Episode 6 and 7 combine
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Episode 6: All the Mirrors Lie

Vanessa spun around—
Nothing.

No tall, faceless figure. No whisper of breath. Just the stillness of the Hollow Inn, heavy and waiting.

But the mirror—

She turned back. The surface was rippling, like a stone had been dropped into silver water. Her reflection stared out, pale, frozen.

And then—it smiled.

Not a twitch of her own lips. The grin in the glass belonged to something else, something inside her shape. A mouth stretched too wide, too sharp.

Vanessa recoiled, her hand knocking a candle to the floor. The mirror cracked with a high, thin shriek—like something screaming from inside the glass.

Then silence.

The reflection was gone.

Only her own pale, breathless face remained, staring back in horror.

Keller was beside her now, grabbing her by the wrist. “You saw it, didn’t you? You saw what it’s becoming.”

“What it is?” Vanessa gasped.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, the innkeeper was already pulling white sheets from a cabinet, draping every surface. The mirror. The window. A polished silver tray.

“No reflections,” she murmured. “Not when the Hollow Man has your mark. That’s how he finds you. Through glass. Through water. Through any eye that looks back.”

Vanessa’s hand went to her shoulder again, the burned-in symbol still raw and aching beneath her shirt.

“What happens when he finds me?” she asked.

Keller gave her a hollow look. “He makes you wish you’d never been born.”

Outside, something scraped slowly along the window. Three long, deliberate strokes.

Vanessa froze. The sound was unmistakable—like fingernails made of stone dragging across glass.

She looked to the innkeeper.

“He doesn’t come like other monsters,” the old woman said, voice nearly breaking. “You don’t see him until you feel him. And by then, it’s too late.”


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Episode 7: The Children Are Still Here

They didn’t sleep that night. None of them.

The smoke from the herbs choked the air. The innkeeper sat in the corner, muttering old words—protection, perhaps, or warnings from another time.

Vanessa kept staring at the mirror, now covered in a yellowed sheet. But she could still feel it. Watching her. Breathing in every ounce of her fear.

At dawn, she decided. She would leave. Whatever answers the town had, they weren’t worth her soul.

But the town had other plans.

When she stepped outside, suitcase in hand, the world had changed.

The road that led to Black Hollow was gone. Not washed out. Not blocked. Gone.

The trees grew thicker where the road once stretched, like the forest had swallowed it whole.

Vanessa dropped the suitcase and ran—past the inn, past the square, past the silent post office.

And then she saw them.

Children.

Standing in the middle of the road.

Ten, maybe twelve of them. Silent. Unmoving.

Their eyes were all black. Not just the pupils—everything. As if their souls had been scooped out and replaced with ink.

One little girl stepped forward. Blonde curls. A blue ribbon. Dress torn at the hem.

She raised a finger. Pointed straight at Vanessa.

Then she spoke.

“He’s coming through you this time.”

Vanessa stumbled back. “What? What do you mean?”

The girl’s eyes rolled back into her head. Blood trickled from her nose.

“HE’S. ALREADY. INSIDE.”

The forest screamed.

Birds took flight, but no sound followed. No wings flapping. No air moving.

Just that scream—deep, guttural, and inhuman—rising from the roots of the town itself.

Keller appeared beside her, panting. “You shouldn’t have come outside. Not when the veil is thin. You’ve let it see too much.”

Vanessa turned to him, trembling. “I just wanted the truth. I wanted to understand.”

Keller’s face twisted. “Understanding is the doorway. Curiosity is the key.”

Behind them, every window in Black Hollow shattered at once.

And from every broken shard…

he stepped through.

Been a long time
So.sorry i wasnt able to finisn the story's
But im back now
Episode 4: The Name No One Says

The morning light did nothing to chase away the unease clawing at Vanessa’s chest. Shadows still clung to the corners of her room as if reluctant to let go. The deep scratch on the door was real—she had run her fingers over it more than once, feeling the raw edges where the wood had been torn.

Something had been outside her door last night. Something that wasn’t human.

She needed answers.

Vanessa stepped into the hallway, every step careful, her ears tuned for any sound. The Hollow Inn was quiet, but not the peaceful kind. It was the kind of quiet that hummed with something unseen, something waiting.

