The Whispering Hollow

 

 The Arrival

Autumn had just begun to settle into the small town of Black Hollow, a place forgotten by most maps and whispered about in hushed tones. Trees bled crimson leaves, and fog hugged the earth like an ancient spirit refusing to let go.

Emily Moore, a curious and fiercely independent literature student, had just arrived from Toronto to spend the semester in the Hollow, researching local myths for her thesis: The Psychology of Fear in Folklore. Her professor had warned her—Black Hollow was not like other towns. But Emily wasn’t the kind of girl to believe in bedtime stories or ghost tales. At least, not until she stepped foot into the old Whitmore Estate.

The manor stood at the edge of the Hollow Forest, towering and abandoned, save for the rumors that said it wasn’t entirely empty.

Emily took residence in the town’s tiny inn but spent her days exploring the estate. The locals never dared approach it. They said it was cursed, haunted by a shadow that once was a man. A creature that whispered your name and stole your soul with a kiss.

Emily laughed when she first heard it. But laughter doesn’t last long in Black Hollow.

 The Mirror Room

The third day into her research, Emily stepped into a room she hadn’t noticed before. The door was made of black wood, cool to the touch despite the warm autumn air. Inside, the walls were lined with broken mirrors—shattered reflections capturing her from all angles. At the far end stood a single intact mirror, its surface dark like still water at midnight.

As she approached it, the air thickened. Her breath fogged up the glass, and her reflection stared back—except it wasn’t copying her movements. It tilted its head when she didn’t. It smiled when she frowned.

And then it spoke.

“Emily…”

She stumbled back. No one was behind her. Her reflection—no, the thing inside the mirror—moved forward, pressing a hand against the other side of the glass.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

 The Whisper

That night, Emily couldn’t sleep. She kept hearing her name whispered in the dark corners of her room, in the rustle of leaves outside, in the ticking of the old clock. And though she wanted to leave, something… compelled her to stay. Something soft. Warm. Lonely.

The next morning, she returned to the mirror.

This time, he was clearer. A man—tall, pale, with hair like raven feathers and eyes that shimmered silver. His presence filled the room like a storm cloud about to burst.

“Who are you?” she asked.

His lips curled into a smile.

“I was once a man. Now I am a secret too long kept. A curse too long bound.”

“And what do you want from me?”

“To be free. And for that, I need you.”

The Curse

His name was Elias.

Long ago, Elias had been a poet—passionate, brilliant, in love with the wrong woman. A nobleman's daughter. Her father had him accused of witchcraft and sealed his soul into the mirror, binding him to the house. Every hundred years, he could speak to one soul—only one—with a chance to break the curse. The catch? The chosen must fall in love with him willingly.

“If I fall in love with you,” Emily whispered, “you’ll be free?”

“Yes. But there is more. If you love me and break the curse, you must take my place.”

A cruel twist of fate. Her heart would be trapped behind the mirror unless she could trick someone else, as he was tricked.

Emily laughed bitterly. “So it’s a love story with no happy ending.”

“Maybe not. But love rarely is.”

 The Shift

Despite herself, Emily kept returning to the mirror. Day by day, she learned more about Elias—his poetry, his pain, the fire of his soul that refused to be extinguished. And he, in turn, learned about her—her dreams, her fears, her longing to be seen beyond the surface.

They spoke for hours, sometimes until dawn, until her voice was hoarse and her fingers numb from gripping the frame. She started dreaming of him. Of soft touches through cold glass. Of kisses that made her feel like she was floating.

Was it madness? Or was she truly falling in love?

 The Warning

One night, a knock shattered the silence. An old woman stood at Emily’s door.

“You’ve been speaking to the mirror,” she said. Her voice cracked like dry earth. “He’ll take your heart, girl. Just like he did mine.”

Emily froze.

“You knew him?”

“I loved him. Long ago. I was the last. He told me the same things—his curse, his poetry, his longing.” Her eyes welled with tears. “But love didn’t save him. It destroyed me.”

She opened her cloak. Inside was a mirror shard—dark and pulsing like a heartbeat.

“I took this with me when I fled. It followed me. It never stopped whispering.”

Emily took the shard. That night, she didn’t return to Elias.

The Hollow Forest

But the whispering didn’t stop.

It echoed in her walls, in her veins, in her bones. “Come back to me, Emily…” it cried.

Unable to resist, she returned to the estate one final time. The house had changed—darker, breathing, alive with something ancient. The walls dripped shadow. The mirror room was cracked open wider than before, the edges glowing faintly.

Elias was waiting.

“I tried to stay away,” Emily said.

“I know.”

“You lied to me.”

“I didn’t. I just didn’t tell you everything.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “What happens if I break the curse and don’t take your place?”

He looked down. “Then I die. Forever.”

She touched the glass. It was warm.

“And if I love you anyway?”

“Then the curse breaks… and we both vanish.”

“What do you mean?”

He stepped closer. “Love cannot exist in half-worlds. If we love fully, truly, the curse ends… but so do we. This mirror, this house, this story—they all collapse.”

“Then what’s the point?”

“To feel. Even just once. Even for a moment.”

The Choice

Emily stood before the mirror, the shard in her hand glowing softly. Elias placed his hand against hers through the glass.

“I don’t know what’s real anymore,” she said. “But I know what I feel.”

He nodded. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

She lifted the shard and whispered the incantation from his poem—the one he said was the key.

The mirror shuddered. Cracks spiderwebbed across its surface. The world quaked.

Elias reached out—and for the first time, touched her hand.

His skin was warm. His lips were soft.

Their kiss was the end and the beginning.

The mirror exploded into silver dust, and the house groaned as if exhaling a centuries-long breath.

After the Hollow

The town of Black Hollow never found Emily. The estate vanished into mist, replaced by a meadow of whispering flowers that hummed when touched.

Locals say if you stand there at dusk, you’ll see two figures dancing in the fog—a girl with fire in her eyes and a man made of shadows and stars.

Some say it was love. Others say it was madness.

But if you ever visit Black Hollow, be careful.

The wind still whispers names.

And sometimes… it whispers yours.