The Hollow Place

Ethan's scream never left his throat.

He was falling, but there was no wind, no sense of speed—just an overwhelming pull dragging him down. The darkness wasn't empty; it pressed against his skin like something alive, wrapping around him in unseen tendrils.

Then, suddenly—

It stopped.

The fall ended as if he had never been moving at all.

Ethan gasped, his chest heaving as he struggled to get his bearings. He was lying on his back, staring up at a ceiling that wasn't a ceiling at all—it was the sky.

A twisted, wrong sky.

It stretched above him in impossible colors, dark reds bleeding into deep blues, the stars flickering in and out like dying embers.

Ethan pushed himself up onto his elbows, his muscles aching as if he had been dropped from a great height. The ground beneath him was cold, damp stone, smooth but unnatural. He was in some kind of underground cavern, except there were no walls, no ceiling—just that horrifying sky.

A shiver ran down his spine.

Where the hell am I?

Then, a sound.

A low, rasping breath.

Ethan froze.

Slowly, he turned his head.

Just a few feet away, something watched him.

A figure stood at the edge of the darkness, its shape barely visible in the dim, shifting light. It was tall—too tall. Its limbs were long and wrong, its posture unnatural, as if it didn't quite understand how to stand like a person.

And then—it moved.

Not by walking. Not by stepping forward.

It shifted.

Like a shadow flickering in candlelight. One second, it was standing at the edge of the cavern. The next, it was closer.

Ethan's breath hitched.

His instincts screamed at him to run.

But before he could react, the thing tilted its head—and then, it spoke.

A whisper.

A voice that sounded just like his own.

"You're not supposed to be here."

Ethan's skin turned to ice.

The figure took another not-step, appearing even closer now, its face still obscured in the shifting dark.

Ethan scrambled backward, his hands scraping against the stone. "Who—what are you?"

The thing laughed.

Not a normal laugh. A broken, distorted mimicry of one.

"You already know," it whispered.

Ethan's stomach twisted.

Because somehow, he did know.

This thing… it wasn't just something lurking in the dark.

It was part of him.

The cavern trembled. A low rumbling sound echoed all around him, like distant thunder beneath the ground. Ethan swallowed hard, forcing himself to his feet. His legs felt weak, unsteady, but he couldn't afford to collapse now.

I have to get out of here.

The thing in the darkness tilted its head again, watching.

"You think you can leave?"

Ethan took a step back.

The cavern shifted.

Not just the shadows—the entire space. The walls twisted, expanded, the sky above swirling faster. The air thickened, pressing down on him like invisible hands.

And then—the whispers began.

Soft at first. Muted. But then louder.

Dozens of voices. Hundreds.

Some whispering his name. Others speaking in languages he didn't understand. But one thing was clear—they knew him.

They had been waiting.

Ethan clenched his fists.

"Shut up," he muttered.

The voices grew louder.

Ethan.

Ethan.

ETHAN.

He dropped to his knees, clutching his head. The whispers weren't just sounds—they were burrowing into his mind, into his very bones.

The thing in the darkness took another step-that-wasn't-a-step.

"You hear them now, don't you?" it said.

Ethan gritted his teeth.

The cavern shook again, the stone beneath him splitting apart. From the cracks, something began to rise.

Not rock.

Not roots.

Hands.

Dozens of them, pale and skeletal, reaching toward him from the depths below.

Ethan's pulse spiked. He stumbled backward as the hands clawed at the air, grasping, desperate.

This place—this hollow place—was alive.

And it wanted him.

The thing in the darkness smiled.

Not with a mouth—Ethan still couldn't see its face—but he could feel the smile, curling in the air like a whisper against his skin.

"There's only one way out, Ethan."

The whispers grew frantic.

The hands climbed higher.

The cavern shook.

"You have to choose."

Ethan's chest heaved. "Choose what?"

The figure extended a hand.

A single, clawed, shadowed hand.

"Let me in."

Ethan's body seized.

Something deep inside him responded—like an itch beneath his skin, like a thread being pulled in his soul.

A voice—his own—whispered in his head:

"You were never meant to leave."

The shadows pressed in.

The hands closed around his ankles.

And Ethan knew—this was it.

If he made the wrong choice, he wouldn't just die.

He would become part of this place.

A whisper in the dark.

A voice beneath the town.

Forever.

The Door

Then—

A light.

Faint at first, but growing. A soft, golden glow, cutting through the swirling darkness.

The whispers hissed.

The figure recoiled.

And Ethan saw it—

A door.

Standing alone in the cavern, its frame cracked and old, but its surface glowing.

A way out.

But he only had seconds to reach it.

The figure lunged.

The hands tightened.

Ethan ran.

Every step was a struggle, the ground shifting beneath him, the whispers clawing at his mind. But he didn't stop.

The door was right there—

Five feet.

Three.

One.

He grabbed the handle.

The shadows screamed.

And then—

He pulled it open.

A blinding light swallowed everything.

And Ethan fell through.