The hollow ones

Ellie's pulse thundered in her ears. The room felt smaller, the walls pressing in as Malcolm's words settled over her.

You'll become one of them.

She curled her fingers over the mark, as if she could hide it from reality. "Tell me everything," she said, her voice low and steady.

Malcolm sighed and pushed the book toward her. "The Hollow Ones are not ghosts. They're not demons. They're something worse—things that should not exist, but do. And once they set their sights on you…" He tapped the mark on her hand. "They don't let go."

Ellie swallowed, forcing herself to look at the faded ink on the yellowed pages. The drawings depicted figures without faces, their bodies wrapped in shifting darkness. They stood in doorways, in shadows, behind people who didn't know they were being watched.

"What do they want?" Sam asked, arms crossed.

Malcolm's gaze was heavy. "They take. First your presence. Then your voice. Then your existence." He flipped a page, revealing a sketch of a person mid-transformation—features erasing, body thinning into nothing but a hollow outline.

"They don't kill you," Malcolm continued. "They erase you."

Ellie shuddered, remembering the way Jonas Blackwood had disappeared. "And the mark?"

Malcolm exhaled. "It's a tether. You're already slipping between here and… wherever they come from. You've seen them, haven't you?"

Ellie's breath caught. The shadows in the farmhouse. The cold spot in the interrogation room. The feeling of being watched.

They had been there the whole time.

She closed the book, her jaw tight. "How do I stop this?"

Malcolm hesitated. "It won't be easy."

Sam scoffed. "Didn't think it would be."

Malcolm ignored him. "The ritual Blackwood and his group performed—it was unfinished. That's why he disappeared. He didn't call them. He let them in." He leaned forward, voice dropping. "If you want to break the mark, you have to finish what they started."

Ellie frowned. "You're saying I have to complete the ritual?"

Malcolm nodded. "And then banish them before they can take you."

A cold dread settled in Ellie's stomach.

Because if Jonas Blackwood—a man who had spent years studying this—had failed…

What chance did she have?

---

The Unfinished Ritual

They returned to the farmhouse as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in blood-red hues.

Ellie's marked hand throbbed with a dull, aching cold. She could feel the Hollow Ones pressing against reality, lingering just beyond the veil, waiting for the moment she slipped too far.

Malcolm walked ahead, gripping an old leather satchel filled with ritual components—salt, candles, something he refused to name.

Sam stuck close to Ellie. "You sure about this?"

"No," she admitted. "But if I don't do this, I disappear."

Sam clenched his jaw. "Then we make sure that doesn't happen."

Inside, the farmhouse was wrong. The air pressed heavy against their skin, thick with something unseen. The shadows in the corners felt deeper, darker.

Ellie swallowed hard and knelt at the burned symbol in the basement. Malcolm handed her a piece of chalk.

"You need to complete the circle," he instructed. "Then speak the words Blackwood never finished."

Her fingers trembled as she traced the missing lines. The moment the circle was complete, a rush of cold air burst through the room, sending a violent shudder through the walls.

Then, the whispers began.

Soft at first. Then growing louder.

They slithered through the darkness, words just beyond understanding. Ellie clenched her jaw and forced herself to focus.

She took a deep breath.

And then she spoke the words.

The moment the final syllable left her lips, the room exploded into darkness.

The lights flickered. The temperature plummeted.

And then—

The Hollow Ones stepped through.

The Hollow Ones

The moment Ellie spoke the final words, the darkness came alive.

The flickering basement lights stuttered and died, plunging them into a suffocating void. The air turned ice-cold, so sharp it burned.

Then, the whispers became voices.

Low. Hollow. Surrounding them from every direction.

"You are ours."

"You opened the door."

"No escape."

Ellie's breath came in short, panicked gasps. She turned wildly, searching the darkness. Shadows shifted at the edges of her vision, their movements wrong—not human.

Then—Sam gasped. "Ellie—behind you!"

A shape stepped out of the darkness.

Not quite a figure. Not quite a shadow. Its form twisted, shifting, as if it didn't belong in this world.

And it had no face.

Ellie's blood ran cold.

More figures emerged, dozens of them, filling the room, moving toward the circle she had completed.

Malcolm gritted his teeth. "They're here."

Ellie's mark burned, searing into her skin like fire. The Hollow Ones were drawn to it. To her.

One of them tilted its featureless head.

It reached out.

And the room shattered.

The Rift Between Worlds

Ellie stumbled, the ground beneath her feet turning wrong. The walls of the basement melted away, swallowed by a swirling abyss of shifting blackness.

She wasn't in the farmhouse anymore.

She was somewhere else.

The Hollow Ones surrounded her, closer now, their forms stretching and bending in impossible ways.

She felt herself fading—her presence slipping, like she was being erased from existence.

"Join us."

"Let go."

She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to stand. "No," she growled. "I'm not yours."

A surge of willpower brought her back—the basement flickered around her, the rift between worlds unstable.

Malcolm's voice cut through the chaos. "Ellie! You have to finish it!"

She gritted her teeth. The Hollow Ones lunged.

With the last of her strength, Ellie completed the final sigil, pressing her bleeding palm to the floor.

The world convulsed.

A blinding light erupted from the circle, ripping through the darkness. The Hollow Ones screamed, their voices twisting in agony as the ritual's power tore them away.

The room snapped back into reality.

Ellie collapsed, gasping for air. The mark on her hand faded, the burning finally ceasing.

It was over.

Or so she thought.

Because as she looked up, one last whisper brushed against her mind.

"Not yet."

And in the deepest shadow of the basement, something still watched her.