In 1872, nestled in the northern forests of Scotland, the village of Invercombe was an unassuming place. The townsfolk were wary of the deep forest that surrounded them, and they spoke of strange things sighted between the trees—glowing eyes, shadows that moved in impossible ways. But like so many legends, these warnings faded with time until only the oldest villagers remembered to fear the woods.
On a crisp winter's night, an excavation team from Edinburgh arrived in Invercombe. Their task was to dig deep beneath the village to find an ancient, hidden cavern said to be untouched since before recorded history. They believed it held relics, perhaps remnants of Scotland's oldest tribes, or even older still—echoes of a forgotten era. What drew them most, however, was a peculiar local legend: that buried within the caverns lay something called "The Hollow Star."
They were eager, driven by curiosity. The excavation began at dawn, in a field at the edge of town, where the earth seemed softer, more pliable, as though it wanted to be uncovered. By evening, the team broke through to a hidden chamber, their lanterns casting weak light over a vast hollow.
Inside, the walls were marked with carvings—strange symbols, neither Gaelic nor Roman, but something older, something unplaceable. The shapes twisted across the stone in unnatural patterns, forming spirals that led the eye inward. At the chamber's center was a large stone altar, around which the carvings converged.
On the altar lay a black crystal, unlike anything they had ever seen. It was faceted, nearly spherical, and despite its matte surface, it seemed to pulse faintly, as if with a heartbeat. Professor Beck, the lead archaeologist, picked it up, feeling the chill radiate through his glove.
"It's the Hollow Star," he whispered, half in awe, half in fear.
They returned to their camp with the crystal, but by morning, one of the team members had gone missing. His bedroll lay untouched, and his belongings were scattered as though he'd left in a hurry. The villagers, disturbed, begged the team to stop, to put the stone back where they'd found it, but Beck was resolute. "There is history here. We cannot leave it buried," he insisted.
That night, Beck awoke to a soft scratching at the edge of his tent. Groggy, he unzipped it and stepped outside, only to be greeted by silence and a faint smell—a metallic tang, sharp and biting. The other tents were still; his team lay in a restless slumber.
But when he turned back toward the woods, he saw a figure, something distant and blurred, standing just at the edge of his vision. It seemed to shift as he looked, taking on shapes, like a figure made of black smoke. He blinked, and it was gone.
The next day, another team member vanished.
Beck grew anxious but kept his resolve. He spent hours studying the crystal, feeling as though there was something inside it—a light that flickered just at the edge of his perception. He felt drawn to it, pulled in by the strange carvings on its surface, which seemed to change under his gaze. Each time he looked away, he could have sworn the patterns shifted, rearranged themselves into something new, something incomprehensible.
By the fourth night, only Beck and one other archaeologist, a young man named Lyle, remained. The townsfolk refused to help, fearful and distant. The remaining team huddled by the fire, casting nervous glances at the crystal between them.
As midnight passed, Beck heard the scratching again—this time from inside his own tent. It was faint, almost like whispering, the sound of something shifting, sliding. He held the lantern up and looked down at the Hollow Star. Its dark surface seemed to pulse, and he swore he could see something within it: an eye. It was distant, but there, staring back at him with an intensity that felt almost personal.
Lyle stirred beside him. "Professor," he whispered, "it's…showing me things."
Beck turned to see Lyle's eyes, wide and unfocused, gazing into the crystal with a look of pure horror. "It's showing me…places," he continued, his voice trembling. "Not places of earth, but of…something else. Somewhere without…without light. Without shape."
The scratching grew louder, and this time it came from everywhere—from the forest, from the earth, from the stones themselves. Shadows moved at the edges of the firelight, creeping closer, converging on the campsite.
Beck felt an overwhelming compulsion. He picked up the Hollow Star, and as he held it, the crystal grew colder. He felt its pull, like a gravity that wasn't bound to this world. Inside it, he could now see shapes—twisting, writhing forms that seemed to press against the crystal walls, as if trying to escape.
Then he understood: it wasn't just a crystal. It was a prison, a lock on something vast, something ancient beyond reckoning, a thing that had been hidden beneath the earth for eons, trapped in darkness by forces long forgotten. And with each gaze, each touch, each obsession, they were weakening the prison.
The scratching stopped, replaced by silence.
And in that silence, Beck realized he could hear breathing, a low, rasping sound, deep and rumbling. He looked up, and there in the dark stood a form, a towering shadow that had no end, no beginning. It wasn't a man, or an animal, or anything he had words for. It was simply…there, and it was looking back at him.
The crystal grew hot, burning his hands, and with a scream, he dropped it. But the thing remained, its dark shape looming closer, as though pulled toward him by the act of seeing. Its presence was crushing, immense, filling the air with a weight that defied understanding. Beck could feel its thoughts pressing into his mind, an awareness that stretched across eons.
He was nothing to it—less than a speck of dust, a momentary flicker in an endless expanse. And yet it was…curious. It pressed deeper into his mind, unspooling his thoughts, his memories, his understanding of reality itself, as though savoring each piece of his consciousness.
Lyle screamed, his eyes wide, staring into the figure's darkness. And then, with a soundless motion, he was gone—consumed, as if the darkness had simply swallowed him whole.
Beck was alone, face to face with the entity that had been waiting in the crystal, a creature so ancient that its very existence stretched across time and space like an infection. It was not alive, not dead, but a concept—a hunger for light, for life, for anything that dared exist in defiance of its darkness.
The next morning, the villagers found the camp empty. Only the Hollow Star remained, its surface marked with new carvings—strange symbols and spirals, spelling out a message none could decipher. The stone was cold, silent, as though it had never known life.
Invercombe was abandoned within the year, and the forest grew over the excavation site. But on some winter nights, villagers from nearby towns would swear they heard scratching in the dark, a faint whisper of something lost, waiting just beneath the earth.
And they say that if you find the Hollow Star, it will show you things, places that no human should ever see—places where light and life are nothing more than memories, devoured by an ancient hunger that waits, just out of sight, in the darkness beyond.