WHISPERS IN THE HALLOW

Chapter 7 – Blood on the Walls

Whispers in the Hollow

by Manilyn Nalaunan

The morning light did nothing to ease the cabin’s suffocating gloom.

Lara sat on the couch with her knees drawn to her chest, staring blankly at the cellar door. She hadn’t moved for nearly an hour. Her mind was still reeling from the sound of Jordan’s voice — or what had sounded like his voice — echoing from beneath the floor.

Claire and May huddled together near the cold fireplace, their whispered words too soft to hear. Ethan paced the length of the living room, back and forth, his footsteps heavy against the warped floorboards. He had been moving nonstop, restless, muttering under his breath like a caged animal.

None of them had eaten. None of them had even tried.

The cabin’s air was heavy with dampness and the faint smell of mold, but something sharper was beginning to seep in — something coppery, metallic.

It was Claire who noticed it first. She raised her head, sniffing faintly, her expression tightening. “Do you smell that?”

May frowned. “What?”

Claire stood, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. “Like… iron. Like blood.”

Ethan scoffed, but uneasily. “Probably just rust. The place is a dump.”

But Lara smelled it now too. She pushed herself to her feet, her stomach twisting. “It’s coming from the walls.”

They turned toward the far corner, where the wood paneling was marked with the faint carvings they had noticed on their first night — strange symbols, lines etched into the wood in looping, jagged shapes. At first, they had dismissed them as graffiti, the remnants of some previous owner’s eccentricity. But now…

Now, the symbols were different.

“Wait,” May whispered, stepping closer. “That’s not how they looked before.”

Lara’s heart thudded. She remembered them clearly, the sharp, simple marks. But what stretched across the wall now was more elaborate — twisting lines that seemed to snake outward, curling into shapes almost like eyes, almost like mouths.

And they were wet.

Dark streaks dripped down the grooves of the carvings, seeping across the wooden panels in rivulets. The smell grew stronger as they watched, thick and metallic, filling their throats.

“Jesus Christ,” Ethan muttered, stumbling back. “That’s blood. That’s actually—”

Before he could finish, a drop slid down the wall and landed on the floor with a soft pat.

Claire gagged, pressing her hands to her mouth. “No. No no no—”

The others backed away instinctively, but Lara couldn’t move. She stared in horrified fascination as the carvings seemed to shift before her eyes, as though the wood itself was flexing, reshaping the lines into something new.

The wet trails formed patterns — a circle, jagged lines radiating from it, and at its center… a crude shape of a hand, fingers splayed wide.

“Tell me I’m not seeing that,” Lara whispered.

No one answered.

The cabin creaked around them, louder than before. The air vibrated with a low hum, just beneath the threshold of hearing, pressing against their skulls.

May clutched Claire’s arm. “We need to get out of here. Right now.”

“Yeah?” Ethan snapped, his fear bleeding into anger. “And go where? The van’s dead, remember? No signal, no road. You wanna hike in circles until we drop?”

May glared at him, her eyes shining with tears. “I’d rather be lost in the woods than in here with… that.” She jabbed a finger toward the bleeding wall.

Another sound drew their attention — a faint squeak from the kitchen.

Slowly, cautiously, Lara turned her head.

On the glass of the kitchen window, smeared across the fogged pane, was a handprint.

It hadn’t been there before.

It was large, larger than any of theirs, the fingers long and thin. The print was smeared downward, as though something had dragged its hand along the glass while peering inside.

The blood on the walls was bad enough. But the idea that something had been outside — watching them, touching the house while they slept — sent a violent shiver down Lara’s spine.

Claire whimpered, clutching May tighter. “It’s Jordan,” she whispered desperately, her voice trembling. “It has to be. He’s trying to—he’s trying to tell us something.”

Ethan shook his head violently. “That’s not Jordan. That’s not anything human.”

The handprint darkened before their eyes, the smeared lines thickening as though fresh blood was blooming across the glass.

Lara grabbed the nearest chair and shoved it beneath the doorknob, her hands shaking. “We’re not opening anything,” she said, her voice breaking. “We stay here. We stay together.”

But even as she said it, the walls groaned again, the symbols glistening wetly. The cabin felt alive, its pulse beating in rhythm with their fear.

The whisper came then, soft and low, drifting from the kitchen window.

“…let me in…”

May screamed, burying her face in her hands.

Claire shook her head over and over, muttering, “It’s him, it’s him, it’s him—”

But Lara knew, with a certainty that made her stomach twist, that it wasn’t. It might use Jordan’s voice, might wear the echo of his tone, but whatever stood in the woods pressing its hand to the glass was not her friend.

And it wanted them to open the door.

The four of them clung together in the gray light, surrounded by symbols that bled and windows marked by inhuman hands, while the Hollow pressed closer with every heartbeat.

For the first time since they had arrived, Lara wondered not whether they would escape, but how long it would take before the cabin claimed them all.