The air beneath the forest was thick and suffocating. The children huddled together in the cold, damp hollow, their eyes wide with terror. Shadows danced on the walls, stretching unnaturally, moving as though alive.
"You… can't… hurt us," whispered one of the older children, voice trembling.
A low, almost imperceptible chuckle drifted through the darkness. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
"Hurt? No… I don't hurt. I feed," the voice whispered, layered with dozens of others. "Feed on fear… on hesitation… on mistakes."
The youngest child whimpered, clutching a small blanket. "I… I don't want to be here…"
The Hollow's presence pressed in, thick and cold. It moved with patience, circling the children, its voice sliding into their ears, into their minds.
"One more step… one more mistake… and the sacrifice is ready."
The children's hands shook. Their breaths came fast. They knew — every instinct told them — that giving in meant something worse than fear. Yet the pull was relentless.
One of them, braver than the others, tried to stand. "We… we won't let you win!"
The Hollow laughed, a sound that seemed to rattle the very walls. "Win? I do not win… I am patient. I am eternal. And now… I have you all."
The shadows twisted closer, almost tangible, like smoke made of teeth and whispers. The children backed into one another, trapped, every exit seeming to stretch farther away, vanish, or collapse into darkness.
Their eyes darted, searching for anything — a crack of light, a way out, a thread of hope. But the Hollow was everywhere: in the walls, in the shadows, in the silence between heartbeats.
"Don't… don't let it… trick you," one child murmured, clutching the arm of another.
"Trick? Oh, little ones… I do not trick. I prepare. I gather. And soon… the last piece will fall into place."
The children's fear grew, mixing with helplessness. They knew something was coming — something beyond their understanding. But even in the terror, a flicker of defiance remained.
Even as the Hollow pressed closer, its patience infinite, its whispers endless, they huddled together, holding tight, refusing to let the darkness fully claim them — at least, not yet.
Somewhere above, the forest whispered, and the Hollow listened. Its plan was nearing completion.
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A sudden shift in the air made the children flinch. The shadows at the edges of the hollow thickened, curling like fingers around them. A cold, whispering voice slid through the dark.
"The last one comes… the gate can now open."
Before anyone could react, a figure stumbled into the dim circle of light: William. His eyes were wide, pale with fear, and his chest heaved as if he'd been running through some endless nightmare.
"William!" one of the children gasped, rushing forward.
But the boy barely saw them. His gaze was unfocused, drawn to the shadows curling along the walls. His body moved almost on its own, as if guided by some invisible tether.
"Welcome," the Hollow whispered, layered and many-voiced, "to the final step. You are mine now… all of you."
William's lips parted, a low, trembling sound escaping him. He wanted to speak, to scream, to run… but the Hollow's pull was absolute. His mind ached, the mark on his chest throbbing hotter than ever. He could hear his mother's voice, his father's warnings, but they were faint, distant… powerless.
The other children huddled around him, their hands reaching out, trying to anchor him. "Will! Don't give in!" one cried.
"I am patient," the Hollow's voice purred through the hollow, "I feed on fear… I shape despair… and now the final piece is here."
William's knees buckled. The world around him seemed to stretch and twist — the ceiling of the hollow melting into shadows, the floor rising and falling like waves. He saw visions of his mother, gentle and beckoning, then twisting into something hollow, smiling with black pits where her eyes should have been.
He shook his head violently, trying to resist, but the force was relentless. His breaths came in short, sharp gasps. He could feel the Hollow's hunger pressing into him, threading into his thoughts, wrapping around his heart.
The children clung tighter, forming a protective circle around one another, trying to shield William from the pull. But the Hollow didn't care about barriers. Its whispers slipped through the cracks in their fear, finding the boy.
"Step closer… just one step… and the sacrifice will be ready."
William froze, every instinct screaming to obey and to resist at once. His mind raced, memories of home, of his father, of safety, battling the illusions, the whispers, the cold hunger of the Hollow.
Somewhere deep inside, a spark of defiance remained. His small hands clenched into fists. I won't give in… not yet.
The Hollow chuckled, low and endless, reverberating through the hollow. It had all its pieces now — William included — and the final phase of its plan was beginning.
The shadows curled tighter around the children, and the air itself seemed to pulse with anticipation. The Hollow was patient, yes, but it was finally ready to feed.
And in the trembling circle of fear, the children understood: there would be no second chances.
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The children huddled together, the shadows pressing closer, their breaths coming in shallow, terrified gasps. William remained at the center, trembling, the pull of the Hollow tightening around him like invisible chains.
Robert's mind raced, heart hammering. He clutched the journal in one hand, every page a desperate map of warnings and clues. He had to reach William. He had to save him before the Hollow completed its work.
Rushing through the streets, following the faintest hints of unnatural disturbance — broken branches, strange whispers, a fleeting shadow in the corner of his eye — he arrived at Tom's house.
The door was ajar. Inside, chaos. Furniture overturned, toys scattered, the faint smell of smoke and ash still lingering. The signs were unmistakable.
"Tom?" Robert called, voice cracking. He moved from room to room, heart pounding. No answer. Only silence.
A chill ran down his spine as he realized the truth: Tom was missing.
The Hollow had taken him too.
Robert sank against the wall, clutching the journal tighter. Its pages rustled in the wind, as if echoing the dark promise of the third rule: When the marked begin to dream, the gate is near.
He had William in the Hollow now, and Tom somewhere else — both trapped, both at the mercy of something patient, clever, and relentless.
The weight of the Hollow's plan pressed down on him. Time was running out.
Robert's jaw clenched. "I won't let it take any more," he whispered to himself, voice fierce and low. "Not my son… not Tom… not anyone."
With the journal as his guide, Robert turned toward the forest, toward the dark heart of the Hollow, knowing that what awaited him there would test every ounce of courage and wit he had left.
The shadows of Hollow Creek stirred. The Hollow had all its pieces. Its feast was ready to begin.