Story 127: The Curse of Hollowwind

There was a village called Hollowwind, nestled deep within a valley where the sun rarely shone. The villagers lived in perpetual dusk, their lives shrouded in the eerie twilight that never seemed to lift. The air was thick with a constant chill, and the winds howled through the crooked trees and twisted paths that led to the heart of the village.

Every year, as autumn descended, a strange phenomenon occurred. The scarecrows that guarded the fields would come to life, their burlap faces twisted into grotesque grins, their straw limbs creaking as they moved with an unnatural grace. The villagers knew to stay indoors during this time, for the scarecrows were not their protectors—they were harbingers of doom.