Maya’s boots crunched over gravel as she stepped into the town square, the air thick with the scent of salt and decay. The harbor lay still, its surface a mirror to the bruised sky, and the wind carried the distant cry of gulls. She hadn’t been back in five years, not since her father’s boat vanished without a trace. The townspeople still whispered about it—how he’d set sail at dawn, how no one had seen him again. Her mother had packed up and left the same day, but Maya had stayed, clinging to the hope that something, anything, would surface. Now, she stood at the edge of the dock, her fingers brushing the rusted railing, and wondered if the sea had finally decided to give up its secrets.
The mayor’s office was a cramped room with peeling wallpaper and a desk littered with paperwork. Ms. Voss, her thin lips pressed into a line, tapped her pen against a file. “We’ve gone over this, Maya. Your father’s boat was found adrift two weeks later. No sign of him. No distress calls. No bodies. That’s all we have.” Her voice was clipped, as if the words themselves were toxic.
Maya leaned forward, her knuckles whitening on the desk. “There’s more. You know there is. Why did he leave? What was he running from?” The room felt smaller, the air heavier. Ms. Voss’s eyes flicked to the window, where a storm gathered on the horizon.
“Some things aren’t meant to be unearthed,” the mayor said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’d do well to let it rest.”
Maya’s jaw tightened. She’d spent years waiting for answers, and now that she was here, she couldn’t walk away. She left the office without another word, the door slamming behind her. The wind had shifted, carrying the metallic tang of rain. She didn’t notice the figure watching her from the shadows of the alley, a silhouette that dissolved into the gloom as quickly as it appeared.
That night, Maya pored over her father’s journals in the dim glow of her mother’s cabin. The pages were yellowed, ink smudged by time and tears. His entries were erratic, filled with frantic scribbles and diagrams of strange symbols. One entry stood out: “The Hollowing isn’t a place. It’s a thing. It feeds on memory, on the weight of what we leave behind. If you hear it, don’t answer.” The words trembled in her hands. She’d never seen her father write like this—like he was afraid.
A knock at the door shattered the silence. Maya froze, her pulse a drumbeat in her ears. She opened it to find a man in his forties, his face etched with lines of worry. “You’re Maya?” he asked, his voice roughened by smoke and sleep. “I’m Eli. I used to work with your father.”
She studied him, unsure whether to trust him. “What do you want?”
Eli stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, his boots leaving dark smudges on the floor. “Your father wasn’t just a fisherman. He was a researcher. He found something out here—something that shouldn’t have been found. And he tried to warn me. But I didn’t listen.” His hands shook as he pulled a folded map from his coat. “This is where his boat went down. But it’s not the end. It’s the beginning.”
Maya took the map, her fingers brushing the edges of the paper. “What are you talking about?”
Eli’s eyes were hollow, as if something had drained the color from them. “The Hollowing. It doesn’t just take people. It takes their stories. Their lives. Your father tried to stop it, but he couldn’t. Now it’s back, and it’s looking for you.”
The cabin felt colder now, the air thick with the scent of damp wood and something else—something old and rotting. Maya’s mind raced. “Why me?”
Eli didn’t answer. He just stared at the map, his expression a mix of fear and resolve. “You need to leave. Now.”
But Maya couldn’t move. The weight of her father’s words pressed against her chest, a reminder that some secrets were never meant to stay buried. And as the wind howled outside, she knew she had no choice but to follow the trail he’d left behind.
The next morning, Maya stood at the edge of the forest, her backpack slung over one shoulder. The trees loomed ahead, their branches twisted like skeletal fingers. Eli had given her a flashlight and a knife, his warnings echoing in her mind. “Don’t trust anything that moves when it shouldn’t.”
The path was overgrown, the ground soft under her boots. She followed the map’s markings, each step deeper into the unknown. The air grew colder, the sunlight filtering through the canopy in fractured beams. Then she heard it—a low hum, like the sound of a distant engine. It pulsed in her bones, a vibration that made her teeth chatter.
She stopped, her breath coming in short bursts. The sound was closer now, and it wasn’t coming from the forest. It was coming from the ground itself. Her flashlight flickered, casting shaky shadows on the trees. Then she saw it—a hole in the earth, wide and dark, surrounded by scorch marks.
Maya crouched beside it, her hand trembling as she reached for the edge. The air around the hole was colder, heavier, as if something were waiting just below the surface. She thought of her father’s journal, of the symbols he’d drawn. They looked like this—like a wound in the world.
A sudden gust of wind sent leaves swirling around her, and she heard a voice—soft, almost imperceptible. “Maya…” It was her mother’s voice, but it didn’t make sense. “What are you doing here?”
She turned, but the forest was empty. The voice had come from the hole.
“Don’t,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Don’t answer.”
The hum grew louder, and the hole pulsed, as if it were alive. Maya backed away, her heart pounding. She had to get out of here, had to find Eli. But as she turned, the ground shifted beneath her, and the forest fell silent.
The next thing she knew, she was lying on her back, the sky a blur of gray. Her head throbbed, and the air tasted metallic. She sat up slowly, her hands sinking into the cold earth. The hole was gone.
A voice cut through the silence. “You shouldn’t have come back.”
Maya turned to see her mother standing at the edge of the clearing, her face pale, her eyes hollow. “What happened?” she asked, her voice shaking.
Her mother didn’t answer immediately. She looked down at the ground, as if searching for something. “I tried to protect you,” she said finally. “But some things can’t be undone.”
Maya’s stomach twisted. “What are you talking about?”
Her mother stepped closer, her voice barely a whisper. “The Hollowing isn’t just a place. It’s a hunger. It takes what it wants, and it doesn’t stop until it’s empty. Your father tried to fight it. I tried to run. But it always finds you in the end.”
Maya shook her head, denial clawing at her chest. “No. That’s not true. There has to be a way to stop it.”
Her mother’s eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t look away. “There is. But it comes at a cost. You have to give up something—something you’ll never get back.”
The wind picked up again, carrying the scent of rain and something older, something darker. Maya looked down at her hands, her mind racing. She thought of the journal, of the symbols, of the voice that had called her name.
“What do I have to do?” she asked, her voice steady now.
Her mother hesitated, then reached into her coat and pulled out a small, weathered box. “This is what you need. But be careful. The Hollowing doesn’t forgive mistakes.”
Maya took the box, her fingers brushing the worn wood. She didn’t open it yet. She had a feeling she wasn’t ready for what was inside.
As she turned to leave, her mother called out, “Be strong, Maya. And don’t let it take you.”
The words echoed in her mind as she walked back through the forest, the weight of the box pressing against her side. She didn’t know what lay ahead, but she knew one thing for certain—she couldn’t turn back now.
