The night was no longer night.
A dull crimson shimmer hung above the town like a wounded sky, casting long shadows that moved even when the wind stood still. The earth pulsed faintly — every few seconds, a deep vibration rolled through the ground, like the slow heartbeat of something buried but very much alive.
Robert sat slumped against the church wall, face pale, hands trembling. He hadn't spoken in minutes. The sheriff and the priest stood nearby, whispering, their voices sharp and low.
The sheriff's eyes darted to Robert. "He's in shock."
"He's seen his boy twisted into something unholy," the priest murmured, "and yet I fear that's only the beginning."
Robert stirred, his voice hoarse. "He wasn't gone. He knew me."
The priest crouched beside him, his expression grim. "Whatever spoke to you through Will wasn't your son. The Hollow has claimed him… but it needs him. He's the bridge — the channel between our world and its own."
Robert looked up sharply. "Bridge? Then what's he connecting to?"
The priest hesitated. "That's what we must find. A bridge needs an anchor — something strong enough to hold the connection in place. Something living… or something bound."
The sheriff frowned. "Bound? Like what, a ritual tether?"
The priest nodded slowly. "Yes. The Hollow draws its strength from something that ties it here. The question is… who or what?"
For a long moment, no one spoke. Only the hum from beneath the ground filled the silence, steady and cruel.
Robert pressed a hand to his forehead. "If Will is the bridge… what could he be anchored to?"
The sheriff rubbed the back of his neck. "It'd have to be someone the Hollow's already touched. Someone close. Someone—"
He stopped. His eyes widened slightly.
Robert noticed. "What? Say it."
The sheriff swallowed. "Tom."
The name hit the air like a gunshot.
Robert blinked, stunned. "Tom? No. He's been missing since the forest. He—"
"That's exactly it," the sheriff cut in. "He vanished right after Will. We thought he was taken. But what if he wasn't just taken? What if he was kept?"
The priest's expression darkened. "It makes sense. The Hollow doesn't take adults. But Tom was different. He saw too much. He resisted once — remember, he dreamed of the Hollow before anyone else. Maybe it marked him long before the rest."
Robert shook his head violently. "No. Tom was strong. He fought it."
The priest sighed. "Strength isn't protection, Robert. Sometimes, it's what draws evil closer. The Hollow doesn't just prey on fear. It craves devotion. And Tom… he'd do anything to save his family. That kind of love becomes a chain."
The sheriff looked toward the forest, where the red mist writhed between the trees. "If Will is the bridge and Tom the anchor… then the Hollow's using their bond — their friendship — to stay tethered. It's not just consuming them. It's feeding on their connection."
Robert rose slowly, his hands curling into fists. "Then we break it. We find Tom and end this."
The priest stood too, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "You don't understand. To sever an anchor, you must destroy what holds it. If Tom still lives…"
Robert met his eyes, voice steady despite the tremor beneath it. "Then I'll bring him back. Or I'll bury him myself."
Lightning flared in the distance — not white, but red — branching across the sky like veins spreading through flesh. The church bells began to toll again, slow and heavy.
The sheriff loaded his rifle. "Then it's settled. We head to the forest. The answers are waiting there."
But as they stepped out into the open street, the ground rippled beneath their feet. A deep groan echoed from beneath the town, followed by a whisper that rolled through the air — cold and melodic.
"You're too late… the bridge has found its anchor."
Robert froze. The voice came from everywhere — from the wind, the walls, even the ground.
The priest clutched his rosary, his eyes wide. "He knows we're coming."
Robert's jaw tightened. "Then let him. If he's anchored to Tom, then Tom's still alive. And I swear by everything left in me — I'll free them both."
As they moved toward the forest's edge, the sky deepened from red to almost black. The heartbeat beneath the ground quickened, and faint figures began to move within the mist — shapes that looked human, but weren't.
The Hollow was waiting.
And this time, it wasn't hiding.
_____________________________
Somewhere far below the trembling earth, Tom awoke to darkness.
Not the kind of darkness that comes with sleep, but something heavier — alive. It pressed against his skin like water, thick and cold, pulsing with faint, rhythmic thuds. Each beat seemed to echo his own heart, syncing, then overtaking it, until he couldn't tell where his pulse ended and the other began.
He tried to move.
He couldn't.
His arms were bound by something that wasn't rope — it pulsed and breathed like veins, tightening when he struggled. A faint red light flickered through the air, casting moving shadows across a surface that wasn't ground at all — it looked like flesh, smooth and glistening, stretching endlessly around him.
"Hello?" His voice cracked, hollow in the vastness. "Is anyone there?"
For a moment, silence. Then, from the void, a whisper replied — soft, almost kind.
"You shouldn't fight it, Tom."
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. Familiar. Almost his own.
"Who are you?"
A low chuckle rippled through the air. "You already know."
Shapes began to move in the red light — outlines of children, their faces pale and distant, eyes glowing faintly. Ethan was among them. He stared without expression, his lips unmoving though the voice continued to speak.
"You wanted to protect them, didn't you? Your boy, your daughters, your friend's son… you thought you could stop me."
Tom strained against the bindings. "Where are they? Where's Ethan?"
"Safe. For now. They dream of home — because I let them. You should thank me."
A figure emerged from the darkness, forming out of the mist. It wore Tom's shape — his face, his voice, but colder, sharper, its eyes completely black.
Tom gasped. "No…"
The Hollow smiled through his own face. "You resisted me once, remember? You prayed, you doubted, you feared — but still you looked. That curiosity, that guilt… it opened the door. You were mine long before your friend ever stepped into my woods."
Tom's chest tightened as the tendrils around him pulsed harder, seeping into his skin. The air buzzed with heat and whispers — hundreds of them, layered atop one another, chanting his name.
He shook his head violently. "No. You can't have me."
The Hollow stepped closer, its mirrored form inches from his face. "You already gave yourself to me. When you begged for your son back… you didn't ask who was listening."
Tom's mind flashed — the night Ethan vanished, his desperate prayers, the candlelight flickering, the whisper in the dark that had promised hope.
"Oh God…" he whispered. "It was you."
"Hope is such a pretty word for surrender." The Hollow tilted its head. "You prayed for your son. I answered. Now your body holds the gate open — your soul keeps it steady. You're not my prisoner, Tom. You're my anchor."*
The bindings around his wrists dug deeper, glowing red. Each heartbeat sent cracks of light through his veins, spreading like molten fire.
Tom screamed, the sound swallowed instantly by the Hollow's darkness.
The entity smiled wider — his smile. "Do you feel that? That's not pain. That's purpose. You're the root that holds me in this world. Through you, I drink."
Visions flooded his mind — the town drowning in crimson fog, plants weeping blood, the people walking in trance. He saw Will, glowing faintly, speaking with the Hollow's voice. And beneath it all, he felt Robert's name pulsing in his chest — a connection the Hollow relished.
"You and Robert," it whispered, "bound by guilt. His failure feeds your pain, and your pain feeds me. That's how bridges hold."
Tom clenched his teeth, tears streaking down his face. "You won't use me."
The Hollow leaned close, pressing its lips to his ear. "I already am."
The red glow deepened until it seared his vision. The children's faces blurred into the mist, replaced by countless others — faces of the townsfolk, suspended like marionettes, their eyes hollow.
"Stop," he whispered. "Please—"
The Hollow's tone softened again, mockingly tender. "Don't worry, Tom. You'll see your family soon. They'll come looking for you. And when they do…"
The floor beneath him pulsed once more, sending a ripple through the air. Far above, in the waking world, the earth shuddered.
"…you'll welcome them home."
The light flared, engulfing everything.