The Last Echo of Black Hollow

The town of Black Hollow didn’t appear on most maps. Tucked between dense forests and jagged cliffs, it was a place time forgot until the echoes started.

I first heard about Black Hollow from my grandfather’s journal. He had been a traveling journalist in the 1970s and scribbled a single ominous line: "If you ever hear the echo in Black Hollow, run."

Curiosity led me there. The moment I stepped onto its cracked, weed-infested streets, the air grew heavy, as if the town itself was holding its breath. The few remaining residents, mostly elderly refused to speak of the past. Their hollow eyes told me enough: something was very wrong.

The Legend of the Echo

At the local diner, a wrinkled woman named Martha reluctantly shared the legend. Decades ago, a preacher named Elias Vade built a church atop Black Hollow’s highest hill. He claimed God spoke to him through echoes whispers that traveled through the valley. But soon, the echoes changed. They carried screams.

One night, the entire congregation vanished. Only their shoes were found, neatly lined up at the church’s entrance. The town declared it a mass suicide, but no bodies were ever recovered. The church was sealed shut, and the valley fell silent.

Until now.

The First Whisper

That night, I camped near the abandoned church. The wind carried an unnatural chill, and then I heard it. A faint whisper, just my name, bouncing off the hills. My blood turned to ice.

I grabbed my recorder and played it back. The voice wasn’t mine. It was deeper, guttural. "You shouldn’t have come."

I bolted back to town, but the streets were empty. Doors were locked. Windows dark. Then, from the shadows, a figure emerged a gaunt man in a tattered preacher’s coat. Elias Vade.

The Truth in the Echoes

His lips didn’t move, but his voice echoed around me. "They’re still here. Trapped between the whispers." He pointed to the church. "Listen."

I did. And then I heard them hundreds of voices, layered over each other, pleading, screaming. The missing congregation. The echoes weren’t just sounds. They were souls.

Elias’s hollow eyes met mine. "You’ll join them soon."

I ran. The echoes followed, growing louder, closer. My recorder caught them all proof of the horrors of Black Hollow.

But when I played it back in the city, the recording was just static.

And then, faintly, a whisper: "We’re waiting for you."