The salt air tasted like iron as Lira pulled her coat tighter, her boots crunching over gravel that had once been a path. The lighthouse stood like a broken tooth against the storm-heavy sky, its beam flickering weakly through the rain. She hadn’t meant to come here. But the journal had called her—its pages yellowed, ink smudged by hands that weren’t hers. She’d found it in the attic of her grandmother’s house, tucked beneath a floorboard that groaned when she pried it open. The entries were dated a year before the fire that killed her family, the words scrawled in a hurry, as if the writer had been running out of time. *”They’re not gone. They’re waiting. The hollowing starts with the eyes.”* Lira didn’t believe in ghosts. Not really. But the journal had a way of making her feel watched, like the pages themselves were breathing. She stepped onto the lighthouse’s creaking stairs, the scent of mildew and old wood filling her lungs. At the top, the door hung ajar, its hinges screaming as she pushed it open. Inside, the room was colder than outside. A single window framed the storm, but the view was wrong—there was no ocean beyond it, just a black void that pulsed like a heartbeat. She reached for the lantern on the wall, its glass cracked, and flicked the switch. Nothing. The darkness swallowed her whole. Then a sound—a low hum, like a voice just beyond hearing. Lira froze. The journal slipped from her hands, landing with a thud on the floor. She didn’t remember dropping it. The hum grew louder, vibrating in her teeth. Something moved in the corner of the room, a shadow that wasn’t there before. She backed toward the door, her pulse a frantic drum. The shadow lunged. She screamed, but the sound died in her throat. The thing had no face, just a hollow where features should be, and when it opened its mouth, it spoke in her voice. *”You shouldn’t have come back.”* Lira stumbled down the stairs, the journal forgotten as she fled into the storm. The rain soaked through her clothes, but she didn’t stop. Not until she reached the edge of the cliffs, where the sea roared against the rocks below. She turned, expecting to see the lighthouse behind her, but it was gone. In its place stood a row of tall, thin trees, their branches clawing at the sky. The journal was gone too. All that remained was a single page, lying in the mud. She picked it up, her hands shaking. The last entry was fresh, the ink still wet: *”The hollowing doesn’t end. It begins again.”*
The next morning, the town of Marrow’s End was quiet. Too quiet. Lira stood at the edge of the woods, staring at the place where the lighthouse had been. The trees were gone now, replaced by a field of white stones, each one etched with the same symbol: a spiral inside a circle. She knelt, running her fingers over the carvings. They were warm. Alive. A voice whispered in her ear, but when she turned, there was no one there. *”You remember now.”* Lira shook her head. She didn’t remember anything. The last thing she’d known was standing in the lighthouse, the shadowy thing speaking her name. But the town’s records said she’d been missing for three days. Three days she couldn’t account for. Her mother’s voice cut through the silence. *”Lira? What are you doing out here?”* She turned to see her mother standing at the edge of the field, her face pale. “I… I don’t know,” Lira said, but the words felt wrong. Like they weren’t hers. Her mother’s eyes locked onto the stones. “What is this?” Lira didn’t answer. She couldn’t. The symbols were familiar, though she’d never seen them before. The wind picked up, carrying the scent of salt and something else—burning wood, maybe. Or flesh. “Come on,” her mother said, grabbing her arm. “We need to go.” But Lira didn’t move. The stones were pulling at her, a force she couldn’t name. She felt something shift inside her, like a door opening in her mind. Memories rushed in—images of a boy with dark hair and eyes like storm clouds, of a circle of people standing in a field, of a ritual gone wrong. She gasped, stumbling back. “What’s wrong?” her mother asked, but Lira didn’t know how to explain. The memories were too big, too loud. “I remember,” she whispered. “I remember what happened.” Her mother’s face went blank. “What happened?” Lira opened her mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she felt the hollowing again, that cold emptiness creeping into her thoughts. She clutched her head, trying to hold on to the memories, but they slipped away like sand through her fingers. When she looked up, her mother was gone. The field was empty. The stones were still there, but the symbols had changed. Now they read: *”The hollowing is complete.”*
The town’s mayor found Lira sitting in the middle of the field, her hands stained with dirt and something darker. “What happened?” he asked, his voice tight with concern. Lira didn’t answer. She couldn’t. The hollowing had taken more than her memories—it had taken her voice. The mayor crouched beside her, his face etched with worry. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere.” Lira looked up at him, her eyes wide. “I… I don’t know where I was.” The mayor’s gaze flicked to the stones. “What are these?” Lira didn’t know. She hadn’t seen them before, but something about them felt wrong. The air around them was heavy, like the sky had been pressed down into a single point. “I think… I think they’re dangerous,” she managed, her voice barely a whisper. The mayor nodded, his expression grim. “We’ll get rid of them. Don’t worry.” He reached for her hand, but Lira pulled away. The stones were watching her. She could feel it. The mayor stood, brushing dust from his pants. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you home.” Lira hesitated, then followed him through the field. The stones faded behind them, their symbols now blank. But as they reached the edge of the woods, Lira glanced back and saw one of the stones still glowing faintly, its surface rippling like water. She didn’t look away. Something about it felt… familiar.
The town’s church was empty when Lira arrived, its pews silent under a layer of dust. She moved through the aisles, her boots echoing in the vast space. The stained glass windows cast fractured light onto the floor, patterns that looked like the symbols from the field. She stopped in front of the altar, her hands trembling. The hollowing had left her empty, but she could feel something else now—a presence, like a shadow just beyond her vision. “Who’s there?” she asked, her voice shaky. No answer. The air grew colder. Lira turned, expecting to see someone, but the church was still. Then a sound—a soft click, like a door opening. She spun around, her heart pounding. The doors were closed. “Hello?” she called again. Still nothing. The presence pressed against her mind, trying to pull her in. She stepped back, but the floor seemed to shift beneath her feet. The walls of the church stretched and warped, the pews melting into shapes that didn’t make sense. A voice whispered in her ear, but it wasn’t the same as before. This one was softer, almost kind. *”You don’t have to run anymore.”* Lira shook her head. “I don’t know what you want.” The presence didn’t answer. Instead, it pulled her forward, guiding her toward the back of the church. The door there was old, its surface covered in the same symbols as the stones. Lira hesitated, then reached out. The moment her fingers touched the wood, a surge of energy coursed through her. Memories flooded back—of a ritual, of people standing in a circle, of a boy with dark hair and storm-cloud eyes. She gasped, stumbling back. The door creaked open. Inside was a room she’d never seen before, its walls lined with shelves of books and artifacts. At the center stood a pedestal, holding a single object: a small, silver key. Lira reached for it, her fingers closing around the cool metal. The presence vanished. The church was still again. She didn’t know what to do with the key, but something told her it was important. As she turned to leave, the door slammed shut behind her. The hollowing had left her empty, but now she had this—something that might help her remember.
The town of Marrow’s End was never the same after that. The lighthouse was gone, the field of stones vanished, and Lira never spoke of what happened. But sometimes, when the wind blew just right, people swore they could hear a voice in the silence—a whisper that carried the weight of forgotten memories. And in the shadows, something waited, patient and still, watching for the next one to come back.
