The Whispering Hollow

rotting wooden houses, rusted streetlamps, and an eerie silence that clung to the air like a sickness. Few were brave enough to go, and the people who lived there never left. Lena Carter was skeptical of the rumors. As a journalist, she was drawn to the mystery of Black Hollow, especially the stories of disappearances—hikers, thrill-seekers, even a few locals who had vanished without a trace. The townsfolk called it "The Hollow’s Hunger," a phrase that sent chills down her spine.

Her car groaned as it rolled over the cracked asphalt that led into town when she got there at dusk. The moment she crossed the town’s border, the air grew thick, as if something unseen was pressing against her lungs. The few people she saw moved like shadows, their faces gaunt, their eyes hollow.

Lena checked into the one and only hotel, a rundown structure with mildew-smelling wallpaper and peeling wallpaper. The innkeeper, a skeletal man with yellowed teeth, handed her a rusted key.

“Stay inside after dark,” he muttered. “The Hollow listens.”

Lena scoffed but nodded. Superstitious nonsense, she thought.

That night, she sat by her window, reviewing her notes. The wind howled outside, rattling the glass. She then heard whispers beneath the wind. She initially believed it was her imagination. But the voices grew clearer, murmuring just beyond her door. Not human voices—something guttural, wet, as if spoken through rotting throats.

Her breath hitched. The doorknob trembled.

Something was trying to get in.

Lena backed away, her heart hammering. The whispers slithered under the door, curling around her ankles like cold fingers.

"Hungry… so hungry…"

She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a scream. The door's frame shook violently. Then—silence.

That night, Lena didn't sleep at all. At dawn, she stormed downstairs, demanding answers from the innkeeper. He stared at her with sunken eyes.

He said, “You heard them.” “The Hollow knows you’re here now.”

"What do they mean?" she demanded.

He leaned in, his breath reeking of decay. “The ones who came before. The ones the Hollow ate.”

Desperate for answers, Lena ventured into the town’s abandoned church. Inside, the pews were covered in dust, and the altar was cracked down the middle. And on the walls—names. Hundreds of them, carved into the wood like desperate prayers.

Emily Carter was the new last name. Her sister.

Lena’s blood turned to ice. Emily had been last seen near Black Hollow a year prior to her disappearance. She had never emerged. A floorboard creaked behind her.

Lena turned slowly.

A figure stood in the doorway—Emily. But not as Lena remembered. Her gray skin was too tight around her bones and was gray. Her mouth opened, and the same guttural whisper spilled out:

"Lena… join us…"

The doors slammed shut. The whispers rose into a chorus.

And Lena was too late to realize as the shadows got closer. Black Hollow was always hungry.

It was now targeting her.

He leaned in, his breath reeking of decay. “The ones who came before. The ones the Hollow ate.”

Desperate for answers, Lena ventured into the town’s abandoned church. Inside, the pews were covered in dust, and the altar was cracked down the middle. And on the walls—names. Hundreds of them, carved into the wood like desperate prayers.

Emily Carter was the new last name. Her sister.

Lena’s blood turned to ice. Emily had been last seen near Black Hollow a year prior to her disappearance. She had never emerged. A floorboard creaked behind her.

Lena turned slowly.

A figure stood in the doorway—Emily. But not as Lena remembered. Her gray skin was too tight around her bones and was gray. Her mouth opened, and the same guttural whisper spilled out:

"Lena… join us…"

The doors slammed shut. The whispers rose into a chorus.

And Lena was too late to realize as the shadows got closer. Black Hollow was always hungry.

It was now targeting her.