Hollow Creek

The growl came again closer, deeper, reverberating through the warped floorboards like thunder in the bones of the house. Sarah’s heart ricocheted inside her chest, wild and birdlike. She scrambled backward across splintered wood, snatching up her flashlight. Its beam trembled in her grip, a thin silver blade against the consuming dark.

But the darkness wasn’t just the absence of light.

It was presence a living, watching thing pressing against her skin, seeping into her lungs with every breath.

Panic surged. She turned, fingers clawing at the rotten door. It groaned open just enough to reveal a narrow path swallowed in swirling fog. The air outside was colder than the air within. Dense. Smothering.

She stepped into it.

Each footfall vanished into silence. The flashlight’s beam scattered uselessly through the white curtain, revealing nothing but ghost shapes and vague motion. The mist clung to her like a jealous lover, dampening her clothes, chilling her skin. Somewhere beneath it all lingered a coppery tang that turned her stomach. Blood, she thought. Old and fresh.

She pressed on, breath quickening.

Twisted limbs of trees arched overhead, vanishing into the swirling murk. With each snap of twigs beneath her boots, she flinched, certain something was just behind her. Watching. Waiting.

The fog thickened to a paste, swallowing sound and sense of space. Familiar terrain faded. The forest became a maze of damp hollows and moss-slick stones. She stumbled forward, guided only by instinct—and desperation.

All around, the silence deepened. No wind. No birds. Just the distant thud of her heart.

Then she heard it.

The growl low and wet echoed through the trees, vibrating through the soles of her boots. She froze. Its direction was impossible to place. It seemed everywhere at once, like the forest itself was growling. Her flashlight wavered, its halo shrinking.

Then came the whisper.

Soft. Knowing. It slithered past her ear, through her skull.

*Sarah...*

It wasn’t sound. It was pressure, curling in her mind, stirring fear like sediment at the bottom of a pond. The voice ached with malice and sorrow. It wanted something.

She should have run.

But curiosity, dark and electric, anchored her to the spot.

Another step. Her foot caught on a root buried beneath the loam. She fell hard. The cold ground bit into her palms as she scrambled to push herself up—only to recoil.

Something slick. Something cold.

Flesh.

Her flashlight steadied. The beam revealed a ghastly sight: a tangled heap of bodies. Torn. Broken. Abandoned like trash. The surrounding soil glistened dark red. The stench of rot and blood hit her full force, curling bile into her throat.

Her limbs wouldn’t obey at first. Then they did all at once she staggered to her feet, lungs heaving, tears streaming hot down her cheeks.

The whisper returned. Louder now. Closer.

*Sarah...*

She turned and ran.

The fog parted in slashes as she tore through it, branches clawing at her face and arms. The beam of her flashlight wavered wildly and then she tripped again.

The flashlight flew from her hand, thudding into the underbrush.

Darkness collapsed.

The growls encircled her now, a chorus of hungry things. And beneath them, the whisper unfurled like a chant her name stretched and warped into something inhuman.

She screamed. Raw. Panicked. It was swallowed whole by the woods.

Something gripped her arm.

Ice-cold. Like touching stone submerged in a frozen lake.

She kicked and clawed but it didn’t let go. It dragged her, scraping across the earth, the forest tearing at her with every inch. Her nails broke on roots. Her screams dissolved into sobs.

And then she heard it.

A laugh.

Low. Wet. Joyless.

The last light of the world disappeared behind her as she was pulled into something deeper than shadow something waiting for her.

The forest fell silent once again.

The fog swirled over the clearing like it hadn’t just watched someone be swallowed whole. Only Emily’s torn bookbag remained nearby a single monument in a place where time didn’t move forward, only curled inward.

And somewhere, beneath the trees, the whispers grew louder.