The Hollowing

The wind howled through the skeletal trees, their bare branches clawing at the night sky like desperate hands. Emma tightened her scarf and quickened her pace, the crunch of frost beneath her boots the only sound accompanying her. The village of Black Hollow was just ahead, its faint lights flickering like dying embers. She hadn’t been back in years, not since the accident. But the letter had brought her here, its words etched into her mind: Come home. It’s happening again.

The inn was as she remembered it—creaking floorboards, peeling wallpaper, and the faint scent of mildew. The owner, Mrs. Greaves, greeted her with a tight smile, her eyes darting nervously to the window. “You shouldn’t have come back,” she muttered, handing Emma a rusted key. “Not with the hollowing so close.”

Emma frowned. “The hollowing? What are you talking about?”

Mrs. Greaves hesitated, her voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s the curse. Every ten years, it takes someone. Drains them dry, leaves nothing but a shell. And it’s starting again. I can feel it.”

Emma dismissed the old woman’s ramblings as superstition, but as she climbed the stairs to her room, a chill crept down her spine. The walls seemed to close in around her, the shadows shifting unnaturally. She locked the door behind her and sat on the edge of the bed, the letter clutched in her hands.

It had been signed by her childhood friend, Daniel. But Daniel had died ten years ago, the night of the accident.

Sleep came fitfully, plagued by dreams of whispers and hollow eyes. She woke to the sound of scratching at her door, faint but insistent. Her breath caught in her throat as she approached, her hand trembling on the knob. She opened it to find the hallway empty, but a trail of muddy footprints led to the stairs.

Against her better judgment, she followed.

The footprints led her to the edge of the woods, where the trees grew dense and the air grew cold. A figure stood in the shadows, its back to her. “Daniel?” she called, her voice barely above a whisper.

The figure turned, and Emma’s heart stopped. It was Daniel, but not as she remembered him. His eyes were hollow, his skin pale and cracked like dry earth. “You shouldn’t have come back,” he said, his voice echoing as if from a great distance. “It’s too late.”

“What’s happening?” she demanded, her voice shaking. “What is this?”

“The hollowing,” he replied. “It feeds on memories, on the past. It takes everything until there’s nothing left. And it’s chosen you.”

Before she could respond, the ground beneath her feet gave way, and she was falling, the darkness swallowing her whole. She landed in a cavern, the walls pulsating with a faint, sickly light. Shadows moved around her, whispering her name, pulling at her thoughts.

Memories flashed before her eyes—her childhood, the accident, the guilt she had buried deep inside. The hollowing fed on them, draining her of everything that made her who she was. She fought back, clinging to the image of her mother’s smile, her father’s laugh, but the shadows were relentless.

Just as she felt herself slipping away, a hand gripped hers, pulling her back. It was Daniel, his hollow eyes filled with a flicker of warmth. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t save myself, but I can save you.”

With a final burst of strength, he pushed her toward the surface. She emerged gasping for air, the dawn breaking over the horizon. The woods were silent, the shadows gone.

Emma returned to the village, but it felt different, as if the hollowing had taken more than just her memories. Mrs. Greaves watched her with knowing eyes, but said nothing.

As she left Black Hollow behind, Emma couldn’t shake the feeling that the hollowing wasn’t finished with her. Somewhere, in the depths of the woods, the shadows waited, hungry and patient.

And they would come for her again.