Downstairs, the innkeeper was behind the front desk, her thin fingers slowly polishing a tarnished key. She didn’t look up when Vanessa approached.

"I need to ask you something," Vanessa said, keeping her voice steady.

The old woman exhaled through her nose, still not looking up. "You should leave."

Vanessa tightened her grip on her notebook. "I got a note last night. Someone—something—was outside my door." She hesitated. "And I saw the newspaper. Black Hollow disappeared in 1962. But it’s here. And so are you."

The innkeeper’s hands stilled.

For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, slowly, she lifted her head. Her eyes were pale, almost colorless, like fog rolling over dead water.

"You ask too many questions."

Vanessa swallowed. "I’m a journalist. It’s my job."

The woman’s gaze darkened. "Your job won’t matter if you’re dead."

A chill crawled up Vanessa’s spine. She wanted to push, demand more, but something in the woman’s tone—something final—made her pause.

Before she could say anything else, the bell above the inn’s door jingled.

A man stepped inside. He was older, his face lined with deep wrinkles, his clothes faded and worn. His eyes locked onto Vanessa, and she swore she saw recognition flicker there—though she had never seen him before in her life.

"New girl should go," he muttered. "Before it finds her."

Vanessa frowned. "Before what finds me?"

The man hesitated, glancing at the innkeeper. Her expression didn’t change, but something unsaid passed between them.

Then he turned back to Vanessa and said, "The thing that took this town."

The air left her lungs.

The innkeeper let out a slow breath. "Don’t say its name."

The man’s mouth tightened. "Names give power. And it’s already watching her."

Vanessa’s heart pounded. "What is watching me?"

The man licked his lips, hesitating. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said:

"The Hollow Man."

The room seemed to shrink around her, the air suddenly too thick to breathe.

The innkeeper’s chair scraped against the floor as she stood. "You fool," she hissed. "Do you want to call it here?"

The man’s hands trembled. He took a step back. "It already knows."

A gust of wind howled through the inn, rattling the windows. The front door—though it had been firmly shut—creaked open an inch.

Vanessa’s breath hitched.

Outside, through the tiny gap in the door, something stood in the fog.

Tall. Motionless.

Waiting.

And though it had no face, she could feel its gaze locked onto her.


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The morning light did nothing to chase away the unease clawing at Vanessa’s chest. Shadows still clung to the corners of her room as if reluctant to let go. The deep scratch on the door was real—she had run her fingers over it more than once, feeling the raw edges where the wood had been torn.

Something had been outside her door last night. Something that wasn’t human.

She needed answers.

Vanessa stepped into the hallway, every step careful, her ears tuned for any sound. The Hollow Inn was quiet, but not the peaceful kind. It was the kind of quiet that hummed with something unseen, something waiting.

Downstairs, the innkeeper was behind the front desk, her thin fingers slowly polishing a tarnished key. She didn’t look up when Vanessa approached.

"I need to ask you something," Vanessa said, keeping her voice steady.

The old woman exhaled through her nose, still not looking up. "You should leave."

Vanessa tightened her grip on her notebook. "I got a note last night. Someone—something—was outside my door." She hesitated. "And I saw the newspaper. Black Hollow disappeared in 1962. But it’s here. And so are you."

The innkeeper’s hands stilled.

For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, slowly, she lifted her head. Her eyes were pale, almost colorless, like fog rolling over dead water.

"You ask too many questions."

Vanessa swallowed. "I’m a journalist. It’s my job."

The woman’s gaze darkened. "Your job won’t matter if you’re dead."

A chill crawled up Vanessa’s spine. She wanted to push, demand more, but something in the woman’s tone—something final—made her pause.

Before she could say anything else, the bell above the inn’s door jingled.

A man stepped inside. He was older, his face lined with deep wrinkles, his clothes faded and worn. His eyes locked onto Vanessa, and she swore she saw recognition flicker there—though she had never seen him before in her life.

"New girl should go," he muttered. "Before it finds her."

Vanessa frowned. "Before what finds me?"

The man hesitated, glancing at the innkeeper. Her expression didn’t change, but something unsaid passed between them.

