WHISPERS IN THE HALLOW

Chapter 12 – Whispers Remain

Chapter 12

Whispers in the Hollow

by Manilyn Nalaunan

Chapter 12 – Whispers Remain

The fire burned until the sky grew pale.

Claire stumbled through the forest in a daze, her throat raw from screaming. Behind her, the glow of the flames lit the trees blood-red, a false dawn rising from the ruin of the cabin. The smoke billowed high, blotting out the stars. The roar of collapsing timbers echoed through the Hollow like the dying breath of some great beast.

She tripped again, falling hard on her knees. The forest floor was damp, the scent of moss sharp in her nostrils. She pressed trembling hands to the earth, trying to steady her spinning vision. Every time she blinked, she saw Lara — standing at the cellar’s edge, eyes fierce, before the fire swallowed her whole.

The memory tore at Claire’s chest, raw and unbearable.

“Lara,” she whispered hoarsely, her voice breaking.

But the forest gave no answer.

By morning, she found the road. Or perhaps it found her. She didn’t remember how she had reached it, only that her legs gave out the moment she saw the cracked pavement stretching into the distance. She collapsed at the roadside, her body wracked with sobs.

That was how the rescuers found her.

Two men in orange jackets, their radios crackling, their voices urgent but muffled through her haze. They lifted her gently, speaking words she couldn’t process. Questions swirled around her — What happened? Where are your friends? Were you at the cabin when it burned?

She answered none of them. Her throat locked tight, her mind trapped in the night’s screams.

They loaded her into the back of a truck. As it drove away, Claire turned her head. Through the trees, smoke still rose in thick black plumes from where the cabin had stood. She thought — or imagined — she saw faces in that smoke, watching her with hollow eyes.

The Hollow had lost its cabin. But she knew it hadn’t lost its hunger.

---

The town hospital smelled of antiseptic and steel. Claire lay in a narrow bed, wrapped in thin white sheets that did nothing to warm her. Nurses checked her vitals, doctors murmured about shock, but their voices washed over her like static.

She stared at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the plaster, trying not to remember. But the whispers lingered even here, faint and insidious. When she closed her eyes, she could still hear May’s voice chanting. She could still see Ethan’s grin fading into screams. She could still hear Jordan calling her name from the dark.

And Lara. Brave, stubborn Lara. The image of her friend’s face at the last moment haunted her most of all.

At night, Claire woke gasping, certain she heard footsteps in the hall. Shadows flickered under the door, though no one was there when she looked. The doctors said it was trauma. The mind clinging to fear.

But Claire knew better.

---

Days passed. The police came, asking for details. She told them little. They didn’t believe in curses or shadows. They wanted explanations — gas leaks, squatters, wild animals. She let them talk, their words falling uselessly to the floor between them.

When she left the hospital, her parents hovered nervously, never leaving her side. They thought the worst was over now that she was home. But Claire felt only dread, a certainty curling in her bones. The Hollow didn’t end at the cabin. It had followed her.

The first night back in her bedroom, she curled under familiar blankets, staring at familiar posters on her walls. But nothing felt the same. The silence was too deep, the dark corners too thick. She forced herself to close her eyes, repeating over and over: I’m safe. I’m safe.

But sleep was no escape.

She dreamed of the cabin, burning in slow motion, its timbers screaming as they collapsed. She dreamed of May, her black eyes weeping ash. Of Ethan’s hand slipping into shadow. Of Jordan’s voice echoing, distant and distorted.

She woke with a scream caught in her throat. Her room was silent, her heart hammering. She told herself it was just a nightmare. Just memory.

Then she heard it.

A whisper.

Faint. Cold. From the corner of her room.

“Claire…”

Her breath hitched. She sat up slowly, her eyes straining in the dark. The moonlight spilled across her carpet, but the far corner of the room seemed darker than it should have been, a patch of shadow that clung stubbornly to itself.

The whisper came again.

“Don’t stay here…”

Her blood froze. It was Lara’s voice.

For a heartbeat, hope surged. She scrambled from the bed, her knees hitting the floor. “Lara?” she whispered, her voice breaking.

The shadow seemed to ripple. A figure half-formed within it — tall, familiar, her hair loose around her face. Lara’s outline.

Claire reached forward, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You made it. You’re alive.”

The figure tilted its head. The smile that spread across its face was too wide, too sharp.

“Don’t stay here…” Lara’s voice repeated, but now it was layered, distorted, as if a dozen voices spoke through hers.

Claire’s hand froze inches from the shadow.

The figure melted back into the darkness, gone in an instant.

Claire was left kneeling on the floor, shaking violently, her chest heaving with terror.

The Hollow had followed her home.

It had taken Lara. And now, it wanted her.

She crawled back into bed, clutching the sheets to her chin, rocking herself as tears soaked the pillow.

She wasn’t safe. Not here. Not anywhere.

The Hollow kept what it wanted. And it wasn’t done yet.

---

The next morning, her parents found her sitting by the window, eyes vacant, her lips moving faintly.

They thought she was praying.

But if they had leaned close, they would have heard the words spilling softly from her mouth — a chant that wasn’t her own.

The Hollow is hungry.