The darkness spread like ink across the horizon.
From where they stood — a few yards into the forest's thinning edge — Robert could see the town vanishing beneath the crawling black, street by street.
No moonlight reached it anymore. No sound came from it, either. The town of Hollow's Edge had gone completely silent.
Even the wind had stopped breathing.
Robert gripped his lantern tighter, the flame flickering weakly as though afraid. Beside him, the sheriff's jaw was set hard, though his hands trembled around the handle of his rifle. The priest stood slightly behind them, clutching a small iron cross, murmuring prayers under his breath that sounded more like pleading than faith.
"What is that?" the sheriff whispered, his voice low and raw. "The whole damn town's gone dark."
The priest's eyes didn't move from the horizon. "It's not dark," he said quietly. "It's being swallowed."
Robert stepped forward, staring into the mist creeping toward them from the town's direction. He could hear faint whispers now — soft, disjointed — carried by the fog that rolled over the trees like breath.
Somewhere within those whispers, he heard a voice he recognized.
Will's.
"Dad…"
Robert froze. His throat tightened, his knees weak. "Did you hear that?"
The sheriff lifted his rifle, scanning the treeline. "It's the Hollow playin' tricks. Don't listen—"
"Dad."
This time, the voice was clearer. Closer. It carried that same familiar tremor — the way Will used to call for him when he had nightmares as a child.
Robert's heart broke. "He's alive," he whispered. "He's trying to reach me."
The priest shook his head sharply. "No. It's using him. The boy's voice is part of the bridge now. Every whisper is a doorway."
The fog thickened, curling around their feet. The lantern's flame sputtered and went blue, casting long, distorted shadows over the forest floor.
The sheriff took a cautious step back. "We shouldn't be this close. The ground's—"
The earth rumbled before he could finish. A deep groan rolled through the forest, like something massive shifting far below. The soil split open near their feet, glowing red from within — veins of light threading outward toward the town.
"The bridge," the priest said, his voice breaking. "The Hollow's fully merged with the boy. It's using his body to hold the realms together."
Robert turned toward him, panic flaring in his eyes. "Then tell me how to stop it!"
The priest hesitated, eyes darting to the black sky above them. The clouds were moving too fast — swirling around a single point above the forest's heart. Lightning flashed, but it wasn't white. It was red.
"There's no stopping it," he said finally. "Not by mortal means. The Hollow was bound once, long ago, by blood. Only blood can bind it again."
Robert stared at him, not understanding. "You mean… I have to kill him?"
The priest swallowed hard. "If you don't, the Hollow will finish crossing. It'll root itself in the world. There'll be no difference between life and death, between us and it."
The sheriff stepped forward, his face pale but resolute. "Then we find the boy. We end this before it spreads further."
Robert looked down at his trembling hands, the lantern's dying flame painting his skin red. "He's just a child," he whispered. "My child."
The forest around them shifted, the trees leaning inward like listeners. The fog whispered in answer — a hundred voices speaking through the same mouth.
He was yours. Now he is ours.
The sheriff cocked his rifle and nodded toward the faint red glow deeper in the woods. "That's where it started. That's where we end it."
They moved forward slowly, each step heavier than the last. The deeper they went, the more the forest seemed to twist — the roots curling like muscles, branches pulsing faintly with red light. The air smelled of rot and iron.
The priest began chanting under his breath, Latin words spilling from his lips like a broken song. The shadows hissed at the sound, retreating slightly.
Robert's mind swam with flashes — Will's laughter, his mother's smile, the promise he made to protect him. The pain was almost unbearable.
"Hold on, Will," he whispered. "I'm coming for you."
They reached a clearing.
The glow was brightest here — blindingly red, like fire beneath glass.
In the center stood Will.
He was suspended above the ground, his body limp but radiant. The roots of the forest were connected to him, pulsing like veins into his chest and arms. His head tilted slightly upward, eyes closed, as though dreaming.
Robert fell to his knees. "Oh God…"
The sheriff's voice was tight. "He's the bridge."
The priest lifted his cross, his face pale with terror. "And through him, the Hollow is being born again."
As they watched, the red glow beneath Will's feet deepened, the air trembling with every pulse. In the distance, the town screamed — thousands of voices crying out as one before falling silent again.
