Hollow Creek had a way of swallowing secrets.
Buildings aged quietly. Streets cracked without complaint. People learned not to ask questions, because questions led to memories—and memories led to places no one wanted to return to.
That morning, the town felt heavier.
Mila noticed it first when she stepped outside. The sky was overcast, clouds hanging low and thick, like they were pressing down on the rooftops. The air smelled damp, even though it hadn't rained.
She rode her bike toward the library, heart beating faster with every turn of the wheel.
They had agreed to meet there.
If the town was hiding something, the answers would be buried in paper and dust.
The Hollow Creek Public Library was old and mostly forgotten. Its brick walls were stained with time, and the bell above the door rang weakly when Mila entered.
Arin was already there, sitting at a long wooden table with three heavy books stacked in front of him. His eyes were ringed with exhaustion.
"You look worse than I feel," Mila said quietly.
Arin gave a thin smile. "That's not comforting."
Lia arrived moments later, pale and withdrawn, followed by Kian, who tried—unsuccessfully—to lighten the mood.
"So," Kian said, dropping into a chair, "any chance this all ends with 'turns out it was just raccoons'?"
"No," Arin said immediately.
The word echoed louder than it should have.
He opened the first book. Old newspapers. Yellowed pages. Headlines blurred by age.
"People didn't just disappear," Arin said. "They were erased."
He slid a page toward them.
MISSING BOY, AGE 11 – PRESUMED DROWNED
CASE CLOSED
"But the body was never found," Mila said, scanning the article.
Arin nodded. "That happens a lot."
Lia's fingers trembled as she turned another page. "They all vanish near the same places."
"The creek," Mila said.
"The mill," Kian added quietly.
"And the forest," Lia finished.
The silence that followed was thick.
Then Lia stopped turning pages.
"There's… something else."
She pulled out a thin, leather-bound notebook tucked between two larger volumes.
It wasn't a library book.
It was a diary.
The name on the inside cover was faded, but still readable.
EVELYN ROWE – 1972
Arin's breath caught. "She disappeared."
Lia swallowed and opened it.
The handwriting was neat at first. Careful. Hopeful.
The town feels wrong. Like it's waiting for something.
Children say they hear whispers near the creek. Adults say it's imagination.
As the pages went on, the writing grew frantic.
It shows itself differently to everyone.
It knows what we fear before we do.
It does not hunt bodies. It hunts belief.
Kian frowned. "Belief in what?"
Lia turned the page.
If you believe in it, it grows.
If you fear it, it feeds.
Mila's throat tightened.
"There it is again," she whispered. "Fear feeds me."
Arin leaned closer. "Listen to this."
We tried to warn them.
The town chose silence.
Silence is its favorite food.
The last entry was dated only two days before Evelyn vanished.
It lives where things are buried.
And Hollow Creek has buried many things.
The diary slipped from Lia's hands onto the table with a soft thud.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Kian asked the question none of them wanted to say out loud.
"So… why us?"
The lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
The library went quiet.
Too quiet.
They felt it before they saw it.
The pressure. The awareness. Like something had leaned in close, curious.
Mila turned slowly.
At the end of the aisle, between tall shelves of forgotten books, a shadow stretched where no shadow should have been.
It didn't move like darkness.
It moved like something pretending to be darkness.
"Don't run," Arin whispered.
The shadow lengthened.
Lia's breath came fast. "It knows we're reading."
Kian stood abruptly, chair scraping loudly. "Okay, that's enough learning for today."
The shadow froze.
Then it smiled—not with a face, but with the certainty that it was seen.
The lights snapped back on.
The shadow was gone.
But the smell lingered—cold, damp, like the creek after sunset.
They left the library without speaking.
Outside, life continued. Cars passed. People laughed. Someone waved at them like nothing had happened.
Hollow Creek was very good at pretending.
At the edge of town, Lia finally broke the silence.
"It's connected to the past," she said. "But it's awake now."
Arin nodded. "And it's not hiding anymore."
Mila stared toward the forest line, where shadows gathered even in daylight.
"It wanted us to find that diary," she said.
Kian frowned. "Why?"
Mila didn't answer right away.
Because she already knew.
"Because," she said slowly, "it doesn't just want to scare us."
She turned to them, fear steady but real.
"It wants to be remembered."