The air itself screamed.
As the chanting deepened, the trees bowed toward the pit, their branches twisting like limbs in prayer. The earth groaned underfoot, splitting in crooked veins that pulsed with a dull red glow. The forest — once quiet — was now alive, trembling, breathing with the rhythm of the Hollow.
Robert stood at the edge of the clearing, breath ragged, mud caked to his boots. "Will!" he shouted, but his voice barely carried over the roar. The boy didn't answer. He stood motionless at the center of the pit, light swirling around him in threads of pale gold and black.
The sheriff fired a warning shot into the air. The sound cracked through the night — but even the bullet slowed, swallowed by the heavy air, disappearing before it hit the ground.
"It's no use!" the sheriff yelled. "It's not here the way we are!"
Robert ignored him, stumbling forward. He reached the ring of children — each one whispering the same haunting refrain. Their eyes were milky, unseeing, their lips trembling as they spoke in the Hollow's tongue.
> "In silence we breathe, in fear we feed…"
Robert grabbed one of the children by the shoulders — a girl no older than ten. Her skin was cold as stone. She blinked once, tears streaking through the dirt on her face, and whispered: "It's almost over."
Then the ground shook again.
The sheriff steadied himself, shouting over the noise. "Robert! We have to pull him out! Now!"
Robert leapt into the pit, sliding down the side, his hands burning from the heat radiating out of it. The light grew brighter the closer he got to Will. The air shimmered, distorting shapes and sound. For a moment, Robert's own reflection flickered across his son's face — and then twisted, wrong.
"Will, listen to me!" he shouted. "You're stronger than this thing! Fight it!"
Will's eyes met his. For an instant, something human flickered there. Pain. Recognition. Then it was gone.
> "It's too late, Father," Will said — but his voice wasn't his. "You gave it to me the night you spoke its name. The Hollow waited. It always waits."
Robert fell to his knees, his chest heaving. "No… no, I didn't—"
The sheriff slid down beside him, pulling him back. "We have to go! Look at the light—Robert, look!"
The center of the pit was collapsing inward, and from within it rose a figure — part shadow, part flame. It wasn't solid yet, not entirely. The Hollow was forming, building itself through Will's body. Its shape flickered like smoke caught in wind — long limbs, a face without features, a voice that echoed from everywhere and nowhere.
> "The vessel is pure. The bridge is open."
The sky darkened, clouds swirling into a spiral above the forest. Thunder rumbled, not from above, but from below.
Robert screamed, grabbing his son. "You're not taking him!"
The Hollow's voice rolled through the trees like a thousand whispers in unison.
> "He was never yours to keep."
A blast of force threw Robert backward, slamming him into the mud. The sheriff dragged him up, both men staring as Will's feet lifted off the ground, black tendrils wrapping around his arms and legs like living chains. His eyes glowed bright gold now, tears streaking his cheeks even as his lips moved with the Hollow's words.
The forest began to crumble inward — trees snapping, the soil caving toward the pit. The children screamed, their trance breaking, collapsing one by one to the ground. The sheriff grabbed Robert's arm again, shouting, "We need to run!"
Robert shook him off. "I'm not leaving him!"
He stumbled forward again, crawling toward Will as the Hollow's form fully emerged behind him — a towering shape of smoke and light, its voice splitting the air.
> "The sacrifice is complete."
The world went still.
No sound. No wind. Only silence.
Then — a light exploded outward, blinding white, swallowing the clearing whole.
When the noise faded and the light died, the pit was gone. The ground was smooth again, unscarred. The children lay scattered around the clearing, unconscious but breathing.
The sheriff groaned, pulling himself to his feet. "Robert… Robert, get up."
Robert pushed himself up, blinking through the haze. "Will…"
The name caught in his throat. His son stood at the center of the clearing — alone, unharmed, but silent. His clothes were clean, his hair dry, his expression calm. Too calm.
"Will?" Robert whispered.
Will turned his head slowly, his eyes open — and for just a second, something ancient flickered behind them. His lips curved in the faintest, chilling smile.
> "It's over," he said softly. "The Hollow sleeps now."
Robert's breath hitched. His son's voice was gentle… but layered, like something else was speaking just beneath it.
The sheriff stepped closer, gun still drawn. "Robert," he said quietly. "Look at his shadow."
The boy's shadow didn't match him. It stood taller. Broader. Still moving — even though Will wasn't.
Robert's heart shattered. He fell to his knees, whispering his son's name again. The sheriff lowered his weapon, trembling, unable to fire.
Above them, the clouds parted. The forest went still. For the first time in months, no whispers came from the Hollow.
But Robert knew the truth.
The sacrifice hadn't ended the curse.
It had fulfilled it.
And now, the Hollow had learned how to breathe.