The air in Elmhurst tasted like rust and damp earth. Lila pulled her jacket tighter, her boots crunching over gravel as she followed the narrow path into the woods. The trees here were older than the town itself, their trunks gnarled and blackened by some unseen blight. She hadn’t meant to come this far, but the journal had called to her—its pages yellowed, its ink smudged, its entries written in a hand she almost recognized. Her brother’s. The one who’d vanished two years ago.
A branch snapped behind her. Lila froze, her breath fogging in the cold. She turned slowly, expecting to see nothing but shadows. Instead, a boy stood at the edge of the clearing, his back to her, staring at the same tangle of vines that blocked the path ahead. He wore a hoodie too big for him, its drawstring trailing on the ground. When he finally looked over his shoulder, his eyes were the color of storm clouds.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his voice low. Not a question. A warning.
Lila stepped forward, her boots sinking into the mud. “Who are you?”
The boy didn’t answer. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key, its teeth jagged and rusted. He held it up to the light, and for a moment, it gleamed like something alive. “This place isn’t safe,” he said. “You’ll regret following the journal.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” she lied.
He tilted his head, studying her. “You should be.” He turned and walked away, his footsteps silent on the undergrowth. Lila hesitated, then chased after him, her pulse a frantic rhythm in her ears.
They didn’t speak again until they reached the clearing. The vines parted as the boy approached, their tendrils curling back like living things. Lila stepped through last, her fingers brushing the damp earth. Beyond the trees, a structure loomed—half-buried in the ground, its stone walls covered in symbols that pulsed faintly in the dim light. A door stood at its center, its iron handle tarnished with age.
“What is this place?” Lila asked.
The boy didn’t look at her. “A tomb. Or a prison. Doesn’t matter which.” He pressed the key into the lock, and the door groaned open. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of mildew and something sharper—blood, maybe, or rust. A staircase descended into darkness.
“You coming?” he asked, already moving.
Lila hesitated. The journal had warned about this. About the thing that waited below. But her brother’s voice echoed in her head, a memory she couldn’t escape: *If you find this, don’t trust anyone. Not even me.*
She followed.
The stairs spiraled downward, the walls narrowing until they were forced to walk single file. Lila’s fingers grazed the stone, feeling the grooves of the symbols. They were carved deep, as if the builders had chiseled them with desperation. At the bottom, a long corridor stretched out, its end swallowed by shadows. The boy stopped, his back rigid.
“This is where it starts,” he said. “Whatever you see, don’t look away.”
Before she could ask what he meant, the corridor shuddered. A low growl rumbled through the stone, and the walls began to bleed.
Lila screamed.
The boy grabbed her wrist, pulling her forward. “Run!” he shouted. They stumbled down the corridor as the walls oozed a thick, black liquid, pooling at their feet. The growl grew louder, closer, and Lila could feel something behind them—something massive, something hungry.
They burst into a chamber lit by a single, flickering light. The floor was covered in bones, some human, others too large to name. At the center stood a pedestal, its surface etched with the same symbols as the walls. The boy dropped to his knees, his breath ragged.
“I can’t,” he whispered. “It’s too close.”
Lila knelt beside him, her hands shaking. “What’s happening?”
He looked at her then, his eyes wide with something like fear. “The Hollow. It’s waking up. And you’re the key.” He reached into his hoodie and pulled out a small, leather-bound book—her brother’s journal. “You have to close it. Before it’s too late.”
Lila stared at the book, her mind racing. The journal had always been a puzzle, its entries cryptic and fragmented. But now, with the chamber trembling around them, she understood. Her brother hadn’t just written about the Hollow—he’d been trying to stop it. And she was the only one left to finish what he started.
She opened the journal, her fingers tracing the worn pages. The words seemed to shift, rearranging themselves into something new. A ritual. A spell. The boy’s voice was a distant hum as she read, her heart pounding in time with the growing roar behind them.
The chamber erupted in light.
When Lila opened her eyes, the corridor was silent. The walls no longer bled, and the air smelled clean again. The boy was gone, but the journal remained, its pages now blank. She closed it, her hands still trembling, and stepped back into the world above.
Elmhurst had changed. The trees stood taller, their leaves whispering secrets she couldn’t understand. The town felt different too—quieter, as if holding its breath. Lila didn’t know what she’d done, only that the Hollow was gone. For now.
She walked back through the woods, the journal tucked under her arm. Somewhere in the distance, a bird called. It sounded like her brother’s voice, but she didn’t look back.
