The Hollow Child
Deep in the heart of Westbrook’s swamps, where the fog never fully lifts and the water swallows the land, there’s a tale that even the bravest hunters refuse to speak after sundown, the story of the Hollow Child.
Long ago, in a tiny cabin on the edge of the wetlands, a family lived in uneasy solitude. The swamp was their home, their livelihood, but it was also hungry. Their youngest son, Elias, was the first to notice the knocking.
Every night, just before midnight, three soft knocks echoed from the trees surrounding their home. Elias told his mother about the sound, but she dismissed it as woodpeckers or the shifting swamp. Then the knocking came closer.
One evening, Elias vanished. No screams, no struggle, just his empty bed and the front door hanging open. His parents searched for days, their voices swallowed by the mist.
Then, on the seventh night, Elias came back.
But something was wrong.
Deep in the heart of Westbrook’s swamps, where the fog never fully lifts and the water swallows the land, there’s a tale that even the bravest hunters refuse to speak after sundown, the story of the Hollow Child.
Long ago, in a tiny cabin on the edge of the wetlands, a family lived in uneasy solitude. The swamp was their home, their livelihood, but it was also hungry. Their youngest son, Elias, was the first to notice the knocking.
Every night, just before midnight, three soft knocks echoed from the trees surrounding their home. Elias told his mother about the sound, but she dismissed it as woodpeckers or the shifting swamp. Then the knocking came closer.
One evening, Elias vanished. No screams, no struggle, just his empty bed and the front door hanging open. His parents searched for days, their voices swallowed by the mist.
Then, on the seventh night, Elias came back.
But something was wrong.