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Hollow: Hollow Duet: Part 1 (The Hollow Duet) Page 2


  An eerie feeling prickled the back of my neck, like the feeling you get when you’re being watched.

  I stood on the soft shoulder of the road, holding my phone, flashlight on, and then I realized I was down to 48% power, so this flashlight app was definitely draining my power. I wanted to switch it off, but I was concerned that I might be under the watch of some predator near low but dense bushes that lined both sides of the road.

  Was an animal watching me? If so, what kind of an animal? There was a big difference between a harmless looky-loo, such as an owl, and something more ominous, something more carnivorous. I decided that maybe I should head back to my car.

  My mind was racing, my flight or fight senses on the edge, because everything felt… off.

  I twirled and picked up pace, heading back where I came from, glancing at my screen and seeing that there still wasn’t a signal. Shit. 36% power. 11:58 PM. It just said 48!

  Oh, my goodness.

  I turned it off as I walked, figuring I’d turn it on again to try to search again.

  Nothing in terms of signal and it was suddenly at just 23% power.

  What the fuck?

  It was getting colder. My teeth chattered, and my hands felt like ice.

  It even seemed darker, somehow more ominous suddenly as I came to a bend in the road that had forked in two directions. I definitely wasn’t here before.

  I got closer and saw a tulip tree, lying there, looking like it was yanked by the roots, the giant bulbous root system on display in the dark. There was a smashed pumpkin beside it. The tree didn’t block the road, had fallen the other way. I stepped over the pumpkin, feeling a strange sensation, like your funny bone, but it was my whole body getting that odd buzzing / tingling sensation.

  Nothing looked remotely familiar. The ground beneath me, it dawned, wasn’t paved. When did it switch to dirt? I spun around to look behind me and the landscape seemed like it narrowed into thickening woods, rather than the side of the country road. My world tilted; I had a strange spinning sensation. I thrust my fingers into my hair and my phone thudded to the ground. I gave my head a shake and reached for it and that was when I heard the whinny of a horse.

  Did the wagon circle back out of guilt at leaving me on the side of the road? The road that disappeared…

  I looked up and saw that on the other side of the tulip tree sat a wooden bridge, bridging what, I couldn’t tell, as it was too dark to see what was under it, but then the ground rose up a winding, bright pathway leading to the top of a hill. My eyes must’ve been playing tricks on me as the landscape again looked completely different.

  On top of the hill sat a horse. But there was no wagon this time; instead, a rider was on it. Just sitting there. Watching me.

  There was no sound other than the wind and leaves rustling, but really… it felt like dramatic music should’ve started playing.

  Fear prickled the back of my neck with more intensity and the chill factor in the air seemed to simultaneously increase. The horse and the rider were both so very ominous-looking. The horse huffed, and mist blew out of his nose and seemed to move in slow-mo, snaking toward me, like more fingers.

  I took a step back as a flashback played on the reels of my mind of the book I’d read that day, where a decapitated horseman rode on Halloween night to seek out both the solider that blew his head off with a cannonball as well as find himself a new head.

  I glanced down at the smashed pumpkin by the felled tulip tree. The tree must have fallen recently, the tulip flowers still in bloom.

  How odd for them to be in bloom at the end of October. And what a shame that it’s down. The trunk’s circumference was absolutely massive. It must be a very old tree.

  My mind flitted over the fact that I’d read that story aloud to the seven-year-olds, who were rapt with attention, but I was thinking it was all kinds of wrong to read that sort of a story to small children who would likely go home and have nightmares about it.

  Those kids were rabid for the story and they told me that they had all heard it the year before, as well. The story’s setting was Drowsy Hollow, so my guess was that it was a local author, who had written a story for their hometown and that was why every child in the school wanted to hear the story every Halloween.

  Drowsy Hollow was a very small town, just a few thousand people. If the book was popular, it would put the place on the map. I had no idea whether it was popular; I’d never heard of it before that day. Then again, I shied away from the darker elements of my favorite time of year.

