In the heart of an ancient woodland, shrouded in thick mist and steeped in folklore, lay a glade known to the locals as the Hollow. This secluded area, often avoided by the superstitious, was said to be the home of a creature that thrived in the shadows and whispered secrets to those brave—or foolish—enough to listen. The townsfolk, wise in the ways of the forest, learned to carry the burden of their own silence, for the Whispers of the Hollow had a peculiar way of uncovering truths best left buried.
Weeks had gone by since young Anwen had first heard the whispers. While her friends regaled one another with tales of chivalry and romance, Anwen felt the pull of the Hollow beckoning her to venture deeper into the woods, far beyond the familiarity of the winding paths. There was something about the way the trees twisted and curled towards one another, like a conspiracy of secrets waiting to be unveiled, that stirred her curiosity.
Anwen was a solitary spirit, one who found solace in muted colours and muted conversations. Growing up, she had always felt different from the other children in the village of Westridge. While they chased each other through the meadows, emboldened by their laughter, she preferred to stalk the woods, seeking the fleeting beauty of dew-kissed leaves and the hushed tones of nature. Rumours bound her childhood—whispers of forbidden places, of strange creatures lurking in the forest—and tales of those who’d ventured into the Hollow and never returned.
Her mother had warned her more than once to stay clear of the glade, reciting the old folk tales of the monster that dwelled there, a creature known to lure children with its soft, inviting voice, promising dreams and delights that fizzled into nightmares. “A siren of shadows,” her mother had called it, a creature of dark heart that spun golden threads of desire, ensnaring those who dared to covet its enticing promises.
Yet, the lure of the Hollow was becoming irresistible. One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and painted the sky in hues of lavender and indigo, Anwen, with resolve in her heart, set off towards the whispering trees. She was practically flying on the thrill of rebellion, exulting in her decision to uncover the truth that lay hidden in the depths of the forest.
As she stepped into the familiar wildness of the woods, an electric chill rushed through her veins; a sense of anticipation thrummed in the air. The path ahead seemed to narrow, the trees leaning inwards as though creating a threshold that separated her from the outside world. Anwen steadied herself and pressed forward, the whispers wrapping around her like the tendrils of the mist, soft and seductive.
“Anwen,” the voices coaxed, their intonations rich, like the sound of rippling water. “Come closer. Listen.”
The further she ventured, the more vivid the whispers became, weaving through the rustling leaves and the gnarled branches. Momentarily entranced, she felt her fears dissolve—this was magical, captivating.
“Just a little longer,” she thought. “I must know their source.”
Emerging from the dense underbrush, she found herself in the heart of the Hollow, where gnarled trees twisted into the sky, their branches interlocking like skeletal hands. In the centre of the clearing stood a large tree, ancient and crooked, its bark bearing the marks of age, time, and the whispers that danced in the air. Anwen approached, drawn to the way the shadows pooled around its roots.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” a voice drifted towards her, soft like the caress of a summer breeze.
Anwen whirled around, her heart thrumming fiercely. Before her loomed a creature not entirely monstrous, though undeniably eerie. Its form was that of a winding figure, swathed in a robe of vines and moss. Its eyes glimmered like emeralds, vibrant and alive, yet they held a depth that suggested untold knowledge. It was the blend of the uncanny and the familiar that left her breathless—a contradiction that both thrilled and terrified her.
“Stay,” it whispered again, voice echoing like a melody through the trees, summoning her nearer. “Hear the truth.”
“I—I came to understand,” she replied, barely recognising her own voice amidst the symphony of nature’s chorus.
The creature smiled, revealing sharp teeth that caught the fading light. “Understanding has a price, dear girl. To grasp the truth, one must be willing to accept the darkness within.”
“What darkness?” Anwen stammered, fear intertwining with her curiosity.
“The truth of what’s buried beneath the surface,” it said, gesturing towards the gnarled roots of the ancient tree. As the darkness swirled around her, she felt an oppressive weight in the air, as though the forest itself was breathing.
With a sudden firmness, the creature directed her gaze downwards. The ground beneath the tree was bare, the soil turned up like a fresh wound, and scattered around were the remnants of lost things—broken toys, remnants of clothes, fragments of lives once lived. They were the echoes of the lost souls that had ventured too close, lured by the intoxicating whispers of the Hollow.
“They listened and were drawn,” the creature continued, its voice dripping with sorrow intertwined with amusement. “Each time a promise was made, another soul was ensnared.”
Anwen’s heart raced as she grasped the weight of its revelation. Was she now to be just another tale, another fragment to whisper in the Hollow? “What do you want from me?” she murmured, fear knotted up in her chest.
“You seek the truth, Anwen. Truth and desire walk hand in hand—confirm your wishes, and you may find the fate of those before you.”
Suddenly aware of the heaviness in the air, she turned and ran, driven by instinct, the whispers transforming into frenzied howls behind her. The tangle of branches reached out like grasping hands, and shadows darted through the underbrush. Each step resonated with dread as she dashed through the treacherous terrain, branches clawing at her small frame.
The woods became a labyrinth, disorienting and filled with echoes of laughter mixed with cries. Just when exhaustion threatened to overtake her, she burst back onto the familiar path, gasping for breath as she sprinted onwards, the glade receding into darkness behind her. Eventually, the whispers faded into the distance, leaving only the woodland’s calm to envelop her as she escaped the thrall of the Hollow.
But while she had fled its sinister embrace, Anwen knew that the creature’s words would never leave her. Her reality, once untroubled, suddenly fractured. Each time the wind rustled through the trees or a shadow flickered in her periphery, she wondered if she had become part of the Hollow. Was she tangled in its web now, her very essence a part of its eternal chorus?
With every passing day, the whispers called to her again. A yearning grew within that she could no longer ignore. A collection of sorrow and fascination pulled down on her, strong as the roots of the ancient tree. The pull stretched into her dreams, entwining her like a vine around a stump—a desperate need to confront her own darkness, to understand what truly lay beneath the surface.
It was not long before she decided to return to the Hollow, equipped with the understanding of what she might find there. This time, she listened not just for the creature’s voice, but for her own truth, buried deep beneath the yearning for adventure that had lured her into its depths once before.
As night fell again over the woods, a tapestry of stars pierced through the darkness above, guiding her feet with an otherworldly glow. Each step brought her closer to the clearing, each breath laced with anticipation. This time, instead of fear, she was fuelled by curiosity and the need for resolution. She needed to know if the darkness was truly hers, or merely the shadows cast by the stories of others.
Emerging into the glade at last, she took a deep breath, feeling the familiar pull of the culture of whispers envelop her again. “I return,” she announced to the trees, “and I seek understanding.”
The creature awaited her beneath the ancient tree, eyes glimmering with knowing. “So brave, dear Anwen. What will you offer for the truth you seek?”
“I offer my heart, bare and unshielded,” she replied, willing to let her vulnerabilities guide her. “Let me listen to all that is hidden.”
With that, the creature stepped forward, the shadows swirling around it as it began to weave a tale—a tale of lost love, of promises left unfulfilled, of dreams spiralled into darkness. As the whispers embraced her, Anwen closed her eyes, ready to uncover the secrets buried deep within her own heart. The Hollow whispered on, and Anwen was finally willing to listen.
