The Hollow Man: When Memories Fade, He Comes for You

The wind screamed through the empty streets of Shady Grove, Oklahoma, carrying the smell of rot and something far worse—something like burning flesh. The town was a husk, abandoned by life, forgotten by time. People weren’t just dying here—they were vanishing. Entire families blinked out of existence, leaving no trace, as though they’d never lived at all. But despite the emptiness, a legend persisted. The Hollow Man.

No one could remember when the story started, but everyone knew the warnings: never be outside after dark, never look into the fields after midnight, and most importantly—never listen for your name in the wind. Because if you heard it, it was already too late.

Tom and Rachel Mitchell thought they were above the superstitions when they moved to Shady Grove. The couple had bought a remote farmhouse on the outskirts of town, surrounded by miles of abandoned cornfields that looked like they hadn’t seen a harvest in years. To them, it was a fresh start. But the land had a suffocating presence, like it was waiting—waiting for something terrible to happen.

Their six-year-old son, Eli, had always been a sensitive child, prone to bad dreams and imaginary friends. But the things he’d been talking about since they moved? They weren’t normal.

“He’s in my room, Daddy,” Eli whispered one night, standing at the edge of their bed, his voice flat and hollow.

Tom blinked awake, groggy but alert. “Who’s in your room, buddy?”

Eli’s eyes, glassy and unblinking, stared at the darkness behind Tom. “The man with no face. He’s waiting for you.”

A chill clawed its way up Tom’s spine. He tried to laugh it off as a bad dream, the ramblings of a scared child. “There’s no one here, Eli. Just go back to bed, okay?”

But Eli didn’t move. He only whispered: “He’s inside.”

Tom didn’t sleep the rest of the night. Something about Eli’s words stuck with him, gnawing at the edges of his mind. He lay in bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the night to pass. And then, around 3 a.m., he heard it—a faint, almost imperceptible whisper from somewhere deep inside the house.

"Tom."

It was his name. Soft. Lingering. Like a breath on his skin. His heart pounded, every muscle in his body tensing.

"Tom," the voice repeated, clearer now.

Rachel stirred beside him but didn’t wake. Tom slipped out of bed, feet pressing against the cold floor, heart hammering in his chest. He didn’t believe in ghosts or legends, but this felt wrong. Something was in the house.

The hallway stretched out before him, longer than it had ever been. The air felt heavy, thick, as though something unseen was pressing against his chest. Eli’s door was slightly ajar at the end of the hall, a faint light spilling through the crack. But the closer Tom got, the colder it became. It wasn’t just physical cold—it was a deep, soul-sucking chill.

He pushed the door open and froze.

There, standing at the foot of Eli’s bed, was The Hollow Man.

It wasn’t a man—not really. It was the outline of a man, a shadow without substance. Its body was void-like, its skin not skin at all but an absence of light. No features. No face. Just an overwhelming sense of wrongness, as if its very existence broke the rules of nature.

Tom’s throat constricted. He couldn’t scream, couldn’t move. His eyes were locked on the thing at the end of the bed.

And then it turned to look at him.

There were no eyes, no mouth, no features at all, but Tom felt it staring into him, deep into his core, peeling back his skin and memories like layers of an onion. His thoughts weren’t his own anymore. It wasn’t just looking at him—it was inside him, and it was pulling something out.

It extended a long, spindly finger toward Eli, who lay motionless in the bed. The second that finger touched Eli’s chest, the boy convulsed, his mouth opening in a silent scream. His body jerked unnaturally, and his eyes rolled back into his head.

Tom tried to move, tried to scream, but it was as if his body had turned to stone. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from what was happening. Eli’s skin began to change—paling, thinning—until he was almost transparent. He was fading, disappearing, being unmade.

“No!” Tom finally managed to choke out, but his voice was weak, drowned by the overwhelming presence of the Hollow Man.

The shadowy figure turned back toward him. Even without a face, its expression was clear—cold, indifferent. And then, in a voice that wasn’t a voice at all but a thought implanted directly into Tom’s brain, it spoke:

“He’s mine now.”

With those words, Tom’s world shattered. He could feel Eli slipping away—not just physically, but from his memory. As the Hollow Man stood there, Tom felt his thoughts unravel. His son’s laugh, his favorite toy, his first steps—they were gone, fading into the void like smoke in the wind. And the more Tom fought to hold onto them, the quicker they vanished.

He blinked, and when he looked again, the bed was empty.

Eli was gone.

Not dead. Worse. Erased.

Rachel appeared in the doorway, her face pale, her eyes wide with terror. “Tom?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Why are you in here?”

He turned to her, barely able to speak, his heart pounding in his chest. “Eli...” His voice cracked. “Where’s Eli?”

Rachel’s expression twisted in confusion. “Who’s Eli?”

Tom’s world crashed down around him. He stumbled backward, his body shaking uncontrollably. He tried to remember Eli’s face, but it was slipping away, just like everything else. In moments, he’d be gone from his mind forever.

The Hollow Man loomed over him now, its void-like figure pressing down, suffocating him. “You’ll forget him soon,” it whispered. “And then I’ll take you.”

Tom’s knees buckled. He collapsed to the floor, gasping for air, fighting the blackness that was swallowing him whole. His thoughts fractured, his memories slipping away, and with every passing second, he was forgetting more of himself. Soon, he wouldn’t even know his own name.

The last thing he heard before the darkness consumed him completely was the faint whisper of his own name.

"Tom."

By morning, there would be no trace of Tom, Rachel, or Eli.

Just an empty farmhouse, and the endless whispers of The Hollow Man, waiting for his next victim.