  It was nice that the locals celebrated Halloween by reading about their local area, but that fictional tale certainly wasn’t appropriate for six and seven-year-olds and it also wasn’t appropriate for me, because it had evidently gotten into my head and freaked me out, making my mind play tricks on me.

  At the end of the storybook, the horseman caught a poor man traveling in the woods alone near a tulip tree and claimed his head as his own. This would satisfy him until the following year, at which time he’d need to obtain a new head, so would discard the old one and carry a pumpkin instead. The moral of the story warned that the man shouldn’t have gone out during the witching hour on Halloween. He knew the tale and chose to be a skeptic, and thus, it was his demise.

  I was unhappy at reading it, yet the story’s epilogue said that a family of friendly witches cast a spell to protect the area around the headless horseman’s haunting grounds so that no one could enter them on the night each year that he came out to hunt. At least that bit of the story would give comfort to the children who read it.

  Tulip tree. Smashed pumpkin. Witching Hour. Halloween night.

  My ears were ringing, and bile rose in my throat.

  5 – The Chase

  What sort of sick joke was this? Halloween night, a man in a dark cloak on a horse in the middle of the woods, looking down into a weird valley (that I honestly feel like wasn’t here before, but it must have been) at me.

  Maybe pranks like this were why the town kept the kids in a school gymnasium instead of letting them go out to trick or treat.

  I had no clue how I wound up in the middle of these woods when I was just on a four-lane straight road a few minutes ago.

  I felt illogical. Off the rails. I yearned to find logic, so I could gain a reality foothold in what felt like an unreal situation. I always looked for logic, for an explanation.

  Some guy on a horse shouldn’t scare me. But it did, and I knew why. It was all of what’d happened tonight combined.

  Plus:

  A)I read a creepy mind-dementing story today.

  Corrupted brain at the hands of demented seven-year-olds.

  B)The scary-looking man in a cloak up there on a dark horse was looking at me. They’re both looking at me.

  Yes. They were both looking at me. It was like the horse was in on the joke, as odd as that sounds.

  They stood there shadowed, the moon high above them and in full view. Thick smoke curls weren’t just crawling around my ankles; they seemed like they were climbing like ivy up my body as well as surrounding the man and the horse on the hill. Connecting us. It was the strangest thing, this mist wrapping around me like fingers. Freezing cold fingers that swirled to snake and curl around me, and then reach back to twist around the man on the horse. And though I couldn’t see his face, I knew the rider was looking at me. So was his horse.

  I stood there, absorbing the scene.

  As my mind weighed out everything about the journey home so far, it became absolutely crystal clear that there was not one single funny thing about this ill-timed and possibly elaborate prank.

  But, the tulip tree? That made a prickling awareness, warning, something…alarm bells. Major alarm bells.

  The rider kicked his heels against the side of the animal’s flesh, while flicking the reins in his grip and in a flash, the horse was at full gallop, heading straight for me. And I could almost swear the horse’s eyes were glowing red for a split second.

  My mouth dropped in shock.

  Galloping, no… very nearly flying down a steep hill at a speed that seemed dangerous… for both the horse and the rider. I somehow got unstuck, realizing that there was no good reason why that horse would be running straight at me like that, so I spun, and I started to run.

  It was cold. It was worse than cold. My feet pounded against the brittle and now frosted ground, pain shooting up my ankles, my calves. I was in dense bushes, and it was abundantly clear that I was being aggressively pursued.

  I zigged and zagged through mist-thickened trees, astonished at how thick this mist was, so thick, it resembled spider webs. I heard those hooves pounding the dirt, getting closer and closer, heard how winded I sounded as I panted and grunted while running. I was afraid to look back, afraid it’d slow me down and that I’d see that he was right on my heels.

  Out of nowhere, the landscape seemed to warp and the earth beneath my boots just slid away.

  This caused me to trip over my own feet and go tumbling down a hill. Jagged rocks along the way didn’t slow me down. Instead, they made the tumble all the more painful. Something sharp sliced through my striped tights, breaking the skin on my left thigh. My head hit something hard, a stump, I think, and it halted my progress just before the very bottom of the hill, where there was a fast-flowing creek. Narrow, too narrow to be a river, but wide enough to carry me away as it was very fast flowing.

