Evelyn Shaw had always been fascinated by the obscure. As a historian with a focus on the occult and forgotten relics, she thrived on uncovering hidden truths that others dared not confront. But nothing in her years of research had prepared her for the letter that arrived on a cold October morning.
It was old, the paper brittle and yellowed with age. The envelope was sealed with black wax—cracked, and bearing an unfamiliar symbol. She turned it over, feeling a cold shiver run through her fingers as she saw the name: William Holloway. The letter was brief, cryptic, and filled with foreboding promises:
"You have been chosen. The Hollow Estate calls for you. Come, and uncover the truth that lies within its walls."
The name William Holloway was notorious in the world of occult studies. A century ago, he was said to be a man obsessed with transcending death, conducting unholy rituals to bind his soul to the physical world. His experiments, they claimed, drove him to madness, and eventually, he vanished, leaving behind an abandoned estate deep in the Appalachian Mountains. It was said that those who dared enter the estate were never seen again—or if they were, they were changed.
The invitation was clear, and Evelyn’s curiosity could not be contained. It had been too long since she had encountered something so compelling, so dark. Her mind raced as she pictured the Hollow Estate: a decaying mansion, its walls lined with strange artifacts, a place where the veil between life and death might be thinner than anywhere else.
Without hesitation, she packed her things and set off for the mountains, eager to uncover the mysteries the house held. As she traveled, she was joined by other curious souls—each drawn by the same mysterious summons.
There was Gareth Donovan, an investigative journalist eager to expose the truth about the Hollow Estate and earn fame in the process. Tessa Harrow, an artist fascinated by the decayed beauty of old places, and Aidan Moore, a cryptozoologist intrigued by the stories of strange creatures said to haunt the land around the estate. Lastly, there was Liam Price, a former detective who had turned his focus to investigating the unexplained and the supernatural.
They arrived at the Hollow Estate on a gray afternoon, the sky thick with clouds that seemed to press down on the earth as if the world was holding its breath. The mansion loomed ahead, its silhouette barely visible through the mist, towering over them with an unnatural presence. The air was thick and stagnant, carrying the scent of rot and decay.
The front doors opened with a low groan as they stepped inside, the wooden floors creaking beneath their weight. The house was vast, but something about it felt wrong. There was a heaviness in the air, an oppressive sense that the house was watching them, waiting for them to make the wrong move. The long corridors stretched endlessly, and rooms that had once been magnificent were now desolate, filled with old furniture draped in sheets of dust. Portraits on the walls looked down at them with eyes that seemed too real.
As they ventured deeper, the atmosphere grew colder, and shadows seemed to move just out of sight. Evelyn, drawn to the mansion’s library, found a journal hidden within a dark corner of the room. The journal, written in a frantic scrawl, belonged to William Holloway. Her eyes skimmed over the pages, filled with disturbing references to dark rituals, soul binding, and the notion that the mansion itself was alive, a sentient being that fed off the souls of those who entered. Holloway had written of his attempts to transcend death, to bind his soul to the house, but he had failed. Instead, he had become something else—a prisoner within the very walls of the estate, a shadow of his former self, bound to it forever.
One entry stood out: “The house calls for its next offering. I have made my peace with this place. You will too… eventually.”
Evelyn’s blood ran cold. As she read the journal, the house seemed to shift around them. It was as if it was alive, responding to their presence. Suddenly, a noise from above interrupted her thoughts—a heavy footstep, echoing from the upper floors.
Liam, who had been exploring the upstairs hall, turned toward her with a look of unease. “Did you hear that?”
Before Evelyn could respond, the footsteps came again, closer this time. They made their way up the staircase, each step a creak in the silent air. As they reached the upper floor, the group found a long corridor lined with closed doors. The strange, distant noise seemed to come from behind one of them.
The door swung open on its own, revealing an empty room with nothing but an old mirror standing against the wall. The air in the room felt thicker, heavier, as if something was waiting.
“Is anyone else feeling that?” Gareth’s voice broke the silence, but there was no response from the others. They all felt it—the pull of something dark, something ancient.
Suddenly, the reflection in the mirror began to shift. It started with a slight distortion, the edges of the figures in the glass warping unnaturally. Evelyn stepped closer to examine it. Her own reflection smiled back at her, though her lips remained unmoving. The smile was twisted, a grin that was both mocking and terrifying.
As she stepped back in horror, the mirror cracked, the glass shattering with a loud bang. The room plunged into darkness, and when the lights flickered back to life, Liam was gone.
Panic swept through the group as they searched the mansion, calling for him, but there was no answer. The mansion seemed to close in on them, the walls shifting as if it were alive and feeding on their fear.
As the hours passed, the house seemed to grow more sentient, more malevolent. It watched them, waiting for their next move. They soon discovered the horrible truth: the house was not merely a structure—it was a living entity, a being that consumed the souls of those who entered. It had trapped Holloway’s spirit and countless others over the years, feeding off their despair, their fear.
By the time night fell, the group was unraveling. Tessa vanished without a trace, leaving behind only the faint scent of something rotting. Her screams echoed through the halls, but when they ran to find her, all that remained was her abandoned sketchbook, filled with disturbing drawings of the mansion’s twisted face.
The group was left with only one option: escape. But the house would not let them go. It shifted, distorted, and rearranged its halls to trap them. Gareth, in his desperation, turned on the camera, hoping to capture evidence, but the footage revealed only the distorted shadows of their movements, as if something was pulling them toward the house’s dark heart.
As they approached what appeared to be the front door, Aidan was the next to disappear, his body pulled into the walls, leaving only his screams to echo in the empty hallway. Evelyn and Gareth were now alone, but they could feel the mansion’s presence closing in on them. They had no escape.
In the final moments, Evelyn realized what must be done. She would have to sacrifice herself—give herself to the house, just as Holloway had done. She understood now. The mansion fed on fear, on souls, but it also required someone to complete the cycle.
With a final glance at Gareth, who begged her not to go, Evelyn walked toward the altar in the mansion’s forgotten chamber. The walls groaned, the house shaking as it drew her in, its insatiable hunger reaching out to claim her.
She whispered, “I release you,” and the house screamed in response, a sound of pure, unbridled fury. It was a sound of victory.
But as she fell into darkness, Evelyn's mind was clear. She had stopped the house—at least for now.
Months passed. Gareth Donovan was the only one to return from the Hollow Estate. He had fled, surviving only by the grace of the house's temporary hunger. But he would never be the same. Every night, he could feel the whispers at the edge of his consciousness, calling him back to the estate.
The Hollow Estate still stood, silent and still, but its hunger was never fully sated. It would wait.
And one day, it would call again.
The End.