The sheriff's office was nearly swallowed by silence. Only the faint creak of the old ceiling fan and the ticking of a clock that no longer kept time broke the stillness.
Robert stepped in, his boots heavy on the floorboards. The sheriff looked up slowly, eyes red-rimmed, as if sleep had long abandoned him.
"Robert," he muttered. "You look like hell."
"Tom's worse," Robert said, shutting the door behind him. "He came back from the woods last night. He's not the same."
Sheriff Alden frowned. "What do you mean?"
Robert hesitated. "There's… something on him. A mark. Looks burned into his skin. He says he doesn't remember anything, but I saw it moving. Like it was alive."
The sheriff went quiet, his gaze drifting to a locked drawer at the side of his desk. After a long pause, he unlocked it and pulled out a single sheet of yellowed paper — edges curled, ink fading.
"I prayed I'd never need to look at this again," Alden said softly. "But I think it's time you knew."
He unfolded the paper, flattening it on the desk. The handwriting was old — almost carved into the page. Three lines, written in black ink.
> The Rules of the Hollow:
1. Never speak its name after dark.
2. Never follow the voice after dark.
3. When the marked begin to dream, the gate is near.
Robert stared at the words, his pulse quickening. "Mrs. Halloway's journal only mentioned the first rule. She never wrote the rest."
"She didn't have to," Alden replied. "Everyone in this town used to know the second one. We learned it the hard way."
Robert's jaw clenched. "Tom… he heard Ethan's voice. Followed it into the woods."
The sheriff's expression darkened. "Then he broke the second rule."
The air in the office seemed to grow colder.
Robert swallowed hard. "And the third? What does that mean — 'When the marked begin to dream'?"
Alden hesitated, his voice dropping to a whisper. "That's how it crosses over. The dreams make the bridge. Once they start, the Hollow doesn't just haunt the woods anymore… it moves through whoever carries the mark."
Robert felt a chill crawl up his spine. "You're saying it's inside him."
"Not yet," Alden said, "but it will be. When he dreams."
Before Robert could respond, the lamp on the desk flickered once, then went out. The room dimmed, the air heavy and strange.
The sheriff froze. "Did you feel that?"
Robert nodded slowly. "Yeah."
A faint voice — distant, like carried on a breath — drifted through the open window.
It was soft, fragile, and unmistakable.
"Tom…"
Robert's blood ran cold. The sheriff's face drained of color.
"Tell me you heard that," Alden whispered.
"I did," Robert said, his voice barely audible. "But that wasn't anyone alive."
The voice came again, closer this time — the same tone, the same broken cry.
"Tom…"
And then, as suddenly as it began, it stopped.
Robert and the sheriff stood in the dark, neither daring to move.
Alden swallowed. "If he's started hearing voices again…"
Robert finished the thought for him. "Then the dreams won't be far behind."
_____________________________
Tom woke with a start, chest pounding. A low, whispering voice slithered through his head.
"Dad… help me…"
The room was dim, lit only by the pale glow of the moon through the curtains. His wife, Claire, stirred beside him, pulling the blanket closer.
"Tom? What is it?" she murmured, half-asleep.
Tom's chest burned where the mark had appeared, a tight, invisible pressure pressing against his ribs. "It… I don't know," he gasped.
Suddenly, the voice came again, louder, clearer. Ethan's voice.
"Dad… please…"
Before he could respond, Tom bolted upright, knocking the bedside lamp onto the floor. It shattered. The noise startled the girls, who had been sleeping in the next room but now came running, rubbing their eyes.
"Daddy?!" shouted Lily, his youngest daughter.
"Stay back!" Tom shouted, voice cracking. "Go back to bed!"
Claire jumped up, her heart racing. "Tom! Calm down! What's happening?"
The room seemed to stretch and darken around him. The walls pulsed like living flesh, the ceiling sagged, and the shadows crept along the floor like crawling smoke. Tom's mind spun — Ethan's voice, sweet and pleading, echoing from everywhere at once.
"Dad… it's warm here… stay with me," it whispered.
Tom's fingers twitched toward the empty corner where he thought Ethan stood. "No! No!" he shouted, but the voice laughed — layered, distorted.
Lily and Claire froze in fear, watching him struggle, unsure whether to touch him or run. The room seemed alive — toys shifted across the floor on their own, the dresser doors opened and closed like lungs, and the window rattled violently.
