The Vanishing at Thornwood Hollow
Thornwood Hollow was a place known only to a few. Hidden deep in the forest, beyond the moss-covered stones and the tangled brambles, it was a place many believed to be cursed. The trees were ancient, gnarled like old hands reaching out of the earth, and the air always seemed thick, as though weighed down by a thousand untold secrets.
People whispered about Thornwood Hollow—how those who ventured too close never returned, or if they did, they were never quite the same. No one knew exactly why. Some said it was the land itself, poisoned by forgotten rituals. Others blamed the spirits that wandered there, restless, waiting for something—someone.
But the most chilling tale of all was that of Emily Harrow.
Emily was a curious young woman, the sort who always found herself drawn to the places others feared. Her grandmother had warned her of the Hollow, telling her to stay away from the old trees, but Emily wasn’t one for superstition. She lived alone in a small cottage at the edge of the village, and when she heard the first story of a missing traveler, she decided it was nothing more than rumors. People like to tell tales about the places they can’t understand, after all.
On a cold autumn evening, Emily set off to discover the truth for herself. She packed a small satchel with provisions—a flashlight, a journal, and a map she had drawn herself after speaking with the elders in the village. She hadn’t told anyone where she was going. She figured there was no need to worry them with a silly excursion into the woods.
The entrance to Thornwood Hollow was marked only by a single, crooked sign, weathered by years of neglect, bearing a single word: Beware. Emily laughed as she stepped past it. “Not much of a welcome,” she muttered, though her voice cracked under the weight of the silence that enveloped her.
The deeper she ventured, the more oppressive the atmosphere became. The trees seemed to close in around her, blocking out the sky. The path was narrow, choked with roots and underbrush, but Emily pressed on, the crackling leaves beneath her boots offering the only sound in the thick quiet. It was then that she first heard the whispers.
At first, she thought it was the wind—just the wind. But as she paused to listen, the whispers seemed to grow louder, and she realized they weren’t coming from the trees or the leaves. They came from beneath her feet. Emily crouched down, running her fingers across the cold, damp earth. Beneath the soil, she could feel something strange, almost like a pulse—steady, rhythmic, as though something was breathing down there.
Shaking her head, she stood up quickly. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered, but her heart began to race, quickened by the growing sense of unease.
She kept moving forward, despite the tightness in her chest. The path seemed to wind on forever, with no end in sight, and the whispers kept following her, just on the edge of hearing. But then, she reached a clearing. In the center of the clearing stood an old stone well, its surface slick with moss. The well was large, deep, and covered by a thick iron grate.
Emily’s breath caught in her throat. She felt drawn to the well, as though an invisible thread was pulling her closer. She stepped forward, the whispers now almost deafening in her ears. As she approached the well, she heard a voice—low and hoarse, like something speaking from the depths.
“Help me… please…”
Emily froze, her blood turning to ice in her veins. The voice sounded desperate, pleading. Someone—or something—was down there.
With trembling hands, she reached out to lift the iron grate. It was surprisingly light, as though it had been moved many times before. She peered into the dark depths of the well, but all she could see was blackness. No sign of a person, no sign of anything at all.
And then, the ground beneath her feet trembled.
The whispers turned into a chorus of voices, rising and falling like a storm. Emily stumbled back, but it was too late. The earth around the well cracked open, and from the depths, a figure emerged.
It was not human.
The creature was tall, its body thin and twisted, covered in ragged black robes that fluttered in a wind no one else could feel. Its face was a void—a hollow mask of darkness, with two eyes glowing faintly like embers. It reached out for Emily, its fingers long and bony.
She tried to scream, but no sound escaped her lips. The creature’s grip tightened around her arm, pulling her toward the well. Emily’s heart pounded in her chest, the weight of terror settling deep in her bones. She fought, struggled, but it was as if the creature was made of nothing but shadows, pulling her into the depths.
Just as she felt herself being dragged into the dark, a flash of light cut through the clearing. The creature recoiled, and the ground trembled again. Emily’s feet were pulled away from the well, and she found herself stumbling backward, away from the thing in the shadows.
She collapsed onto the forest floor, breathless, wide-eyed. The whispers faded, the darkness receded, and the creature vanished into the depths from which it came.
She didn’t remember how long she lay there, but when she finally gathered the strength to stand, the well was gone. The clearing was gone. Thornwood Hollow had swallowed them both—Emily and the creature. All that was left was a dense, tangled forest, the trees now silent.
She ran. She ran back toward the village, not stopping until the sun had long risen. But when she returned to her cottage, her hands trembling and her mind spinning, she found something waiting for her—on the doorstep of her home, a small scrap of paper, soaked in fresh ink, with a single word written across it:
Welcome.
Comments