The Tear of Triste Hollow
There's an old adage about the town of Triste Hollow, a whispered echo of the past that carries foreboding weight. "Don't be there when it tears." The men would shiver, the women would cross themselves, and the children...well, they wouldn't really understand. But the somber expressions warned them not to ask.
Triste Hollow, nested deep within an alcove of towering pines, was built amidst the skeletal remains of an ancient fort—a relic of forgotten times, resounding with tales of treachery, bloodshed, and a cursed, perpetual rift.
It happened benightingly every decade when the moon was at its zenith and the skies wore a cloak of the darkest sable. A tear would scar the town—an eerie, ominous rip in reality that remained for three gruesome nights. Whispers would escape this ethereal rift, twisted lullabies that sent chills coursing through the spines of the bravest men. Uncertainty reigned supreme until the fourth dawn. The tear would heal itself, leaving behind only silence and unease.
"The Tear takes and the Tear gives." - Mayor Abraham Foster.
Few tried to explain the phenomenon, fewer pursued the perplexing enigma. Nobody knew why it happened, and everybody knew better than to find out. All except for young Helen Beardley, whose curious eyes held a world unbeknownst to Triste Hollow.
She was an eccentric dot in the monotony - charismatic, intrepid, and dangerously curious. And whilst a cloud of unsettling dread hung low each time the Tear threatened to appear, Helen's excitement was palpable. Obsessed with the anomaly, she decided to stay when everyone left, yearning to reveal the mystery of the Tear.
The tenth night of the decade fell. The Tear made its resounding entry, but this time, someone was there to greet it. Helen waited nervously, ready to defy every dictate the townsfolk held sacred.
As the low hum of the Tear’s arrival began, Helen placed her satchel of tools on the cold stone floor. She had everything she believed she needed - a tape recorder, a Polaroid camera, notebooks filled with observations, and an inexplicable, reckless courage.
However, when she approached the Tear, the hum intensified, and whispers rose to screams. It was a devastating symphony of despair that rooted her to the spot. The Tear seemed to sense her presence, the eerie glow deepening - a rueful acknowledgment of her trespass.
Sweat trickling down her forehead, she tried to record the voices. But when the whispers turned into agonized wails, she stumbled, losing grip on reality. Something pulled at her - a magnetic force that seemed to drain her spirit. The notebooks, the tape recorder, the camera—they were all useless against the overwhelming fear.
"Beware, Helen Beardley. For the Tear takes and the Tear gives." - The Voice from the Tear.
That was the last thing she remembered before a gust of wind this powerful swept her off her feet, and everything turned black.
When Helen awoke, she was in a world resplendent with strange beauty. A parallel Triste Hollow - complete with its hills, brooks, and houses. Yet, it was eerily silent, and it felt as though she was on a movie set rather than home. The sky had an unusual opalescent glow, and the familiar houses looked faded - a forgotten watercolor painting.
Moving quizzically through the streets, she saw them. People of this parallel world, ghosts of times past. Stuck in a timeless loop, reliving the same actions over and over. Their eyes hollow, their smiles frozen.
She realized the truth of the Tear. It wasn’t a mere temporal anomaly; it was a portal, a rift between two realities. One belonged to the living, breathing populace of Triste Hollow, and the other was a somber echo—a spectral monument of their past lives. A similar pattern was waiting to happen, an eternally looped existence visible during those three nights every decade.
It had given her the answers she sought, just before sucking her back into her world as abruptly as it had taken her.
"What happens when the Tear heals?" - A Curious Child
By the fourth dawn, Triste Hollow breathed a sigh of relief again. The Tear had healed, and nestled amongst the tales of horror was now an awe-inspiring tale. A tale of a brave woman who had dared to confront the Tear and emerged with answers that wouldn’t be forgotten any time soon.
That day, for the first time in centuries, fear subsided in Triste Hollow. And while they still whispered, "Don't be there when it tears", there was an undertone of admiration for the woman who had been.
