The Drowned Hollow

In the village of Sable Creek, nestled between hills that seemed to swallow the sky, there was a dark legend—one that had been whispered about by the elders for generations. It was a tale that no one dared to speak of after sunset, for fear that speaking its name would summon its horrors. The legend spoke of the Drowned Hollow, a place where the very earth had swallowed whole families, their cries lost to the thick mist that crept from the depths of the marsh. No one in the village had ever ventured near it. That was, until Mia.

Mia had always been drawn to the unknown. Unlike her peers, who found comfort in the everyday routines of village life, Mia had a thirst for the strange, the supernatural. She had spent her childhood reading books about haunted places and cryptic folklore, growing restless with the quiet life of Sable Creek. The story of the Drowned Hollow fascinated her the most—a place where no one had ever returned from, a place where the water rose to claim the living, dragging them into its inky depths.

The hollow had once been a thriving settlement, until one stormy night, a violent flood had swept through the village, drowning everyone in its path. But there were whispers—whispers that the flood was no natural disaster. Some said it was a curse, others claimed it was the restless souls of the drowned, seeking vengeance. The village had rebuilt itself, but the hollow remained, a silent reminder of the past. It was said that, on foggy nights, if you listened closely, you could hear the echoes of the drowned calling from the depths.

Mia had heard these tales, of course, but she was not afraid. The allure of the hollow called to her with an intensity she couldn't ignore. She had to see it for herself, to uncover the truth that had been buried for so long.

One cold autumn evening, as the fog rolled in thick and heavy, Mia gathered her courage and set off toward the hollow. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decay, and as she walked along the winding path toward the marsh, the fog seemed to grow denser, curling around her like a living thing. The deeper she ventured, the colder the air became, until it felt as if the very atmosphere was pressing against her, suffocating her with its chill.

When she reached the hollow, the sight that greeted her took her breath away. The once bustling settlement was now a ghostly wasteland—shattered remnants of houses, half-submerged in the murky water. The ground was slick with mud, and the still water that pooled in the hollow reflected the gray sky above like a mirror. There was no movement, no sound. It was as if the entire place had been frozen in time, preserved by the fog that hung heavily in the air.

But as Mia stepped closer to the water’s edge, she noticed something strange. Faint ripples disturbed the surface, as if something—or someone—was moving just beneath the water. Her heart pounded in her chest, but her curiosity pushed her forward. She couldn’t turn back now. She had to know what lay beneath the water, what had happened to those who vanished.

The fog thickened as Mia approached an old, weathered pier that jutted out into the water. It was there, at the edge of the pier, that she saw it—a dark shape, lurking beneath the surface. At first, it seemed like a trick of the light, but as she stared, the shape grew clearer, more defined. A figure, draped in tattered clothes, its face pale and bloated from the water’s grip, rose slowly from the depths. The figure’s hollow eyes locked onto Mia’s, its lips parting as if to speak.

Before Mia could react, the water surged violently, the waves crashing against the pier. A cold hand gripped her ankle, dragging her toward the water. Mia screamed, her voice lost to the howling wind as the fog closed in around her.

She fought to break free, but the grip on her ankle tightened, pulling her closer to the water’s edge. She reached out, desperately trying to grab hold of anything, but the ground was slick with mud. As her fingers brushed against a decaying wooden beam, she felt something cold and wet brush against her skin. It was a hand—a hand from beneath the water, reaching for her, pulling her closer.

Her mind raced, and just as she thought she would be pulled under, something strange happened. The figure in the water began to rise higher, its form becoming more solid, more human. It reached out a hand, not to pull her under, but to offer her something. It was a key, an old, rusted key that seemed to glow faintly in the fog.

Without thinking, Mia grasped the key. The moment her fingers closed around it, the grip on her ankle released, and the water began to recede. The fog lifted slightly, allowing her to breathe again. Mia gasped for air, her heart racing, as the figure sank back into the depths, disappearing into the dark water with a final, hollow sigh.

Mia stood, trembling, staring at the key in her hand. It was cold to the touch, and as she looked at it more closely, she saw something etched into its surface—an intricate symbol that seemed familiar, but she couldn't place where she had seen it before. Her mind swirled with questions, but one thought stood out above the rest: What had she just awakened?

As Mia turned to leave, she heard the faintest of whispers, carried by the wind. It was a voice—soft, distant, but unmistakable. "The key... is only the beginning," it whispered. "The hollow never forgets."

Mia didn’t look back as she hurried away from the marsh, the weight of the key heavy in her pocket. But deep in her heart, she knew that the Drowned Hollow’s secrets weren’t finished with her. They had only just begun.

Thank you for reading The Drowned Hollow. If you enjoyed this eerie tale, please hit the like button and share it with your friends—let them uncover the secrets that lurk beneath the surface.