The House of the Hollow
In the quiet town of Crimson Vale, there lies an ancient manor hidden from the world by a dark, thick forest and perpetuated legends of horrifying incidents. They talk about the House of the Hollow, a place so sinister, all the dark tales of the world began crumbling before it.
Once there, one could feel a palpable sense of dread cloaking the area, the warning whispers of the wind through dead woods, the distant hooting of the owl almost like a dirge. A coldness seeping through every brick of the manor, the doors and windows hanging on to their hinges in a plea not to be disturbed.
“It is said, after the master lost himself to something terrible within...no living soul dared to step foot inside...” said old man Petersburg, his voice trembling as he narrated the frightening tale in the safety of the village inn.
One newcomer, curiosity peaked in the flickering candlelight, dared to brave the horror of the hollow. Elijah Morgan was his name. He was a man of science, a rational thinker who trusted no tales and believed in confronting fears face front. He laughed off the terrifying stories and made his way to this forlorn structure one fateful night.
“A ghost tale is nothing more than a disgruntled man’s imagination...,”he mocked, wearing a courageous expression as he stepped through the large, rusty irongate, which creaked open under the pale moonlight.
As Elijah walked the broken cobblestone path up to the house, he saw the dilapidated grandeur of the manor. It was a magnificent but derelict shell of its former self. He put his hand on the cold, elaborate brass knocker and rapped twice. No one answered, just as he expected. He pushed open the doors which protested with a loud creak, stepping into the musty dwelling.
The shadows danced along the interior walls, casting terrifying silhouettes with each flicker of his lantern. He picked his way slowly past rotting furniture, shaking aside cobwebs as he went from room to room. His footsteps echoed ominously around him in the otherwise silent abyss of the house.
And then, he began to feel it. Not fear exactly, more of a cold sense of dread that slowly crept up his spine, making him shiver involuntarily. Dismissing it as the chill, he decided to move further in. And then, he heard it. A low, grating whisper, almost a beg. “Leave...now...” it said.
Bolding his resolve, he dismissed the voice echoing in his ears as a trick of the wind. He decided to explore further, and that was when he saw it. The portrait of the old master, a skeletal figure in fine robes, his gaze seemed to bore into Elijah’s soul. His eyes, pit-like black holes that seemed to swallow all light, held despair, warning...and something Elijah couldn't quite comprehend.
That was the moment he realized that the house was not just a house but was something more. It was alive, pulsating with dark malice. The creaks were not from the settling timber but a lament of the unknown entity within its walls.
“Man of science, are you? Unearthing secrets, do you seek?’, came the voice again, this time deeper, mocking, resonating around the room, creeping under his skin. This time, dread did not just brush him; it clutched him in an icy embrace.
Elijah wanted to flee, but feet refused to oblige. And then, he felt the chill strong enough to freeze his soul, and darkness started creeping into his vision—hidden dread exploded in terror.
What happened next, nobody knew. The whimpers of a man ripping apart the silent night, a howling wind and the leaves rustling in a frenzy—all engulfed in deafening silence. The once brave man was nowhere to be seen the next morning. A hat and a lantern lying near the unhinged gate was all that was left of him.
The tale of Elijah Morgan only added layers to the House's horrors. Till date, in the silent nights of Crimson Vale, one can hear the low whispers swirling with the wind, and then once again, “Leave...now...” it says, a chilling reminder of the sinister abode—the House of the Hollow.
