The next morning, Alex awoke to the soft, hollow creak of the Miller house settling in the early light. Sunlight filtered weakly through heavy curtains, casting long stripes across the floorboards. Outside, Hollow Creek seemed almost peaceful, the streets quiet except for the occasional caw of a crow or the distant bark of a dog. But Alex had already learned that appearances here were deceiving.
After a quick breakfast of bread and bitter coffee, Alex decided to take a walk through the town. It wasn't far—most places were within a few minutes' stroll—but the feeling of unease clung like a second skin. Every house seemed to stare, every window a pair of unblinking eyes. Even the air smelled different, heavy with the scent of damp earth and decayed leaves.
As Alex passed the corner store, a small bell chimed overhead, and the owner peeked out from behind the counter. He was a thin man, with sharp features and hair that seemed permanently tousled. "You're the new one," he said, not a question, just a statement. His eyes lingered, unnervingly intense. "Be careful where you wander. Hollow Creek has its… ways."
Alex nodded politely and moved along, notebook already out, scribbling observations. The streets were lined with older houses, some boarded up, others clearly inhabited. Occasionally, a shadow flickered across a window, but when Alex looked directly, there was nothing. A chill ran down their spine. Was it just nerves? Or had someone—or something—been watching?
By mid-morning, Alex had reached the edge of the town square. A few people lingered near the fountain, speaking in hushed tones, casting occasional glances toward Alex as if debating whether to approach. One woman, dressed in an old-fashioned dress, smiled faintly and waved. Alex waved back, but her smile didn't reach her eyes. There was a hollowness there, a quiet warning.
"Lost, are you?" a voice said behind them. Alex spun, heart leaping. An older man leaned against a lamppost, his face weathered and lined, eyes dark and unreadable. "Most people who come here… they don't stay long."
"I'm just here for the story," Alex said, trying to sound confident. "I'm writing about the disappearances."
The man's eyes narrowed. "Ah… curious, eh? Well, curiosity in Hollow Creek can be dangerous. You'll see soon enough." He tipped his hat and shuffled off, leaving Alex unsettled.
As Alex continued, small oddities became more noticeable. A cat darted across the road, disappearing into a narrow alley—but when Alex looked down the alley, it was gone, as if it had never been there. A bird perched on a nearby roof, cawing sharply, then suddenly fell silent, staring directly at Alex. Even the wind seemed unnatural here, carrying faint whispers, too soft to understand, yet unmistakably there.
By afternoon, Alex had returned to the Miller house, notebook filled with observations but little understanding. Mrs. Miller met them at the door. "You've been out long. Careful, dear. People here… they don't like outsiders asking questions." Her tone was kind, but there was something beneath it—fear, or maybe warning. Alex noticed her hands tremble slightly as she placed a plate of food on the table.
As evening approached, the unease intensified. Shadows in the corners of the room seemed to lengthen unnaturally. The wind outside carried a low moaning sound, like distant voices calling from the trees. Alex sat by the window, pen in hand, trying to make sense of the day. The town was full of secrets—something old, dark, and deeply rooted—and everyone seemed afraid to speak of it.
Then, as night fell and the last light disappeared behind the hills, Alex heard it again: the whispering. It was faint, almost melodic, curling around their name, sometimes near, sometimes far, as if circling the house.
"Alex…"
They froze. The voice was no longer outside; it was inside, threading through the room itself. Alex glanced at the dark corners of the living room, heart hammering. The shadows moved again, shifting just slightly, as if reacting to their fear. The room had always seemed quiet, but now it felt alive. Watching. Waiting.
When Alex turned back to the window, the street outside was empty. But for a moment, a figure seemed to stand at the edge of the trees—silent, dark, and still—before vanishing. Alex's pen slipped from their hand, hitting the floor with a soft thud.
This town wasn't just hiding secrets. Hollow Creek was alive, its heartbeat in the wind and shadows, whispering of horrors that no one dared speak aloud. And Alex was already in its grasp.