  Although it was dark out, it was if the water glowed. And the glowing water looked very much like white water rapids. If that stump hadn’t stopped me, I’d have gone straight in.

  Disoriented, I pushed up with my hands in the dirty, cold and frosty sticks and leaves around me and got to my knees. I took a minute, balancing on my palms, to catch my breath and will the wooziness from the f
all away. My head throbbed at the back. I blinked and blinked, breathing hard.

  I heard a huff.

  The horse.

  My eyes moved up and I spotted that horse at the top of the hill I’d just tumbled down. I saw the rider in profile. My vision was a bit fuzzy, but he sat there, looking down.

  The rider, who I could only see the silhouette of, as he wore a long and hooded cloak, pulled on the reins and then he and the horse disappeared from my field of vision.

  Did he give up? Where did they go?

  I stared at the space they used to occupy for a moment and then took stock. My leg? Bleeding. It stung. I rubbed the back of my head, where I found a big bump. It was freezing cold and my hands were a bit scraped up, too --- not to mention filthy.

  I had leaves in my hair, mud and dirt all over me.

  I need to get out of here, get away from that psycho on a horse!

  I’ve gone deeper into some woods down in some sort of valley. Where does that river lead? I don’t know this area at all. I did know I had to find a way to go up, as I had no idea where that rapidly flowing waterway lead, and it could be dangerous. Up was where my car was. Up was where I came from.

  I fumbled to unzip and then reach into my purse, which was on me cross-body (thankfully, or I’d have lost it during the fall), and pulled my phone out again. 16% power. No signal.

  Damn it!

  It said it was 11:59 PM.

  No. That can’t be. Surely, ten or fifteen minutes or longer have passed.

  I pushed away the thoughts that tumbled through my brain, somersaulting into a very scary place that would do nothing but make my panic increase.

  I began the climb up, noting that it had gotten even frostier and colder out. I turtled my icy hands inside my jacket and attempted to grab at sticks and low-hanging tree limbs to aid in the climb.

  The blood trickling out of the gash on my thigh was both hot and cold and soaking my tights. I had no choice but to keep on climbing, though. I had to get back to my car, where I could lock the door, where I could try my phone again, maybe it would start. Maybe someone would drive by and give it a jump or drive me to town.

  My foot slipped on the frosty muck, sending me to my knees where they encountered jagged rocks. I grunted and got back to my feet, thirsty and cold and, more frightened than I have ever been in my life.

  If I went downstream, I didn’t know what was down there.

  If I got up, would I run into that man on the horse again? He wasn’t out to help me. He was clearly out to frighten me or possibly even hurt me.

  It was just far too cold to hunker down for any length of time, so I had to keep moving.

  I got to three quarters of the way up and slid, losing my grip on the ground and the brush I’d grabbed. I slid halfway down again, landing on all fours, muddying my knees.

  I whimpered and crawled, using my hands, using my nails, without the protection of my jacket sleeves. I grunted as I clawed my way up, gripping and moaning with effort as if my life depended on it. It felt like that might be the case!

  Miraculously, I finally got to the top of the hill and found myself on level ground again. Relief flooded me as I fought to get my bearings quickly.

  Which way did I come from?

  Left. I came from the left.

  I decided to head that way, teeth chattering, my whole body aching. My head felt a little bit woozy, but I knew I couldn’t stop. I had to keep going. My feet moved slowly through what was now muck, which was caked on my boots, slowing me down. A lot.

  I lifted out my phone again. 4% power. 11:59.

  “God, what in the fuck is going on?”

  I heard a huff and hooves clopping on the ground. I spun around and saw, not even fifty feet back, the horse. The cloaked man.

  Shit!

  “Um, I’m lost,” I called out. What did I have to lose? Besides everything? What other choice was there?

