Hollow: Hollow Duet: Part 1 (The Hollow Duet)

  Hollow

  A story by DD Prince

  Copyright 2018, all rights reserved. http://ddprince.com

  This story may not be copied, distributed, or otherwise used in any part without the author’s permission.

  Don’t be a book pirate!

  Originally published in The Horror of Our Love Anthology, 2018.

  Contents

  Prologue

  1 – The Story

  2 – The Journey Begins

  3 – The Breakdown

  4 – The Walk

  5 – The Chase

  6 – The Cabin

  7 – The Loft

  8 – The Morning After

  9 – One Year Later - October

  10 – Private Holloway

  11 – Isabella

  Epilogue

  Holden – The Hollow Duet, Part 2

  End of Book Matter

  Prologue

  Every Halloween night for a decade, a lost soul hunted for revenge, thirsty for a kill. You may have heard the story --- or one like it.

  What you might not know is that it’s not just a story. The reason it has lapsed into lore is because ten years after it began, a witch and her coven sought and found a way to stop the annual carnage. Her coven is responsible for some very important spells that keep things normal to the degree that the average person can afford to be a skeptic. Though, her coven was also partly responsible for the violence in this particular case, it was not via nefarious intentions.

  Sometimes, things just go wrong just as sometimes they go inexplicably right.

  This particular legend’s genesis was over 200 years ago, and for generations, descendants of that coven have continued to protect the area around Drowsy Hollow, a tiny town that’s barely on the map.

  Locals let the truth about what used to happen each Halloween night fade from truth to legend, wanting to forget about the fear. Needing to forget about the carnage. It was that brutal.

  It transcended from being a visceral fear of everyone in the small village, to lapsing into local lore that became innocuous to the point that stories are told each Halloween that closely mirror the truth.

  Children even go so far as to dress as the hollow husk of that former soul, in a dark cloak that covers their face, carrying a menacing-looking jack-o-lantern stating they’ll do so until coming across a soul that they will take, so they can trade the pumpkin for a head.

  But, October 30th, when the last remaining local witch from that coven perished unexpectedly, things went awry.

  Her niece, who was supposed to travel to Drowsy Hollow quickly and cast the annual protection spell, was delayed through a series of unusual and inexplicable hurdles that amounted to very bad luck at the worst possible time.

  The niece needed to be on site just outside the town of Drowsy Hollow near a specific tree, the oldest in the area, to cast the trusted annual protection spell. Since she could not get there in time, she cast a different spell remotely, to give her the opportunity to whisper commands to the huntsman as he hunted, hoping it would be enough to ensure the horseman took no lives that year.

  Instead, not only did the new spell alter the course of events for the evening, it also changed the fabric of life for Isabella Krane, a young schoolteacher who happened to be traveling home alone during the witching hour.

  Incidentally, the soul, Isabella, who has entered those grounds, is a direct descendent of the man responsible for the horseman’s death.

  Maybe it was a case of a perfect storm.

  Or, perhaps, it’s fate, happening the way it is supposed to happen.

  The coven was not prepared for what happened that night. No one was.

  1 – The Story

  I know this will sound crazy; and I’m the most skeptical, grounded, logical person I know, so if you’re reading this, I have to defend myself. This is what happened to me. As crazy as it’ll sound.

  If you’re reading this, I didn’t burn these pages for some reason. Maybe I’m dead. Maybe he came back for me like he said he would.

  Maybe I’ve been institutionalized for losing my mind.

  The following is my recounting of what I remember happening to me. I have decided it might be therapeutic to get it down on paper, out of my head. I’ll probably write the details down and then burn these pages. And then maybe I’ll be able to go on with my life. Or at least put it away in a locked place in my mind, and try to move forward.

  I am filled with nausea at the notion of writing all of it down. I’m also filled with nausea for a different reason. A horrifying reason.

  Each night when I close my eyes, I pray I’ll dream of something else instead. Or dream of nothing and just sleep.

  But, that’s not what happens. Instead, I experience that night again in my dreams, as if it’s happening again. As if it’s now.

  It’s been a full four and a half weeks of the same recollections, night after night. And each night when I dream it, it feels like the first time again. All over again. Like I’m in a loop. As the dream begins, I’m clueless about what’s about to happen.

  It’s only in the morning when I wake that I realize I’ve had the same dream again.

  Each morning when I wake, I’m greeted with reality. And the reality is that they’re not just dreams. They’re recollections of what happened to me on October 31st in Drowsy Hollow.

  It didn’t start out as a dream. I know this.

  I have the mark on my body that proves it and I may also have a baby in my belly to make it irrefutable.

  ***

  “And the soldier lost his head when the cannonball sounded with an enormous ear-splitting explosion and struck. It is said by some that each Halloween, he hunts for a new head, taking the first one he sees. But, some with more romantic hearts believe he may actually be hunting for the one true love a fortune teller had told him he’d find, when he was instead killed just before being sent off to go to war…”

  “I think he wants a new love,” Misty sang out in her tiny voice.