The Hollow spoke through the clearing, its voice layered with a thousand echoes — the dead, the missing, the forgotten.
"Welcome to the new dawn."
Robert gritted his teeth, tears streaming down his face. "No. Not while I still breathe."
The light flared — and the ground split open beneath them, swallowing the clearing in red.
_____________________________
The clearing pulsed with light, a steady heartbeat that made the air vibrate.
Robert took a step forward, his boots sinking slightly into the soft, red-soaked soil. Every pulse made his chest ache — not from fear, but from something deeper, something pulling at him.
"Will!" he shouted. "It's me — it's Dad! You can fight it!"
The boy didn't stir. His body hung like a marionette, veins of red light crawling under his skin, his head tilted toward the bleeding moon above.
The sheriff's hand tightened on his rifle. "We can't get too close. Look at the ground."
The earth around the boy shimmered — a faint distortion, like heat mirage, but when Robert squinted, he saw faces in it. Dozens of faces, twisting, mouths open in silent screams. The lost children. The old souls the Hollow had consumed over the years.
"God help us…" the priest whispered. "He's become the center. The Hollow's using his life to anchor itself here."
"Then unanchor it!" Robert yelled. His voice cracked, desperation breaking through the roar of the forest. "Do something!"
The priest began reciting an ancient verse from his old leather-bound Bible. His voice was strong at first, but the moment he spoke the name of God, the wind howled. Trees bent backward, roots tearing from the earth.
The light flared — and the Hollow screamed.
It wasn't the scream of a beast, but of countless voices layered together — pain, anger, and triumph all at once. The ground rippled, knocking the sheriff and the priest backward. Robert dropped to one knee, his eyes never leaving his son.
"Will!" he shouted again. "You have to hear me! You're stronger than this! Don't let it take you!"
For the first time, the boy's head turned slightly. His lips trembled, and for one brief moment, his real voice broke through.
"Dad… I'm scared…"
Robert's heart twisted. "I know, son. Hold on. I'm right here."
But the Hollow's presence surged again, twisting Will's body upright, forcing his head back toward the sky. The red veins deepened, burning across his skin like molten cracks. The voice that came next was not Will's.
"You cannot save what was chosen."
The sheriff raised his rifle. "Maybe not. But we can damn well fight it."
He fired.
The bullet never reached the boy — it stopped midair, dissolved into dust, and scattered with the wind.
The forest roared.
The Hollow's laughter echoed through every branch, every stone, every heartbeat. Shadows erupted from the trees, swirling like smoke around them.
The priest fell to his knees, clutching his cross so tightly his knuckles turned white. "In the name of the Father—"
The cross cracked in half, the pieces glowing red before turning to ash.
Robert screamed, charging forward despite the sheriff's shout behind him. The closer he came, the heavier the air grew, pressing against him like a wall of heat. He reached out — just inches from Will — and his hand struck something invisible. A barrier.
Inside, Will's eyes opened.
They weren't his anymore.
"Dad," he said softly, his voice both his and not his, "it's better this way. He promised… no more pain. No more fear."
Robert slammed his hands against the invisible wall. "He's lying! You have to fight him, Will!"
The boy smiled faintly. "You don't understand. I'm the bridge. I can feel everything. I am everything."
The forest screamed again — the air splitting with raw energy. The red glow exploded outward, throwing Robert backward into the dirt. The sheriff grabbed him, dragging him up, shouting over the sound of the storm.
"We need to fall back! Now!"
Robert shook his head violently. "No! I can reach him!"
But the light grew brighter — blinding — swallowing everything in red.
The Hollow's voice thundered across the forest, shaking the very trees.
"Your faith. Your strength. Your love. All are mine now."
The ground split open, a wave of force throwing all three men off their feet. Trees fell, roots tore free, and the clearing erupted like a living thing.
When the light finally dimmed, Will was gone.
The vines that once held him now hung limp, dripping red sap that hissed as it hit the soil.
Robert crawled forward, his voice broken. "No… no, please…"
The sheriff coughed, spitting dirt. "He's gone. God help us all — he's gone."
The priest stared blankly at the hollowed clearing, whispering faintly to himself. "We failed. The bridge has been completed."
And as they looked toward the town, they saw the first sign of what that failure meant —
A red glow spreading through every window, like veins crawling across the streets.
The Hollow had crossed over.