The hollow ones

The pulse of the mark throbbed in Ellie's hand, a slow, steady rhythm—like a second heartbeat. She pressed her fingers against it, hoping to feel nothing, but the cold burned beneath her touch.

It was spreading.

And she had no idea how to stop it.

She sat up slowly, careful not to make a sound. The motel room was silent, save for the soft hum of the heater. Sam was slumped against the wall, arms crossed, eyes closed but still tense, as if he were sleeping light.

Malcolm, on the other hand, was still awake.

He sat in the chair by the small motel table, flipping through an old leather-bound book, his fingers tracing over pages filled with symbols and scribbled notes.

Ellie swallowed, then whispered, "Malcolm."

He didn't look up. "I know."

Her stomach twisted. "Know what?"

Malcolm finally raised his gaze to meet hers. His expression was grim.

"You're slipping."

Ellie's blood ran cold.

The Connection Deepens

She clenched her jaw. "I'm still here."

"For now." Malcolm leaned forward, rubbing his temples. "That thing you saw in your dream… it wasn't just a nightmare, was it?"

Ellie hesitated.

The figure's silver eyes flashed in her memory, the whisper curling around her thoughts.

"You already know."

Her fingers tightened into fists. "No. It felt… real."

Malcolm exhaled. "Because it was. The Hollow Ones aren't just watching you anymore, Ellie. They're trying to pull you back."

A sharp chill spread through her spine.

"How do I stop it?" she asked, voice quieter than she intended.

Malcolm leaned back, his eyes shadowed. "You can't."

Silence settled between them.

Sam stirred then, blinking groggily. "What's going on?"

Ellie didn't look away from Malcolm. "Tell me," she pressed. "You know something."

Malcolm rubbed his jaw. "I know that once the Hollow Ones mark you, you're never completely free." He gestured at her hand. "That mark is more than a symbol, Ellie. It's a bridge. They're using it to drag you between their world and ours."

Sam straightened, suddenly more awake. "So what, we just let them take her?"

"No." Malcolm sighed. "But we need a counter-ritual. Something to break the tether completely before she's too far gone."

Ellie exhaled sharply, looking down at her hand. The pulsing had slowed, but the mark still lingered, dark and deep beneath her skin.

She wasn't losing time yet, but she knew it was only a matter of when—not if.

The Road to Blackwood's Past

Malcolm closed the book in front of him with a heavy thud.

"There's one place we might find answers."

Ellie lifted an eyebrow. "Where?"

Malcolm hesitated. "Jonas Blackwood's home."

Silence.

Ellie felt the air grow heavier at the name. Blackwood—the man who had first summoned the Hollow Ones. The one who disappeared into nothing.

Sam scoffed. "You mean the place where he lost his mind and vanished?"

Malcolm nodded. "If there's anything left behind, it might tell us how to finish what he couldn't."

Ellie frowned. "I thought the farmhouse was where he performed the ritual."

"It was," Malcolm said. "But Blackwood lived in a private estate miles from here. That's where he did his research, wrote his notes. If he had a failsafe—some way to undo what he started—it'll be there."

Ellie exhaled. She hated this. Every step forward only led them deeper.

But what choice did she have?

She wasn't ready to disappear.

She wasn't ready to become one of them.

She met Malcolm's gaze. "Then let's go."

---

Blackwood Estate

The drive took them deep into the countryside, far from any town or civilization. The road twisted through thick forests, the trees stretching like skeletal hands toward the overcast sky.

By the time they reached the Blackwood Estate, the sun had begun to set, casting long, eerie shadows across the crumbling mansion.

The house was a ruin.

Tall iron gates surrounded the property, rusted and bent in places. The mansion itself was massive, its once-grand structure now covered in vines and decay. Several windows were shattered, and the front doors hung slightly ajar.

Sam stared up at it. "Yeah, this doesn't scream bad idea at all."

Malcolm ignored him and stepped forward. "Stay close."

Ellie swallowed and followed.

As they crossed the threshold, a wave of cold washed over them. It wasn't just from the weather. The air felt wrong, heavy, charged—as if the house itself remembered what had happened here.

Malcolm pulled out a flashlight and swept the beam across the entrance hall. Dust covered every surface. A massive staircase led up into darkness, and several doorways branched off into unseen rooms.

Ellie hugged herself, rubbing her arms. The mark on her hand tingled.