"Tom… you broke the second rule…" The voice was everywhere and nowhere. "And now… you dream."
The mark burned hotter against his chest. He fell to his knees, gasping, clutching at it as shadows curled up around him.
"Tom!" Claire screamed, grabbing his arm. "Hold on! It's okay — it's okay!"
The shadows hissed and recoiled from her touch, retreating just slightly. Tom's mind began to clear enough to see them, his family's terrified faces, the faint outlines of their hands reaching toward him.
He took a deep, shuddering breath. "It… it's inside me," he whispered, voice hoarse. "It's inside me, and it's showing me… everything."
Claire pulled him to his feet, holding him steady. "We're here. We're not leaving you."
Tom's gaze flickered to his daughters, eyes wide. "If I lose control… it could reach you too."
The youngest girl clung to his leg. "I'm not scared, Daddy."
A bitter, hollow laugh filled the room. The shadows lingered at the edges, as if waiting, patient.
Tom's chest burned. He felt the first stirrings of the Hollow's third rule: "When the marked begin to dream, the gate is near."
And in that moment, he knew the nightmare wasn't over — it had only begun.
_____________________________
The shadows pulsed and curled, thickening in the corners of the room. Tom's chest burned where the mark throbbed beneath his skin. The voice returned, soft and pleading, carrying the unmistakable timbre of Ethan.
"Daddy… I'm cold… I'm scared…"
Tom stumbled toward the empty corner of the room. "Ethan… it's okay! I'm here! I'm here!"
But when he reached out, the boy's face melted into darkness, only to reappear on the bed, then on the floor, then in the hallway — all at once. Each echo whispered a different fear: "You left me," "Why didn't you save me?" "I'm alone."
Claire and the girls watched in horror, frozen in place. "Tom!" Claire shouted, stepping closer. "Don't let it take you!"
The room itself seemed to react. The floorboards groaned beneath them, the wallpaper peeled and twisted like living veins, and the air thickened with a choking mist. Every breath felt like dragging through water.
The youngest daughter, Lily, cried out, "Daddy… he's here too…"
Tom turned, only to see shadows forming the shapes of his daughters around him, their eyes empty voids. They whispered in unison, soft and accusing:
"You can't protect us. You will fail."
He stumbled backward, chest burning, mark pulsing hotter than ever. The Hollow's power pressed into his mind, twisting memories. He saw Ethan — alive, smiling — then the boy's face shifted into something inhuman, grinning with empty black eyes.
"Do you love me?" the voice hissed inside his head. "Do you love them enough to choose?"
Tom's hands clutched his temples, trying to scream, but no sound escaped. The room warped further — the walls bending, the floor rising. He felt like he was falling upward into the ceiling, the ceiling stretching down into shadows.
Claire grabbed his arm again. "Tom! Listen to me! Focus! Fight it!"
Her voice cut through the illusions for just a second. Tom opened his eyes and glimpsed his real family — their frightened, real faces. He took a deep breath, trying to anchor himself.
But the Hollow wasn't done. From the shadows, Ethan appeared again — this time, real enough to touch, trembling in Tom's arms. "Daddy… take me home…"
Tom froze. His heart wrenched. He wanted to reach for him, to hold him, to save him — but he remembered the rules.
Never follow the voice after dark.
The boy's image shimmered and twisted, turning grotesque, eyes like black pits. The Hollow whispered, layered in hundreds of voices now:
"You broke the second rule. You dream. The gate awakens. Choose… or lose all."
Tom's chest burned unbearably. The mark throbbed like a drum inside him. He realized: if he succumbed, the Hollow wouldn't just take him — it could use his family as bridges, too.
He forced his eyes to the real Claire and the girls, ignoring the illusions. "I'm here. Not there. You're safe!"
The shadows shrieked and recoiled, hissing like a thousand knives in the air. Ethan's image flickered violently, then vanished into smoke. The room stilled — dim moonlight spilling across the floor.
Tom collapsed, gasping, drenched in sweat. His family gathered around, touching him, grounding him.
Claire whispered, "It's okay. You're okay. We're here."
Tom pressed his forehead to her shoulder, shivering. The mark still burned, faintly glowing under his shirt, a reminder that this nightmare was only the beginning.
Somewhere deep in the town, beneath the streets and the forest, the Hollow stirred, patient, awakening further.
And now, with the third rule in motion, the bridge between its world and theirs had begun to form.