almost alive.

Inside the first house, she found children’s drawings nailed to the wall — stick figures with hollow eyes and open mouths. Underneath them, scratched into the plaster, were the words:

“They took our voices.”

The First Night

Evelyn set up her camera. The red “REC” light blinked in the dark. She spoke confidently into the lens:

“Locals claim this house was the site of a mass disappearance in 1893. But I’m here to prove it’s just a legend.”

Then — a whisper.

“Leave.”

She froze. The whisper didn’t come from her phone or her mic. It came from the corner of the room — where the shadows didn’t move with her light.

The temperature dropped. Her breath turned white. Then, on her camera’s small screen, she saw something that wasn’t in front of her: a tall figure standing behind her reflection.

When she turned — nothing.

But the floorboards began to groan. Slow, dragging footsteps echoed from upstairs.

The Hidden Room

She followed the sound. Each stair creaked under her trembling feet. At the end of the hallway, she found a locked door — freshly painted red. From inside, something scratched, steady and patient.

Using a rusted knife, she forced it open.

Behind the door was a small room filled with hundreds of dolls — all with their mouths sewn shut.

Her camera blinked, then died.

A child’s voice whispered:

“Now yours too.”

Something cold wrapped around her ankle. She screamed — but no sound came out.

The Ending

The next morning, police found her car abandoned by the bridge. Her camera lay nearby, still recording. The last frame showed her face — mouth sewn closed, eyes wide in silent terror.Locals say they still hear her voice echoing through Hollow Creek at night.