Black Hollow Wood

It was said that once, long ago, a terrible crime had been committed in the heart of Black Hollow. A young woman, Elara Drummond, had disappeared one cold autumn night. She was never found, though her shawl, torn and bloodstained, was discovered near an old stone well deep within the woods. The villagers believed she had been taken by something not of this world, something old and vengeful that lingered among the ancient trees.

Time passed, and though the memory of Elarar’s disappearance faded from common conversation, the woods remained a place of mystery and fear. Yet, for young Thomas Granger, none of the village superstitions held much sway. He was a sceptic, a man of reason, and he scoffed at the tales of spirits and curses. Black Hollow, to him, was just a woodland, dark and ancient perhaps, but no more haunted than the empty churchyard on the hill.

One autumn evening, determined to prove his point, Thomas announced he would spend the night in Black Hollow. The village elders tried to dissuade him, warning of a spirit entity said to guard the woods. Some said it was the ghost of Elara, others claimed it was something far older, a presence that predated the village itself. But Thomas laughed off their warnings, packing a bag and setting off just before dusk.

The air was cold as he entered the woods, the trees looming high above, their branches twisted like skeletal hands against the darkening sky. Thomas walked deeper, following the forgotten paths that wound through the forest, until he found a clearing near the old stone well—the same one where Elara's shawl had been found centuries before—and set up camp. As the night wore on, the forest around him grew silent, unnaturally so. Only the wind remained, and even it seemed hushed, as though Black Hollow was holding its breath.

Thomas sat by his fire, feeling a growing sense of unease. The shadows seemed to press in closer, the trees around him appearing more like figures, their limbs moving slightly in the flickering firelight. But he shook off the feeling, reminding himself that it was all illusions in his head.

As midnight approached, he began to hear something. At first, it was just the faintest whisper, like a breeze brushing through the trees. But then it grew louder, more distinct—a cacophony of whispers he could not understand, swirling through the woods around him.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Thomas saw movement. A figure, pale and fleeting, darting between the trees. He stood up, scanning the darkness, but there was nothing there. Yet, as he turned back to the fire, he saw something that made him stop cold.

There, at the edge of the clearing, stood a woman. She was dressed in a long, tattered gown, her hair hanging loose and wild around her face. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, and her eyes—wide and unblinking—were fixed on Thomas. She did not move, did not blink, just stared at him with an intensity that terrified him.

“Hel-lo?” he stammered.

The woman did not respond, but slowly, she raised a hand and pointed towards the well. Thomas felt cold dread seep into him. He turned to look at the well, its stone rim slick with moss, the darkness within it seeming to pulse.

When he looked back, the woman was gone.

Panic gripped him. The fire, once a source of warmth and light, seemed feeble and dying. He could feel a presence all around him, something watching, waiting. Thomas moved towards the well. The closer he got, the colder the air became. He stood at the edge of the well, staring into its depths.

Suddenly, a hand shot out of the darkness, grabbing his wrist with a freezing grip. Thomas screamed, stumbling backwards, but the hand held fast. As he struggled, he saw it—a face, pale and gaunt, rising up from the well. It was Elara, her eyes hollow and empty, her mouth twisted into a silent scream.

With a final wrench, Thomas broke free and ran. He ran through the woods, branches tearing at his clothes, the whispers chasing him, the sound of footsteps echoing behind him. He didn’t stop until he burst from the tree line, gasping for breath, his body pulsating with fear.

A group of villagers found him the next morning, huddled at the edge of the woods, trembling and pale. He never spoke of what he saw that night, but the haunted look in his eyes told them what they already knew. Black Hollow Wood was not a place for the living.