The Hollow Man

The small town of Black Hollow was known for its eerie silence and the dense fog that clung to its streets. For years, it had been a place people avoided, a town shrouded in rumors of disappearances and strange occurrences. But for journalist Mark Harris, it was the perfect setting for his next investigative piece.

Mark arrived in Black Hollow on a cold, gray afternoon. The town was as quiet as the rumors suggested, its streets empty and its buildings crumbling. The only sign of life was an old inn at the edge of town, its sign creaking in the wind.

The innkeeper, a frail woman named Mrs. Grayson, welcomed Mark with a wary smile. She warned him to stay indoors after dark, but Mark dismissed her concerns. He was here to uncover the truth, and he wasn't about to let a few superstitions stop him.

That night, as Mark sat in his room reviewing his notes, he heard a knock on the door. When he opened it, no one was there. But as he stepped into the hallway, he saw a figure at the far end—a tall, thin man with a hollow face and empty eyes. The man turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows.

Mark followed him, his curiosity outweighing his fear. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, the walls closing in as he walked. He reached the end, but the man was gone. Instead, he found a small, leather-bound journal lying on the floor.

The journal belonged to a man named Samuel, who had lived in Black Hollow decades ago. His entries spoke of a "hollow man"—a figure that appeared only at night, its presence heralding death. Samuel believed that the hollow man was a curse, a shadow that fed on the living.

Mark's unease grew as the nights passed. The hollow man appeared again and again, always just out of reach. The townsfolk refused to speak of him, their faces filled with fear whenever Mark mentioned the name.

One night, Mark decided to confront the hollow man. He followed him to the town's abandoned church, its doors creaking open as if inviting him inside. The church was dark, its pews covered in dust and its altar cracked and broken.

At the far end of the church, Mark saw the hollow man standing before a large, ornate mirror. The man's reflection was not his own—it was a swirling mass of shadows, its form constantly shifting.

The hollow man turned to Mark, his empty eyes staring into his soul. He spoke in a voice that was not a voice, a sound that echoed in Mark's mind: "You cannot escape. You are mine now."

Mark tried to run, but the church's doors slammed shut. The hollow man advanced, his form growing larger and more menacing. In a desperate move, Mark smashed the mirror with a piece of broken wood.

The hollow man let out a deafening scream as the mirror shattered, his form dissolving into the shadows. The church was plunged into darkness, and Mark fled into the night.

When he returned to the inn, Mrs. Grayson was waiting for him. She told him that the hollow man was a curse, a shadow that had haunted Black Hollow for generations. The mirror had been his prison, but Mark had set him free.

Mark left Black Hollow the next morning, his mind filled with questions. He knew that the hollow man was still out there, waiting for the next unsuspecting traveler to cross his path.

The shadow that follows you home is a reminder that some curses are better left untouched.