Then he turned back to Vanessa and said, "The thing that took this town."

The air left her lungs.

The innkeeper let out a slow breath. "Don’t say its name."

The man’s mouth tightened. "Names give power. And it’s already watching her."

Vanessa’s heart pounded. "What is watching me?"

The man licked his lips, hesitating. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said:

"The Hollow Man."

The room seemed to shrink around her, the air suddenly too thick to breathe.

The innkeeper’s chair scraped against the floor as she stood. "You fool," she hissed. "Do you want to call it here?"

The man’s hands trembled. He took a step back. "It already knows."

A gust of wind howled through the inn, rattling the windows. The front door—though it had been firmly shut—creaked open an inch.

Vanessa’s breath hitched.

Outside, through the tiny gap in the door, something stood in the fog.

Tall. Motionless.

Waiting.

And though it had no face, she could feel its gaze locked onto her.

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Episode 2: The Vanishing Year

Vanessa stared at the newspaper in disbelief. "Black Hollow Vanishes Overnight – No Survivors Found."

The date: August 6, 1962.

Her pulse pounded in her ears. How could that be possible? She had just arrived in Black Hollow. People were here. She had spoken to the innkeeper. Was this some kind of elaborate hoax?

She grabbed her phone, hoping to search for more information, but the screen showed “No Signal”. Frustrated, she tossed it onto the bed.

A sudden creak outside her door made her freeze. Slow, deliberate footsteps moved down the hall. Vanessa held her breath, listening. The footsteps stopped right outside her room.

Knock. Knock.

Her stomach twisted. It was nearly midnight—who would be knocking?

She hesitated before stepping toward the door. "Who is it?"

Silence.

She waited a moment longer before cautiously unlocking the door and peeking outside. The hallway was empty, except for a single sheet of yellowed paper lying on the floor.

Vanessa picked it up, her fingers trembling as she read the words scrawled in ink:

“You don’t belong here. Leave before August 6.”

Her breath caught. August 6 was only three days away.

A cold draft swept through the hall, making the candle sconces flicker. Then, from the far end of the corridor, a shadow shifted.

Not a person—something darker, more fluid, like ink bleeding into the air. It had no form, no face, just a gaping void where its head should be.

Vanessa stumbled back into her room and slammed the door. Her hands shook as she locked it, pressing her back against the wood. The air felt heavier now, charged with something unseen but undeniably present.

She looked at the paper again, her heartbeat hammering against her ribs.

Three days.

What had happened in Black Hollow on August 6, 1962?

And more importantly—what would happen to her if she stayed?

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The Forgotten Town

(A Horror Novel in Episodes)

Episode 1: Arrival in Black Hollow

The bus ride to Black Hollow was eerily quiet. Vanessa Carter stared out the window, watching the landscape shift from lively suburbs to dense, foggy woodlands. She had never heard of this town before she was assigned to cover a story here—something about an abandoned mansion that had recently been rediscovered.

As the bus pulled into the town’s only station, she noticed how out of place it felt. The buildings were old, their wooden frames creaking in the cold wind. The streets were empty except for a few stragglers who walked hurriedly, their faces hidden under wide-brimmed hats.

Stepping off the bus, Vanessa clutched her notebook. She was a reporter, sent to investigate why this town had vanished from all records for over sixty years. Yet, people still lived here. How? Why?

A single inn stood at the end of the road, its sign barely hanging onto a rusted chain: The Hollow Inn. With no other options, she walked toward it, feeling the weight of unseen eyes on her back.

Inside, the innkeeper was a thin, gray-haired woman with sunken eyes.

"You must be the journalist," the woman rasped. "Room’s upstairs. Don’t go wandering after dark."

Vanessa raised an eyebrow. "Why? Is there a curfew?"

The woman’s expression darkened. "Something like that."

Later that night, Vanessa set up her laptop, ready to research the town’s history. But her internet wouldn’t connect. Frustrated, she turned to the stack of old newspapers she had brought.

One headline caught her eye:

"Black Hollow Vanishes Overnight – No Survivors Found."

Her blood ran cold. This was dated August 6, 1962. But the town was right here. And so were its people.

Somewhere outside, a whispering voice called her name.


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