Will dreamed of the forest again.
But this time, the trees bled light.
It started as a soft pulse — faint, golden, like the echo of a heartbeat. The air shimmered around him, cutting through the black mist that always hung heavy in the Hollow's realm. He blinked, disoriented. For the first time in what felt like forever, he could see.
The ground beneath him was soft and damp, breathing faintly with each of his movements. Shadows coiled through the roots, whispering, reaching — but something about them had changed.
They were restless.
The boy raised his head, squinting into the distance. A low hum pulsed through the air — a rhythm that wasn't from the Hollow, but from outside.
Somewhere far away, people were praying.
Will didn't understand the words, but he felt them — warmth cutting through the cold that had lived in his bones since he was taken. He touched his chest instinctively, and for a moment, he felt his heart beat again.
The Hollow noticed.
The darkness around him twisted violently, roots snapping and reforming, a low growl echoing through the endless cavern of its domain.
"Do you feel it, little bridge?" the voice hissed, everywhere and nowhere. "Their light reaches for you."
Will closed his eyes, clutching at the faint warmth within. "I can hear them…" he whispered. "They're not afraid anymore."
The ground trembled. The mist thickened.
And then, a shadow rose before him — vast, formless, but shaped enough to show a face he knew too well.
His father.
The Hollow wore Robert's likeness now — but the eyes were hollow pits, weeping black tears that steamed against the soil.
"Faith is a trick," the Hollow said through Robert's mouth. "It burns bright before it dies. They cannot save you, Will. They are the kind that breaks when light returns."
Will stepped back, shaking his head. "No… they're coming."
The Hollow's laughter shook the air, splitting the roots above. "Let them come. I've waited so long to feed on faith again."
As it spoke, veins of light began to crawl across the dark soil — faint, fragile lines that pulsed in rhythm with Will's heartbeat. The Hollow's laughter faltered, low and uneasy.
Will took a trembling breath, eyes glistening. "You can't take everything," he said softly. "Not if I remember who I am."
The Hollow recoiled, its form unraveling briefly before snapping back together. Its voice turned sharp and angry, echoing from every direction at once.
"You remember what I give you! You are nothing without me!"
Will dropped to his knees, covering his ears as the ground beneath him screamed. The air thickened with whispers, images, and voices from his memories — his mother's laughter, his father's promises, his fear.
But even through the chaos, one sound persisted — a faint bell tolling, distant but steady.
The church bell.
And in that moment, the Hollow shuddered.
The golden veins beneath Will's feet burned brighter, slicing through the dark mist like cracks in glass. The creature screamed, a thousand voices merging into one, its form flickering like smoke in a storm.
Will opened his eyes, breathing hard, whispering a name.
"Dad…"
The Hollow went still. Its voice softened, almost like a sigh.
"Yes. Call for him. Bring him here. Bring me home."
The light faltered. The warmth dimmed. The Hollow's darkness closed in again — patient, predatory.
And somewhere far above, through soil and silence, the priest's last prayer faded into the air:
Hold fast, little one. The light is coming.
_____________________________
The hospital room was heavy with silence.
Machines hummed softly, their rhythmic beeping echoing down the pale, sterile halls. Outside, the storm that had battered the town all night had finally faded, leaving only the soft drip of water against the window glass.
In one of the dimly lit rooms, five children lay still in their beds.
Their faces were pale but peaceful — too peaceful. The doctors said their vitals were stable, but their minds… were gone somewhere else. As if they were trapped in dreams no one could wake them from.
Nurses came and went, whispering, checking monitors, adjusting IVs.
But nothing changed.
Sometimes, a child's lips would move — forming words that didn't exist.
Sometimes, one of them would flinch at nothing.
And sometimes, in the quiet hours before dawn, the air in the room would turn cold.
That was when the whispers came.
Faint, like breath against glass.
No one ever heard them fully, but one nurse swore she caught a word once — a name.
"Will."
---
Far from the town, buried deep within the Hollow's unseen domain, Tom stirred.
He had stopped trying to count the days — there was no day here, no night, only the endless pulse of darkness that breathed through the ground.
His voice was gone. His thoughts came in fragments now. Sometimes he saw his family — his wife's face, his daughters calling his name — but he had learned not to run toward them. Every time he did, they melted into shadows.
Still, he couldn't stop himself tonight.
The Hollow was quieter than usual, its attention turned elsewhere. The air was thick but still.
And in that stillness, Tom heard something — faint, distant, almost human.
A heartbeat.
Not his own.
He followed it, stumbling through the fog until he reached what looked like a mirror suspended in the air.
Inside it — the world he once knew.
The town. The streets. The hospital.
He saw the children lying motionless on their beds, their fingers twitching.
And there — Will, pale and unmoving, yet his chest glowed faintly, pulsing in time with the Hollow's breath.
Tom reached for him, pressing his hand against the mirror.
"Will… I'm sorry. I tried to protect you…"
The surface rippled. Something cold wrapped around his wrist.
Tom gasped — it wasn't Will's hand that met his. It was something else. Something inside Will.
A deep, ancient voice slithered into his mind:
"You've done well, Tom. The bridge is almost complete."
He fell to his knees, clutching his head. "No… no! You can't have him! You can't take him!"
The darkness swelled, laughter echoing from nowhere and everywhere.
"You gave him to me the moment you entered my forest."
The mirror shattered. The pieces hung in the air like shards of light, each one reflecting a different image — the children, the priest praying, Robert's haunted eyes, the sheriff's gun, the bleeding forest.
And at the center of it all, Will's reflection smiled — but it wasn't Will's smile.
Tom screamed as the shadows closed in again, dragging him deeper into the Hollow's core.