Shadows Over Hollow Creek

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The clouds hung low over the fields of Hollow Creek, their dark underbellies bruised with the promise of rain. The wind carried the scent of damp earth and decay, whistling mournfully through the skeletal remains of a once-thriving farming town. Joanna pulled her coat tighter around her as she trudged along the cracked asphalt of Main Street, her boots splashing through shallow puddles.

She had no intention of coming back here. Hollow Creek was a place best left in the past—a dying ghost of her childhood and the grief that had consumed it. But her uncle’s death had forced her hand. He’d been the last member of her family, and his sudden passing left her the sole heir to the decaying farmhouse on the edge of town.

The letter from the estate lawyer had been brief: “We found something you need to see.”


The house loomed ahead, its silhouette jagged against the iron-gray sky. Paint peeled from the wooden siding like dead skin, and the windows stared back at her with black, unseeing eyes. The front door creaked open with the slightest touch, revealing an interior blanketed in dust and shadows.

Joanna’s footsteps echoed as she crossed the threshold. The air was thick, musty, and oddly cold for early September. She hadn’t set foot here since she was a teenager, and yet the house felt smaller than she remembered, as though it had shrunken in on itself.

She moved through the rooms methodically, her flashlight cutting through the gloom. The kitchen was just as she’d left it all those years ago, its counters littered with forgotten trinkets and the remnants of her uncle’s solitary life. A picture frame sat on the table, its glass cracked. Joanna picked it up, her heart tightening at the sight of her younger self grinning alongside her mother and uncle, their faces frozen in time.

A noise broke the silence—a faint scuffling sound from upstairs.

Joanna froze, her pulse quickening. It was probably a raccoon or some other animal that had made its way inside. Still, she grabbed a rusted fire poker from beside the fireplace before ascending the creaking staircase.

The second floor was darker, the windows coated in grime. She swept the flashlight down the hallway, the beam revealing warped floorboards and peeling wallpaper. At the end of the hall stood her uncle’s bedroom, the door ajar.

The scuffling came again, louder this time.

“Hello?” Joanna called, her voice trembling.

No response.

She pushed open the door, her flashlight revealing the room’s disarray: the bed unmade, papers scattered across the desk, and an old wardrobe standing partially open. The sound came again, from the wardrobe this time, and Joanna felt a chill crawl up her spine.

She tightened her grip on the fire poker and stepped closer, her flashlight trained on the gap between the doors. Her breath caught as she saw something move—a flicker of shadow, subtle yet deliberate.

“Come out!” she demanded, yanking the doors wide.

Nothing. The wardrobe was empty, save for a few moth-eaten coats hanging limply from their hangers. Joanna exhaled shakily, feeling foolish for her fear.

But as she turned to leave, she noticed something odd: a faint outline on the back wall of the wardrobe, almost like a door.


It took her several minutes to pry the false panel loose. Behind it was a narrow passage, a hidden staircase spiraling downward into darkness. A cold draft wafted up from below, carrying with it an earthy, metallic smell that turned her stomach.

She hesitated. Everything in her screamed to leave, to abandon this place and whatever secrets it held. But the memory of the lawyer’s letter lingered in her mind.

She descended.

The air grew colder with every step, and the darkness thickened, swallowing her flashlight’s beam. The stairs ended in a small chamber carved from stone. Its walls were damp, the ceiling low enough that Joanna had to crouch.

At the center of the room stood a table, and on it lay an open book, its pages filled with jagged, spidery handwriting. A single candle burned beside it, though no one else was there.

Joanna approached cautiously, her eyes scanning the room. The smell was stronger here, a nauseating mix of iron and rot. She picked up the book, the pages crackling under her fingers.

The text was written in a language she didn’t recognize, its symbols twisting and curling in ways that made her head ache. But a single word leapt out at her, repeated over and over:

“Vardek.”

A sound behind her made her spin around. The doorway was gone, replaced by a solid wall of stone. Panic set in as she ran her hands over the surface, searching for a way out.

Then the candle flickered, and the shadows in the room seemed to swell. They writhed and twisted, forming shapes—humanoid but wrong. Their limbs were too long, their movements jerky and unnatural.

“Who’s there?” Joanna demanded, her voice barely above a whisper.

The figures didn’t reply. Instead, they moved closer, their forms dissolving and reforming as they encircled her. One of them stepped forward, its face an empty void save for two pinpricks of light where eyes should have been.

“Vardek,” it hissed, the word slicing through the air like a blade.

Joanna backed away, clutching the book to her chest. “What do you want?”

The figure didn’t answer. Instead, it raised an elongated hand and pointed to the book.

Instinctively, Joanna threw it to the ground. The shadows surged toward it, their forms merging as they consumed the pages. The candle’s flame flared bright, casting harsh light that burned Joanna’s eyes.

And then, silence.


When Joanna woke, she was lying in the middle of the road outside the farmhouse. The storm had passed, and the first rays of dawn painted the sky in hues of orange and pink. Her hands were empty; the book was gone.

She never returned to Hollow Creek. But in the weeks that followed, she began to notice strange things: fleeting shadows where there shouldn’t be any, whispers in the stillness of night, and dreams filled with twisting symbols and the name Vardek echoing in her mind.

And though she tried to convince herself it was over, deep down, she knew the truth.

The shadows had followed her home.

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