The Haunting of Hollow Creek: The Demon Beneath the Old Bridge

Clara had never liked the Hollow Creek Bridge. Not that anyone did, really. The locals often whispered about the ancient structure, its cold stone arches sagging with time, and the black, murky waters that slithered beneath it like something alive. But Clara was practical, dismissing those stories as just that—stories.

That evening, however, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

It was the late hour. The sun had vanished behind the trees hours ago, and the moon was obscured by thick clouds. The path she walked—once familiar and comforting—now felt suffocating, the trees casting long, twisted shadows that seemed to stretch toward her, their limbs clawing at the air like desperate hands.

The wind had died. The birds had stopped calling. Everything felt too still.

As Clara approached the bridge, a chill snaked up her spine, and the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. She told herself it was nothing. But even the cold, hard facts couldn’t ignore the fact that the bridge was off. The mist rolling off the creek’s surface seemed to swirl unnaturally, like it had a mind of its own, and the deep, gurgling sound of the water beneath the bridge was no longer a comforting white noise but something... hungry.

She stood at the edge of the bridge, staring down at the water. It wasn’t just black. It was a shade of black she’d never seen before, so dark it seemed to absorb the light around it, pulling the very air toward it. She swallowed hard, her throat dry, suddenly very aware of how alone she was. Just cross it, she thought. It’s just a bridge.

But as she placed one foot on the first stone, the ground beneath her feet shuddered.

The creek roiled.

A low, guttural whisper slid from the depths of the water, so faint at first that Clara thought it might have been the wind. But then it came again, clearer this time, a rasping voice that seemed to crawl directly into her skull.

"Come closer..."

Her heart stopped.

She jerked her foot back, but it was already too late. Something heavy and wet shot up from beneath the water with a sickening splash, a long, mottled hand that snatched at her ankle. The grip was like ice—cold, slick, and alive—as though it had been waiting for her.

Clara screamed, but no sound came out. The hand dragged her toward the edge, and the water surged up, as though it were trying to swallow her whole. She kicked, her foot connecting with something soft and fleshy. The thing recoiled, but only for a moment.

And then she saw it.

Rising from the creek like some ancient, half-drowned corpse was a thing she could barely comprehend. It was tall, its skin pale and bloated, hanging loosely like wet cloth. Its eyes—its eyes—were hollow, dark sockets that seemed to hold the weight of centuries of malice. Its mouth opened, and Clara could hear it before she saw it—a sound like wet, squelching mud being dragged across stone, followed by a low, slithering hiss.

"You should have never come."

The words scraped across her mind, like nails on glass. A sudden wave of sickening dread slammed into her chest. She tried to back away, but her legs wouldn’t move. Something was pressing in on her, something cold and dark, suffocating her, squeezing her very soul.

It stepped onto the bridge, and the stone beneath its feet seemed to bend and crack. The thing’s body shifted, distorting unnaturally, stretching too far, too wide. It was no longer just a creature—it was a presence, a shadow that defied logic and space. It whispered again, its voice curling around her like smoke.

"You're mine now."

The world tilted.

Clara’s chest tightened. The air had turned thick, metallic, suffocating. Panic surged in her veins as her surroundings blurred, the bridge, the trees, the creek—all of it warping and twisting, becoming something wrong. She wanted to run, but her legs were frozen in place, her feet rooted to the cold stone of the bridge as the creature advanced.

Then it touched her.

The cold of its fingers wrapped around her wrist, sending a shock of icy terror through her body. It was as if its touch pulled her spirit—dragging her into the abyss that lurked just beneath the surface of the water.

She screamed, this time the sound ripping from her throat, but no one would hear. The town of Hollow Creek was miles away, and even if they were here, the creature’s power was already swallowing her whole.

"You... belong to me," it whispered again, its breath foul and rank, its rancid stench filling her lungs.

With a final, desperate cry, Clara lunged forward, trying to escape its grasp, but in that instant, the bridge vanished.

She fell into darkness.

And then—

Nothing.


---

Clara woke in a place that wasn’t the bridge. There were no stars in the sky, no moon. Just the suffocating blackness of the void. The air felt wrong. Cold. Dead.

And then, she saw it.

The thing was standing before her. It had no face—just an endless void where its features should have been. Yet somehow, she knew it was smiling at her, grinning at her fear.

"Welcome to my world."

Clara tried to scream, but no sound came.

She was trapped.

The bridge had never been the real prison.

The creature beneath the water had been watching for years. And now it was her turn.