Then—

A whisper.

Soft. Faint.

"Ellie."

Her breath caught.

She turned sharply, scanning the darkness. Nothing.

Sam noticed. "What?"

Ellie hesitated. "I… thought I heard something."

Malcolm's grip on his flashlight tightened. "They know we're here."

Ellie didn't doubt it.

Because as they moved deeper into the house, the whispering only grew louder.

And in the corner of her vision—just for a second—she saw them.

Figures standing in the shadows. Watching. Waiting.

The Hollow Ones weren't done with her.

They were just getting started.

The House That Remembers

The air inside the Blackwood Estate felt thick, heavy with a presence that shouldn't be there. Dust clung to the air, swirling in the weak glow of Malcolm's flashlight. Ellie's boots scuffed against the warped wooden floor as she stepped inside, her body tense.

The whispering had not stopped.

If anything, it had grown clearer.

"Ellie."

"You are home."

A chill crawled up her spine. She clenched her jaw and kept walking.

Sam was close behind her, gripping the rusted iron crowbar they'd brought from the car. "So, uh… remind me again why we're inside the murder house?"

Malcolm shot him a look. "Because this is the last place Jonas Blackwood left behind before he vanished. If he had any way of stopping the Hollow Ones, it's here."

Ellie swallowed, glancing around the decayed mansion. Blackwood's final moments had happened here. And now, she was walking straight into them.

Something told her the house hadn't forgotten.

The Writing on the Walls

They moved carefully through the grand entrance hall, stepping over rotted furniture and broken glass. The place had been abandoned for decades, but there were no signs of squatters or animals. No one came here.

Ellie ran her fingers along the peeling wallpaper. It was damp. Not from water. It felt wrong, almost alive—

She jerked her hand back as if burned.

Malcolm flashed the light at her. "What?"

Ellie shook her head. "Nothing. Let's just keep moving."

The deeper they went, the worse it got. The whispers became murmurs. The air turned colder. The darkness in the corners of the house shifted when no one was looking directly at it.

And then—

Sam froze. "Uh… guys?"

Ellie and Malcolm turned.

Sam pointed at the wall beside them.

At first, it looked like scratches. Old, deep carvings into the wallpaper. But when Malcolm brought the flashlight closer, Ellie's stomach dropped.

It wasn't just scratches.

It was words.

Scrawled in jagged, uneven lettering.

DON'T LISTEN.

DON'T LOOK.

DON'T SPEAK THEIR NAMES.

And beneath them, in smaller, more desperate script:

I AM STILL HERE.

Silence pressed down on them.

Sam exhaled sharply. "Okay. Cool. That's not terrifying at all."

Ellie stared at the last line. I am still here.

She didn't know why, but her fingers itched to touch it.

Her mark burned.

A loud bang echoed from upstairs.

Ellie's head snapped up. Sam jumped.

Malcolm's grip tightened on the flashlight. "We're not alone."

The Forgotten Room

Ellie felt the pull before Malcolm found the door.

It was subtle at first, a tugging in her chest, a whisper in the back of her mind. She knew exactly where to go—like the house itself was guiding her.

The door stood at the end of a narrow hallway, hidden behind an old bookcase.

It was locked.

Sam didn't hesitate. He swung the crowbar—hard—against the rusted handle. The door shuddered, then burst open with a deafening crack.

Cold air rushed out.

The room beyond was untouched by time. Unlike the rest of the decayed mansion, this place looked preserved—as if someone had just left.

A massive wooden desk sat in the center, covered in papers, books, and symbols carved into the wood. Shelves lined the walls, filled with crumbling journals.

And in the farthest corner—

A mirror stood, tall and ornate, its frame lined with the same markings as Ellie's hand.

The moment she stepped inside, the whispers stopped.

Everything went silent.

Malcolm exhaled, stepping forward. "This was it. Blackwood's study."

Ellie barely heard him.

She was staring at the mirror.

Because for the first time in hours, she could see them.

The Hollow Ones.

Dozens of them, standing just beyond the glass, their faceless heads tilted in eerie unison. They weren't moving. They weren't whispering.

They were watching her.

And then—

One stepped forward.

The silver-eyed figure from her dreams.

A smile curled across its shadowed face.

"We told you."

"You are ours."

The mirror shattered.

The room plunged into darkness.

And Ellie felt herself being pulled in.