  He was so close to me, surely, he could catch me. But, maybe he would give up the silly prank and help me. If he’s just making a joke out of things because of this town and that local legend… I won’t know if I don’t ask.

  “Can you stop fucking around here? Can you help me get to town or let me use your phone?”

  The answer came in the form of the horse rearing onto its hind legs, the rider pulling back.

  The horse’s eyes glowed like they were red lightbulbs and the whinny that came out of its mouth was the most foreboding sound I’ve ever heard in my life.

  If this was the reply to my plea for help, I’m in serious fucking trouble!

  More icy tendrils of fog wrapped around me, and I was afraid I’d turn into a solid block of ice at any second.

  Shit.

  I took off running again and for the longest time, that huge black horse just stayed reared on his hind legs, making that awful, awful sound. How the rider held on so long was beyond me…

  And then the ground began to shake as it galloped toward me.

  I was running.

  How could I outrun a horse? A giant, powerful horse. With glowing red fucking eyes, no less! It was simple. I couldn’t. It was only a matter of seconds, likely, before I got caught and faced my fate.

  All the years of avoiding the horror films, the darkness in the world, and here it was right in front of me like I’m destined to be the distressed and fated damsel in a horror film.

  There was still that hill beside me. As hard as I fought to climb it, it felt like it was my only chance.

  I saw a clearing, heading straight down toward the creek, so I decided to drop and roll a little, but the slope took over and I had no control over how fast I tumbled down. I rolled and rolled

  hitting rocks and feeling sharp things rip into the fabric of my clothing, snagging my jacket, wrenching my hair along the way.

  My body stopped way too close to the river for comfort. The sound of rapidly moving water thundered in my ears, frigidly cold water actually splashed my face. I tried to scramble to my feet, but it was shaky, so I only got to my knees, crying out in pain and feeling so very weak. Tears streamed down my face.

  What on earth am I going to do? Climb up? Follow the river? Which way?

  I heard that horse again.

  Shit. Fuck!

  Horses have always sounded like something wonderful to me. Would I ever hear a horse make that noise again and not feel chilled down to my soul?

  Would I make it out of here alive to even hear the sound of a horse, to see the sun in the sky again?

  I spotted him, coming on that horse, not up on that hill. Nope; galloping toward me, following the flow of the river. I got up and turned to run downstream. I was crying, my run more of a stumble, with burning in my lungs, aching in every muscle of my body, and a full awareness of my bleeding hands and bleeding leg. My feet pounded the mucky, cold, ground hard, but then my ankle twisted at an odd angle as my foot met a stump and it absolutely killed.

  I tried to keep running, aware that he’d strangely not caught up to me yet, though I wasn’t able to run very fast, especially against a horse and certainly not with twisted ankle, but I did not dare to look back.

  God, my ankle seriously fucking hurt!

  He was playing with me. He could’ve caught me by now. He was enjoying this too much to let it end so soon. Fucking sicko!

  Finally, the river seemed to bend, and I had hope that somewhere around that bend would be something, anything that would give hope of getting out of this situation. This crazy, whacked, nightmare of a situation.

  Nightmare. Yeah, a nightmare.

  That’s it. It makes sense now!

  I’m having a nightmare. I’m going to wake up in my bed, fine, absolutely fine. It’s not dark. I’m not in the woods all raggedy and bleeding. Time isn’t frozen. I’m not being pursued by a man in a dark cloak on a horse with red glowing eyes. It’s November 1st and I’m in my own bed with my autumn quilt that’s covered in leaves and cute little pumpkins. I just need to wake up.

  Wake up, Isabella!

  Everything inside of me was telling me that I needed to keep running and not turn around, though I heard the water rushing, heard the horse’s hooves pounding as if he was at full gallop. I blinked in astonishment as I caught a glimpse of smoke curling, not toward me like that creepy mist, but toward the sky, as if from a chimney. There was a faint light, too. A cabin! A little cabin sat near the creek’s edge with… yes.. smoke curling from the chimney and weaving through the trees toward me. That meant someone was there. Having a fire. Someone! Someone who can help me!