In the small, forgotten town of Eldridge, nestled deep within a dense forest, there stood an old, decrepit house known as Blackthorn Manor. The townsfolk spoke of it in hushed tones, warning their children to stay far away. The house had been abandoned for over a century, but its dark history lingered like a shadow over the town.
The story went that the original owner, Ezekiel Blackthorn, was a reclusive man who dabbled in the occult. He was said to have summoned something unspeakable within the walls of his home, something that drove him to madness. One night, the entire Blackthorn family vanished without a trace, leaving behind only a cryptic message scrawled in blood on the dining room wall: "They are in the walls."
Over the years, a few brave—or foolish—souls ventured into the house, hoping to uncover its secrets. None returned. The house remained silent, its windows like hollow eyes staring out into the forest, waiting.
One cold October evening, a group of four friends—Mia, Jake, Sarah, and Ryan—decided to spend the night in Blackthorn Manor as a dare. They were thrill-seekers, drawn to the macabre, and the legend of the house was too tempting to resist. Armed with flashlights, a camera, and a bottle of whiskey for courage, they pushed open the creaking front door and stepped inside.
The air was thick with dust and the scent of decay. The floorboards groaned under their weight as they explored the first floor. The walls were covered in peeling wallpaper, and the furniture was draped in yellowed sheets. Everything was eerily still, as if the house itself was
another
Title: The Hollowing
In the remote village of Veylock, surrounded by jagged mountains and endless fog, there was a tradition known as "The Hollowing." Every fifty years, the villagers would gather in the town square at midnight, carrying lanterns and wearing masks carved from bone. They would chant in a language long forgotten, their voices rising into the cold, still air. At the center of the square stood an ancient stone well, its depths shrouded in darkness.
The ritual was said to keep the village safe from The Hollow, a nameless entity that dwelled in the mountains. No one knew exactly what The Hollow was, only that it hungered. Those who spoke of it too often would wake to find their voices gone, their throats raw and empty, as if something had reached inside and taken what it needed.
The last Hollowing had occurred fifty years ago, and the village had been peaceful since. But now, the time had come again.
Ellie, a young woman who had grown up in Veylock, had always been skeptical of the ritual. She had left the village years ago to study anthropology in the city, and now, reluctantly, she had returned to care for her ailing grandmother. Her grandmother, a frail woman with eyes that seemed to see too much, had begged Ellie not to come back.
"The Hollow knows when outsiders doubt," her grandmother had whispered, clutching Ellie's hand with surprising strength. "It feeds on doubt. On fear. It will come for you."
Ellie had dismissed the warning as the ramblings of an old woman. But as the night of the Hollowing approached, strange things began to happen. She would wake to find her bedroom door open, though she was certain she had closed it. Her reflection in the mirror sometimes seemed to move on its own, its lips curling into a smile she didn't make. And at night, she heard whispers—soft, insistent, and just beyond comprehension—coming from the woods.
On the night of the Hollowing, the villagers gathered in the square, their lanterns casting flickering shadows on the cobblestones. Ellie stood at the edge of the crowd, her arms crossed, watching as the elders began the chant. The sound was low and guttural, rising and falling like a heartbeat. The air grew colder, and the fog thickened, curling around their ankles like tendrils.
Suddenly, the chanting stopped. The villagers turned as one to face the well. Ellie felt a chill run down her spine as she realized they were all looking at her.
"Ellie," one of the elders said, his voice trembling. "You must make the offering."
"What offering?" Ellie asked, her voice shaking despite herself.
The elder pointed to the well. "The Hollow has chosen you. It wants your voice."
Ellie backed away, shaking her head. "No. This is insane. I'm not part of this."
But the villagers began to move toward her, their masks grotesque in the lantern light. Ellie turned to run, but her feet seemed rooted to the ground. The whispers grew louder, filling her ears, her mind. She tried to scream, but no sound came out. Her throat burned, and she clutched at it, feeling something cold and wet slithering inside.
The villagers watched in silence as Ellie collapsed to her knees, her mouth opening in a soundless cry. Her reflection in the well's dark water smiled back at her, its eyes hollow and endless.
When the fog lifted, Ellie was gone. The villagers returned to their homes, their lanterns extinguished. The well stood silent once more, its depths undisturbed.
But in the mountains, the whispers grew louder. The Hollow had been fed, but it was still hungry. And it would return.