Nia sat in the flickering light of the candles Bree lit, replaying the recording again. And again.


“Ni-ni... come outside, baby…”


That was her mother’s lullaby voice. Not an imitation. Not a trick. Her real voice.


“I buried her,” Nia said, voice cracking. “I buried her. I heard the flatline, I held her hand.”


Kenyatta paced behind her, jaw tight. “That thing—whatever it is—it’s using grief like bait.”


“Or memory,” Bree added. “You ever notice how this whole neighborhood feels… stuck? Like time don't work right here?”


Jeremiah rocked quietly in the corner. Bree had given him a journal, and he scribbled constantly—pages of swirling shapes, some resembling faces without eyes, and trees with hands instead of branches.


Malik tossed a stack of old library microfilm clippings onto the table. “It goes back to 1893. Harper’s Field was originally called Field 17. Part of an old plantation-turned-prison camp during Reconstruction. They worked prisoners until they dropped—no graves, no names.”


He slapped down an article: Mass Escape Ends in Tragedy – Fire Destroys Field 17.


“Locals say the souls of the escaped prisoners cursed the land before they died. Said they’d rise again if the land was ever forgotten.” Malik lowered his voice. “And the city’s been burying this for over a hundred years.”


Nia’s hand shook as she picked up another clipping. Eight children missing in five years. All Black. All labeled runaways. No arrests. No searches.


“No one cares when we disappear,” Bree said softly.


Jeremiah suddenly stopped drawing. His eyes rolled back. His lips moved without sound.


Then he spoke in a voice that was not his.


“The Field remembers.

The blood fed it.

The silence sealed it.

Break the circle. Or be devoured.”


He collapsed.


Bree caught him. “He’s burning up. We need to get him out of here.”


Nia stood. “No. We’re not running. We go to the source. The field. Tonight.”


Kenyatta grabbed his keys. “I got the bat. And the iron crowbar.”


Malik lifted a backpack full of camera gear, flashlights, and sage. “Let’s give the Hollow something to fear for once.”