the sound beneath

The path from the school led into what looked like the center of town—though it was impossible to be sure anymore. The roads looped like a maze, houses reappeared in different places, and even time itself seemed to breathe here. It could be morning. It could be midnight. There was no sun, no stars. Only the ever-present fog and the steady thump… thump… thump beneath their feet.

"Do you hear that?" Ikenna asked.

Samuel nodded. "It's been getting louder."

They stopped and pressed their ears to the cracked ground.

Thump… thump… thump…

A slow heartbeat.

But not human.

It came from below the town—like something massive stirred beneath the earth.

"This whole place is alive," Samuel muttered.

They continued forward, past rusted swings that creaked without wind, past storefronts covered in handprints, past a church that had collapsed inward as if swallowed from the inside.

Then they came to it.

A fountain in the center of the town square—dry, cracked, and filled with bones.

Children's bones.

And above the fountain stood a statue of a woman, her face cracked away, arms outstretched in welcome. Her eyes, though stone, bled black.

At her feet, an inscription:

> "She gave them silence, and they gave her everything."

"What the hell does that mean?" Ikenna whispered.

Samuel stepped closer. "It's her. The one from the journals. The midwife."

The air grew still.

Then a sound echoed beneath their feet—louder now.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

The ground shook. Just slightly.

A crack split the cobblestone.

From the fountain, water began to rise—not clean water, but thick, black liquid. It bubbled and hissed, and as it rose, shapes moved within it—arms, faces, twitching and dissolving.

They backed away as a low moan rose from the black pool.

A voice.

Not human. Not even alive.

> "She still waits…"

Ikenna turned sharply. "Who said that?"

Samuel shook his head. "No one. It's the town. It speaks."

They both stared at the bubbling fountain.

Then, slowly, a hand reached out from the black liquid—frail, long-nailed, drenched in rot.

It grabbed the edge.

And pulled.

A woman's corpse dragged itself up and out of the pool—her skin gray, lips torn open in a smile far too wide, her eyes two perfect stones carved with runes.

"She's real," Ikenna whispered. "The midwife."

She turned her head toward them, not blinking.

Then she spoke:

> "You brought her blood here."

"What do you mean?" Ikenna shouted.

> "The girl. The child of silence. Her pain feeds the Hollow. It must be finished."

Maya.

Maya was the key.

"She's still alive, isn't she?" he demanded. "Tell me!"

The woman tilted her head. Her jaw cracked open farther, dislocating, until her entire mouth split at the cheeks.

She sang.

A lullaby. One Ikenna had heard only once before—when Maya cried herself to sleep in the orphanage years ago.

"She's here," Samuel said slowly. "Somewhere underground. They've kept her alive."

"For what?" Ikenna asked.

"To finish the binding. She's the last."

Suddenly, the statue behind the fountain groaned and shifted. Its stone hand pointed eastward—toward a collapsed street where the ground had caved in.

The heartbeat below grew louder. Now booming.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

The statue crumbled.

And a voice from below whispered:

> "She dreams in the dark. You'll have to wake her."

Samuel looked at Ikenna. "We need to go down."

"To what?" Ikenna asked. "To her? To that?"

"To end this," Samuel said.

He pointed to the cave-in. Jagged concrete and broken metal led into the earth like a throat.

Together, they climbed down.

The deeper they went, the warmer it got. The air thickened like syrup. And the walls pulsed.

They entered a tunnel—a long, circular shaft of root and stone, as if the town's foundations had grown alive.

Etched into the walls were thousands of faces—mouths open in silent screams.

"Don't look too long," Samuel said. "They'll steal your breath."

They passed an old elevator shaft. Blood dripped from the top like it had been bleeding for years. In the corner, an old toy horse rocked gently back and forth on its own.

And then, at last—they found the door.

It was made of bones.

Carved with symbols.

The sound was deafening now—a thunderous, rhythmic pounding, like a massive heart just beyond the wall.

"I don't want to open it," Ikenna whispered.

"We have to."

He reached for the handle.

Before he could touch it, the bones pulled apart—on their own.

The door opened inward, revealing a black chamber filled with fog, ash, and the smell of burned skin.

At the center lay a stone altar. Chained to it was a girl.

Maya.

Pale. Eyes closed. Barely breathing.

Ikenna ran to her. "Maya!"

She didn't move.

Chains wrapped around her wrists and ankles, glowing faintly red. Her body twitched with each thump of the sound.

"She's linked to it," Samuel said, eyes wide. "Her pain feeds it. That thing underneath Ember Hollow—it's her prison."

Ikenna grabbed at the chains, trying to pry them loose—but they burned his skin.

The ground shook violently.

The walls cracked. Screams echoed from the tunnel behind them.

And then—

She opened her eyes.

Maya stared straight at Ikenna. Her lips parted.

And she spoke one word:

> "Run."

The floor exploded upward.

And from beneath the altar, something awoke.