The Hollow Ones

Whispers that weren't quite human were carried by the wind as it howled through the skeletal trees of Black Hollow. Claire tightened her coat, cursing herself for taking the shortcut through the woods. The old logging road had seemed like a good idea at dusk—shave twenty minutes off her hike back to town. But now, with the moon hidden behind thick clouds and the air thick with the scent of damp earth and something faintly rancid, she regretted every step.

Her flashlight flickered.

“Damn it,” she muttered, smacking the side of the cheap plastic. The beam steadied, but only barely. She was followed by long, twisted shadows that made the trees appear to lean in and watch. Then she heard it.

A voice.

Familiar.

“Claire?”

Her blood became ice. Her brother's voice was like that. Her brother, who had passed away in a car accident six years earlier. She spun, the flashlight shaking in her grip. The beam cut through the darkness, illuminating a figure standing between two gnarled oaks.

It was him.

Same crooked smile, same faded denim jacket he’d been buried in.

“J-Jake?” Her voice cracked.

He took a step forward. The movement was wrong. Too smooth. like a force pulling at his heart. “Missed you, sis,” he said, but his lips didn’t quite match the words.

Claire stumbled back, her pulse hammering. This wasn’t possible. She had seen his body in the casket, pale and lifeless.

Then another shape emerged from the trees. A woman with long, dark hair.

Mom.

Claire’s breath hitched. Her mother had passed just last winter. Cancer. Yet here she stood, her hollow eyes fixed on Claire, her mouth stretching into a smile that showed too many teeth.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” Mom said, her voice a wet, gurgling whisper.

Claire’s legs gave out. She fell hard, the flashlight rolling away, casting jagged shadows as it spun. In the strobe-like flashes of light, she saw more of them. Dozens. Figures she recognized—old friends, teachers, her high school sweetheart who’d drowned in the lake. All of them dead. All of them here.

And they were getting closer.

Jake got close to her first. His fingers brushed her cheek, cold as grave dirt. “You’re one of us now,” he murmured.

Then the others closed in.

Hands—too many hands—grabbed her, pulling her down into the damp earth. She screamed, but the sound was swallowed by the forest. The last thing she saw was her mother’s face, inches from hers, the skin splitting at the seams to reveal something dark and squirming beneath.

Then nothing.

Three Days Later

The tracks left by Claire's abandoned backpack were followed by search parties as they scoured Black Hollow. There was no body found. No signs of struggle.

But deep in the woods, near an old, rotted-out stump, a single flashlight lay in the dirt. Its beam still flickered weakly, casting light on a set of fresh footprints leading deeper into the trees.

And if anyone had listened closely, they might have heard it—a chorus of familiar voices, whispering from the shadows.

Waiting for the next lost soul to wander into the hollow.