  “I think he wants to eat brains,” Jarod shouted.

  “Then you better not go walking in the woods or he’ll wind up starving,” Misty’s twin sister Lana snapped.

  The classroom broke out in giggles.

  I waited for the giggles to fade, finished sharing the rest of the tale, and read them the epilogue about the carnage being stopped by local witches. I then placed the closed book on the shelf behind me and clasped my hands together.

  “Okay, little ghosts, goblins, headless horsemen, headless horse-women, and assorted other creatures of Halloween, ten minutes until the bell rings and that signals the start of the party. How about if you practice your printing? I think there’s time…”

  I heard groans as I turned to the chalkboard.

  “Math then?” I called over my shoulder.

  More groans.

  I hid my smile as I lifted a piece of orange chalk and wrote out

  Just joking. Happy Halloween! Who wants candy?

  in large orange letters. The room broke out in giggles, me’s, and I do’s. I turned around to face seventeen very happy seven-year-old faces.

  “How about a game of duck, duck, goose, instead? I brought so much candy to get us all started on the festivities! Let the sugar rush begin!”

  2 – The Journey Begins

  The whole town seemed to be at the school. After the bell rang, there was the annual parade of costumes through the school hallways and outside, marching to the village square.

  After that, a massive potluck dinner took place in the school gym. This was followed by a Halloween dance and trick or treat event for the whole town.

  For s
ome reason, this town didn’t observe trick or treating in the usual sense. Instead of sending the children out into neighborhoods to ask for candy from neighbors and strangers, they set up each classroom with fun and games and prizes, which included piles of candy, candy apples, not to mention the coveted ribbons for best costume, scariest costume, most original costume, and so forth.

  As a substitute teacher, not someone on their staff, I wouldn’t have been expected to stay, though I was welcome to. But, I’d been told by the secretary that I was being considered for a permanent position and it would look good if I did stay, made myself a part of the festivities, hence seeming like I’d be a natural fit for the close-knit community.

  So, that was what I did. I stayed. I mingled. I handed out candy.

  And when I left? That was when it all began. That was when the course of my life would be forever altered by a man on a horse.

  A man without a head.

  3 – The Breakdown

  I was standing outside my car. My broken-down car. Smoke curls worked their way around my ankles ominously. The smoke was thick enough that it looked as if it could squeeze me, rendering me immobile. Thankfully, it didn’t. I could move freely, but I wasn’t feeling good about where I was or about what might be up ahead during a walk in the dark, in the cold, but hopefully not coming across any nocturnal creatures.

  My nearly new car stalled out of the blue and I couldn’t get a signal on my phone to call for roadside assistance.

  So, I moved slowly, trying to be very aware of my surroundings, meandering down a winding four-lane country road --- the flashlight on my phone lighting my way as I pondered the strange curling mist.

  The middle of no place, I was trying to find my way to any place where my phone would pick up a signal. I knew I was, at minimum, five miles away from civilization at 11:42 PM and thankfully, my phone was at almost full power. I was guessing the flashlight would use up a fair bit of it. I could only hope that whatever was stopping the phone from picking up signal, that the glitch would be over soon.

  A chilly breeze blew straight through me, so cold and so brittle that I felt it deep in my marrow. I shuddered, aware of the chill one body part at a time, starting at my toes and working up to my shoulders. And then it happened a second time, immediately after the first, only stronger… blowing my pointy black witch hat off.

  I looked over my shoulder, seeing that the hat was long gone, carried off on the breeze with a swirling funnel cloud of dirt and dead leaves. I blinked at it. I’d forgotten I still had it on.

  I swallowed and soldiered on, holding my unruly long blonde hair back in a handful so as to stop it from whipping at my face in the biting wind.

  It felt straight out of a horror movie. Not that I watched horror movies, if I could help it. I didn’t need them influencing me, dementing my mind.

  It’s Halloween. I’m not typically the least bit superstitious about it, but if I were… this setting certainly would be the setting for something horrific.

  It’s a little darker than I like to be walking in. It feels ominous. There’s just something in the air…

  I’m an autumn nut. I decorate in autumn. My house, myself. I have an autumn wardrobe including nail polish and cosmetics to match the beautiful color palette of the outside. I’m all about the pumpkin spice.

  As for the scary parts of Halloween, they don’t exist for me. I’m in denial about it. I was conceived on Halloween night, according to my mother, and maybe that’s the biggest reason why I celebrate all the good in it. It wouldn’t be pleasant to think my existence was spawned from something evil.

  My jack-o-lanterns are happy-face pumpkins. Not scary. I go for the cute Casper-style ghosts rather than the horrific Scream themes.

  I joked, that day, substitute teaching for the second-grade students as I read them creepy stories, that the scary stuff was all poppycock, that they shouldn’t be frightened of anything in the stories I read. They’re just stories written by people with vivid (or, warped --- but I didn’t say that) imaginations.

