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The sheriff's office smelled of dust and old paper. Sunlight filtered through the blinds in thin stripes, but it did little to warm the chill that hung in the air.
Robert stepped inside, rubbing his eyes. "You said you had something for me?" he asked.
Sheriff Alden nodded, motioning toward the far side of the desk. "Something old. Something we hoped we'd never need again. But with everything happening… you need to see this."
He reached under the desk and pulled out a small, leather-bound journal. Its cover was cracked and faded, the edges worn by decades of handling. Robert's stomach tightened.
"Where did you get this?" he asked.
Alden hesitated. "Mrs. Halloway left it with me years ago. Said it was too dangerous to keep in the open. Too many didn't survive knowing its contents."
Robert carefully took the journal. The leather was soft under his fingers, and the faint smell of mildew and ink drifted up. He opened it, scanning the pages.
Most of it was written in Mrs. Halloway's tight, deliberate script — notes about the Hollow, warnings, sketches of its preferred haunts. Then he found it:
> 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's hand froze over the page. He felt the weight of each word pressing into him. The third rule… the one they hadn't uncovered yet.
Alden's voice cut through his thoughts. "The third one is the worst. Once it begins, the Hollow isn't just in the woods anymore. It can reach anyone connected to the marked — through dreams, through fear, through… well, you'll see soon enough."
Robert swallowed hard, remembering William's frightened eyes, Tom's thrashing nightmare. "He's already dreaming," Robert muttered.
Alden nodded grimly. "Then the bridge is forming. And the Hollow… it's patient. But once it's awake, it won't wait."
Robert closed the journal slowly, heart pounding. "We need a plan. William… Tom… the children… the town — none of them are safe. Not yet."
The sheriff rubbed his temples. "I hoped it wouldn't come to this. But if you're right, Robert… you have to act fast. Knowledge is all we have, and this journal is the only guide left."
Robert looked down at the worn pages again. The sketches, the notes, the rules — all of it pointed to one terrifying truth: the Hollow was not just beneath the town, it was reaching upward, toward everyone they loved.
And soon, there would be no hiding from it.
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Robert left the sheriff's office, the old journal heavy in his bag. The streets of Hollow Creek were quiet, almost too quiet, the kind of silence that pressed into your chest like water. Every shadow seemed to stretch unnaturally, twisting in the waning sunlight. He walked faster, his thoughts racing — William, Tom, the children, the rules. Every heartbeat felt louder than the last.
When he reached his house, the first thing he noticed was the door. It was slightly ajar, swaying gently, creaking against the wind as if mocking him.
His stomach sank. Something was wrong.
"William?" he called, his voice tight with fear.
No answer. Only the whisper of leaves outside and the faint, hollow creak of the door.
He stepped inside cautiously. The living room was empty. Toys lay scattered across the floor — blocks, a small action figure — as if someone had left in a hurry. The curtains swayed slightly in the breeze from the open door, casting strange shadows across the walls. A cold draft snaked through the room, brushing against Robert's neck.
"William!" he shouted, louder this time, panic creeping in.
The silence that answered him pressed heavier. He ran to the kitchen. Empty. Then the bedrooms — each one barren. The sheets on William's bed were twisted and cold, his pillow still holding the faint imprint of his head. Nothing else.
Robert's heart hammered. His chest felt tight, his hands clammy. He dropped to his knees, scanning the floor. That's when he noticed it — a faint, dark smudge near William's bed. Almost like ash or smoke, curling into the shape of a thin line. It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat, and Robert felt an icy chill run down his spine.
"No…" he whispered, his voice breaking. "Not now… not him…"
Every memory of William flickered in his mind: the boy laughing in the yard, his bright eyes, the way he clung to Robert when scared. The Hollow had found a way to reach him. It had begun.
He remembered the third rule: When the marked begin to dream, the gate is near.
William must have been drawn in, lured by visions he couldn't resist, trapped somewhere beyond the waking world. Robert's fists clenched. He felt the hot sting of helplessness, but he forced it aside. Panic wouldn't save his son — only action could.
"William! Hold on!" he yelled, voice cracking, echoing through the empty house. "Don't give in! I'm coming!"
The wind rattled the windows violently, carrying with it a faint, sinister whisper:
"Come… play… with us…"
Robert froze. The sound was barely audible, yet it cut through the air like a knife. His chest tightened as he realized the Hollow wasn't just luring William — it was testing him, reaching out, drawing him closer with every heartbeat.
He ran through the house once more, scanning for clues. Every room was untouched, yet every shadow seemed alive. The faint smell of damp earth and ash drifted through the air, like the Hollow's invisible breath brushing against his skin.
Clutching the journal tightly, Robert kneeled and traced the lines of the sketches Mrs. Halloway had left — the forest paths, the trees, the hollowed areas, the symbols marking the Hollow's favored spots. He had a starting point, but he needed more. Every second counted, every delay could push William further into the Hollow's grasp.
His mind raced. He thought of the nightmares William had been having, of Tom's thrashing in his bed, of the children — all marked, all trapped in dreams the Hollow controlled. And now, William was missing.
There was no time to hesitate.
Robert bolted out the door, journal in hand. The wind whipped past him, carrying a faint whisper he couldn't place — a soft, coaxing sound, like someone calling his name from far away. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to run faster. Every step was heavy, weighted with fear and determination.
The Hollow had taken the first move. Robert knew the next ones would come fast — and if he wasn't faster, the consequences would be unimaginable.