Chapter Five – Into the Hollow

The forest at night was another country.

By day, Evelyn had catalogued its trees, measured its scars, tried to turn it into something rational. But under the wan glow of a waxing moon, it was a place transformed—each branch a claw, each shadow a mouth.

She gripped the strap of her satchel tighter, recorder and flashlight jostling inside. The cold pressed close, her breath pluming white as she followed Jonah Blackwood along a narrow deer path. He moved with a hunter’s surety, boots silent, rifle slung easily in his grip.

“You sure about this?” he asked without turning. His voice was low, swallowed quickly by the trees.

“I need evidence,” Evelyn replied. “Something more than bodies on tables and claw marks in bark. I need to see it for myself.”

Jonah gave a humorless grunt. “Most people who see it don’t come back.”

She ignored the chill that ran through her. “You’ve seen it, then?”

His silence stretched. Finally, he muttered, “I’ve seen enough.”

They walked for nearly an hour, deeper into the Hollow than Evelyn had yet ventured. The moon rose higher, silvering the canopy, painting the frost-hardened ground with pale light. Every so often, Jonah paused, crouched, studied the earth. Evelyn’s heart leapt each time, but he would only shake his head and continue.

At last, he raised a hand, stopping her mid-step. He pointed toward a clearing ahead.

The smell hit her first. Metallic, sharp, undercut with the sour tang of bile. It coated her tongue, seeped into her nose until she nearly gagged.

Then she saw it.

A cow—or what was left of one—lay sprawled in the grass. Its flanks had been torn open, ribs jutting like a macabre cage. Steam rose faintly from the gash, the warmth of life not long extinguished.

Evelyn’s stomach lurched, but she forced herself closer, tugging on her gloves. “Recently killed,” she whispered into her recorder. “Body still warm. Organs partially consumed.”

Jonah stood watchful at the edge of the clearing, rifle raised slightly.

She crouched by the carcass, shining her flashlight over the wounds. “Not a clean kill. Not predation for food alone. Muscle groups torn indiscriminately. Spine twisted…” She trailed off, eyes narrowing.

Tracks surrounded the body. She leaned closer, shining her light. At first, they looked like paw prints—broad pads, deep gouges from claws. Then, only a pace away, the shapes elongated. Toes spread, the heel deepened. They looked almost… human.

Her pulse stuttered. She followed the line of tracks, watching them shift back and forth—paw to foot, foot to paw, as if the ground itself couldn’t decide what had passed.

“This isn’t possible,” she whispered.

Jonah’s voice came from behind her, steady but grim. “Now you’re starting to understand.”

She turned. “There has to be an explanation. Maybe two animals overlapping. Maybe—”

A sound cut her off.

Heavy. Close. A branch snapping under weight too great for deer or fox.

Jonah swung his rifle toward the trees. Evelyn froze, her flashlight trembling in her grip. The forest had gone utterly silent, as though every living thing had fled.

The sound came again—slow, deliberate steps circling them just beyond the light’s reach. Something massive moved between the trunks, the scrape of bark marking its passage.

“Stay behind me,” Jonah hissed.

Evelyn’s chest constricted. She raised her light, sweeping it across the undergrowth. For a heartbeat, she thought she saw it—something huge, hunched, slipping between the trees. But the beam caught only branches, nothing solid.

Her recorder was still running, her own ragged breath filling the tape. “Unidentified movement in surrounding forest. Approximate weight suggests… two hundred kilos? Possibly more. Gait irregular. Circling.”

The words steadied her for a moment—clinical, factual. But then the sound stopped.

The silence was worse.

Jonah lowered his rifle slightly, scanning. Evelyn’s light caught something on the bark of a nearby tree: fresh gouges, dripping sap, the cuts so deep they looked carved with blades.

Then—behind her.

The crack of a branch, the rustle of leaves, a breath that did not belong to her or Jonah.

She spun, beam slashing across the dark. And she saw them.

Eyes.

Glowing, not with reflection like a wolf’s, but with their own sickly luminescence—amber, burning, fixed directly on her.

Her own breath stuttered into silence. The shape behind those eyes shifted, massive shoulders hunched, limbs bent at wrong angles. It stood half-shrouded, its outline both beast and man, its bulk dwarfing the trees.

For a second that stretched into eternity, Evelyn’s mind refused to process it. Every rule of biology, every certainty of science fractured under that gaze.

The creature stepped forward, heavy and sure, and the light caught more: claws that scraped the earth, teeth glinting wet, muscles rippling under a hide that seemed neither fur nor skin.

Her hand shook so badly the beam wavered. Her voice caught in her throat, dry as ash. For the first time in her career, words failed her entirely.

The thing opened its mouth. The sound that followed was not a growl, not a howl, but something deeper—a vibration that rattled her bones, that seemed to hum with ancient hunger.

Jonah raised his rifle, eyes wild. “Run!” he shouted.

But Evelyn couldn’t move. She could only stare, trapped in the glow of those eyes as the Hollow Beast stepped fully into view.