The hollow ones

Ellie stood in the basement, staring at the chair. The silence pressed against her ears, thick and unnatural. Sam hovered near the stairs, shifting uncomfortably.

"This place is giving me the creeps," he muttered. "And I don't say that lightly."

Ellie stepped closer to the burned symbol in the dirt, her flashlight beam tracing the jagged edges. Unlike the ones upstairs, this one was rougher, less precise—like it had been made in a moment of desperation rather than ritual.

She crouched down, reaching out to touch the scorched earth. The second her fingers brushed against it, a shock ran up her arm—cold, like she had just dipped her hand into ice water.

She yanked her hand back, breath catching in her throat.

"Ellie?" Sam took a step toward her.

She didn't answer. Her hand still tingled, a slow numbness spreading through her fingertips. She turned it over, expecting to see a burn, a mark—something.

What she saw was worse.

A thin, black line had appeared on her palm, curling at the edges like the beginning of an infection. The same symbol burned into the floor now etched itself into her skin.

She swallowed hard. "Sam… something's wrong."

He stepped closer, frowning. "What is that?"

"I don't know." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

The temperature in the basement dropped suddenly, a sharp, unnatural cold that stole the breath from her lungs. The flashlight in her hand flickered.

Then, from the shadows, something moved.

A whisper slithered through the air—soft, distant.

"You opened the door."

Ellie's chest tightened. The voice wasn't Sam's. It wasn't hers. It came from the dark corners of the basement.

She turned sharply, her flashlight barely piercing the inky blackness.

Nothing.

But she felt it.

Something was down here with them. Watching. Waiting.

"Sam—"

Before she could finish, the chair screeched against the floor, scraping backward as if something unseen had shoved it.

Sam cursed, drawing his gun. "Nope. Absolutely not."

Ellie didn't move. Her pulse thundered in her ears.

The whisper came again, curling around her mind like a clawed hand.

"You shouldn't have come."

The shadows shifted.

Ellie grabbed Sam's wrist. "We need to go. Now."

They bolted up the stairs, the heavy darkness pressing against their backs. The moment they cleared the threshold, Ellie slammed the cellar door shut and threw the lock.

She turned to Sam, breathless. "Tell me you heard that."

Sam nodded stiffly. "Yeah. And I really, really wish I didn't."

Ellie looked down at her hand. The black mark had darkened, curling further across her skin like a spreading disease.

Jonas Blackwood had said they had opened the door.

Now, Ellie had a sinking feeling that whatever had taken him… had just marked her next.

The Marked

Ellie's fingers trembled as she stared at the dark mark spreading across her palm. The intricate symbol twisted and curled like it was alive, sinking deeper into her skin with every passing second.

Sam hovered nearby, his expression unreadable. "Ellie, what the hell is that?"

"I don't know." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

But something in her gut told her this wasn't just some lingering residue from the ritual. It was a mark. A claim.

And she had no idea how to get rid of it.

She exhaled sharply and turned toward the farmhouse's main room. "We need to go."

Sam didn't argue. They left the farmhouse in tense silence, stepping out into the harsh midday light. The air outside felt… normal. The sky stretched wide above them, blue and open, as if the horror in the basement hadn't just happened.

But Ellie knew better.

She could still feel it. The cold sensation hadn't left her bones, and the whisper still lingered at the edge of her thoughts like an echo of something ancient.

As they reached the car, Sam cleared his throat. "We need help with this. Someone who actually knows what we're dealing with."

Ellie rubbed her palm absently. "I know someone."

Sam shot her a look. "Of course you do."

She didn't respond, just pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts until she found the name.

Dr. Malcolm Graves.

Parapsychologist. Occult expert. Fringe researcher. And, if she was being honest, a little unhinged.

But if anyone could tell her what the hell was happening to her, it was him.

She hit call.

The phone rang twice before a gruff voice answered.

"Ellie Grayson. This is a surprise."

She swallowed. "Malcolm, I need your help."

A pause. Then, "It's about the Hollow Ones, isn't it?"

Her stomach dropped.

He already knew.

The Hollow Ones

An hour later, Ellie and Sam sat across from Malcolm Graves in his cluttered study, surrounded by old books and artifacts that smelled like dust and forgotten things.

Malcolm was in his sixties, his face weathered with deep lines, his silver hair pulled back into a short ponytail. His sharp blue eyes studied Ellie's marked hand with disturbing interest.

He exhaled and sat back, steepling his fingers. "You're in trouble."

Ellie shot him a dry look. "I figured that much."

Malcolm tapped the edge of a worn leather book. "You encountered something, didn't you? In that farmhouse?"

Ellie hesitated before nodding.

Malcolm flipped open the book, revealing a series of hand-drawn symbols. The one burned into her skin was among them.

"This," he said, tapping the page, "is a summoning mark. But not just any mark. This one doesn't call something—it binds you to it."

Ellie's throat tightened. "What does that mean?"

Malcolm leaned forward. "It means whatever Jonas Blackwood and his little group called into this world… has now attached itself to you."

Sam swore under his breath.

Ellie clenched her jaw. "Can I break it?"

Malcolm hesitated. "Maybe. But you don't have much time."

Ellie frowned. "Why?"

Malcolm's expression darkened. "Because if you don't, you won't just disappear like Jonas Blackwood." He closed the book with a heavy thud.

"You'll become one of them."