  I read those stories not because I wanted to, because they insisted it was a Drowsy Hollow Elementary School tradition. I was dressed in my roommate’s witch costume (because I’d gotten called in to teach at the eleventh hour, so had to think fast): black raggedy broomstick gothic dress. Black and white striped tights, lace-up Doc Martens. My blonde tresses were left wild today and I went heavy on the black eye makeup. I have a lot of white-blonde hair and usually tie it back when teaching, but today, had let it go wild for the costume. Even still, I looked like a happy witch, like Samantha from Bewitched, likely, not like a hag: no warts, no green-tinged skin.

  I’d taught twice previously at Drowsy Hollow Elementary School, and they seemed to like me. The staff were nice. The vice principal, serving as acting principal after the untimely freak accident that took the former principal, had hinted that when the new principal joined as of the thirtieth of November, he would be looking to fill some upcoming positions. The class I’d taught that day was coverage for a teacher who was nearly ready for maternity leave. Her return would coincide with another teacher’s retirement, so it was highly feasible that I’d have a full-time, permanent position --- and soon.

  It was a longish forty-five-minute drive to my apartment in the city and on the way home I’d been thinking I’d need to move closer if I got the job. It’s a cute little town and I saw a sign in the window of the drycleaners, stating “Apartment for Rent.” The upper floor above the drycleaners appeared empty, with no drapes on the windows. I’d taken a photo with my cell phone of the sign as I paused at a red light. Katie, my roommate, wouldn’t come, but the rent would likely be cheaper and if I had the teaching job and lived local, thereby cutting down on travel expenses and in-general expenses, I wouldn’t have to have a roommate.

  Once I was out of the town limits, pondering how great it would be to move to the quaint little village, my car, which I hadn’t been having any problems with, simply stalled. It just died on the side of the road and refused to re-start. No power. No lights. And it was suddenly chilly out, so I knew I couldn’t sit there for long what with the sudden temperature drop. Ten minutes with no sign of a cell signal and no sign of any other cars, and I’d headed out on foot.

  It was only my third time driving this way, but I vaguely recall passing a farmhouse on this stretch of road, between the school and the town over, so figured I’d head in that direction, hoping to have a signal before then, and if not, hopefully someone would be home and kind enough to call a tow truck for me.

  I had no idea how no one else has passed on the road so far, being that the dance would’ve ended soon after I’d left the school and at least a few of the dozens of people there should’ve come this way.

  Fighting against the bitter cold… feeling like I was in January instead of the last day of October… I kept on moving, scanning my phone’s home screen with my eyes as I walked.

  Searching for Signal

  4 – The Walk

  The wind shifted directions, so instead of walking against the wind, it started to propel me forward, pushing my hair, my coat, my skirt, all forward. Something grazed the back of my head and by the time I realized it was my witches’ hat, it was too late; the hat had flown too far ahead for me to catch it.

  How strange that it would fly away from me and then whack me in the back of the head again. The wind kept shifting, switching directions.

  An eerie feeling soaked through me with the bitter cold. I raised my arm higher, squinting at my screen for any change in status. And then I looked ahead. More dark, more road, more leaves blowing, and nothing else.

  I was beginning to question my decision to walk. Maybe I should’ve stayed in my car.

  I glanced back; too far from it to see the car now, and strangely, the road behind me seemed to be bendy when I was sure it had been straight.

  I shook it off, deciding I had to be wrong. Maybe it was a mind trick, an illusion of the dark, as I could’ve sworn I’d b
een on a straightaway and approaching a bend. But it was straight up ahead, and the road was bendy behind me. Now it all seemed switcheroo’d around.

  I switched my phone off and then waited for it to power down, so I could try it again, hoping the reset finds a signal for me.

  A clopping sound approached from behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and saw a small covered wagon, pulled by a horse, coming from a straight road. A straight road? It was just bending a split second ago.

  Ahead was a bend. I gave my head a shake, but didn’t have the chance to dwell, because I was relieved to see someone else.

  I stopped and when it was about fifty feet away, I waved.

  The wagon didn’t slow. At all. I saw the shadow of gloves holding the reins but couldn’t make out whether it was a male or female driving. I waited for them to slow, but they just kept going. I stood there, mouth wide open, shocked.

  “Wait!” I started waving frantically, calling out, “Excuse me? Help? Help!”

  They either couldn’t hear, or they ignored me by choice.

  Darn. I stopped and frowned at my predicament and at them.

  Who would see a woman alone on a dark night like this and at this late hour and keep driving? They would have passed my car and that would’ve made it clear that I’m stranded.

  I scrunched up my face and realized I wouldn’t get anywhere if I stood still like that. I debated between going back toward my car, and continuing on forward. It was getting colder by the moment and I felt it bone-deep in just a thin jacket and this black broomstick dress that was quite gauzy so not much was keeping me warm. I had on thin striped Wizard of Oz witch-style tights and under my dress I wore a one-piece black Spanx-like shape bodysuit. I’m not overly curvy (though I’m sure not a size zero, particularly with all the fun-sized Snickers bars I’ve been chomping on the past few weeks in preparation for Halloween), but this worked wonders for covering up my most important parts under the semi-translucent black gauzy dress.