Blake Hollow Barn Novels & Stories

Rayne Arriving at the address—1472 Hollowcrest Drive, Blackwood Ridge—felt like stepping into a cruel joke the world was playing on me. The mansion looked exactly the same as it had the last time we’d searched it: dilapidated, hollowed out by time, its once-grand stone façade now cracked and overgrown with ivy. The sprawling balcony sagged like a broken jaw, railings warped and eaten away by rot. Shattered windows stared back at me like blind eyes. There was nothing here. Nothing obvious. Nothing that screamed my mate and daughter are being held hostage here.

Would he have lived his life always feeling vaguely unsatisfied and never knowing why? He shook the thoughts from his head and continued his trek, following the fork to the left. The forest was dense and the trail narrow from disuse, but after another three hundred yards or so, the path widened and a cabin came into view. So thick were the trees that you couldn't see the log structure until you were right up on it, a fact for which Blake was glad. He'd purchased the cabin the previous year without mentioning it to Jackie. It wasn't meant for guests. It was his own private space. He chuckled lightly. Could one really call it a dungeon if, in fact, it was completely above ground?

The smell hit him first—dust, hay, and dried sweat soaked into the wooden beams. Zac stepped into the poorly lit space, the creaking barn door closing behind him with a hollow thud. It was a secluded ranch, far from the city. Not marked on the map, or easy to locate. The kind of place where if you screamed, the echo would fade—and no one would ever hear you. A single bulb dangled from a rusty hook above, casting a sickly orange glow over the center of the barn.

"You have so much skin. I won't stop here." Blake's chest was heaving, his skin looking oddly translucent. "Underground bunker" blaze rasped through the pain, "By Kentworth." The name of the small town fifteen minutes away caused Titan's ears to perk up. This was a start. "Where is it, Blaze?" I looked into his lifeless eyes, jamming my finger into the bloody wound I had caused on his abdomen. He let out another scream and i pulled away, letting him compose himself. "Abandoned church." His lips whispered before he fell into unconsciousness.

Evgeniya lived about 20 miles away from my father, in a small home. Wooden cottage style. I parked my vehicle and double-checked my messages to make sure I had the right place. When I was sure, I surveyed the structure gravely. It was a dark brown house, crafted out of logs and various sturdy materials. Just like you’d see with classic housing, the brick chimney produced a thick cloud of grey smoke. Watching it release into the cold starless night, I reluctantly slid out of my car and grabbed three packages from the backseat. In Russia, we always bring gifts when we’re visiting. Even if the hostess is the mother who abandoned us as a child.

Thank God the little teacup pig couldn’t climb ladders, or she had a feeling he would have given her away by now. Lowering herself onto her belly, she army crawled to the loft edge. The vampires were tearing apart the barn below in search of her. Shelves of bottles and milk replacer for calving season were scattered across the floor along with shovels and pitchforks. Johnson Hollow’s barn was a sizable space, but it wouldn’t be long before they ran out of options and checked the loft.

“Look. More animals.” A small farm passed by, simple fencing, worn structures, goats moving slowly in the distance. “That’s a horse,” he said. “Yes,” Aria replied. After a pause, she added quietly, “Everything here is real.” The closer they got, the more the silence changed. It wasn’t emptiness. It was memory. Then the house came into view. Gray Hollow. It still stood, but not as she remembered it. Time had worn it down. The paint had faded. The roof showed age. It was the same place, and yet not.

But I knew that tone. Icarus raised an eyebrow, taking the book. “A place,” Maxim continued, his eyes never leaving Icarus’s face. “Moss Hollow. A near-ghost village on the edge of the Black Ridge. But more importantly: a bar. The Severed Stag. He mentions that name several times in the notes. Seems Vardam Bowen showed up there more than once.” “And…?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady, as if my skin wasn’t still burning where Icarus touched me.

she said, her tone cautious. “But fate can be cruel. And sometimes… sometimes it is not just your heart at stake.” I could not answer her. I could only nod, feeling the tension coiling tighter in my chest. The word tasted bitter and sweet on my tongue. It was as if every heartbeat, every sigh of wind through the trees, was pulling me toward a future I did not yet understand. And somewhere, out there in Winter Hollow, the other half of this thread was stirring. --- Ronan Thorn.

The road to the south was narrow and unpleasant, another reason why it was just me and no Yvonne with the car. She'd be very pissed I'd left without her. Briar Hollow town sat low in a shallow valley, smoke curling lazily from chimneys. It was smaller than he expected. Older, too. Stone houses leaned into one another as though holding themselves upright. There were no guards at the gate. No banners. Just a bell hanging from a wooden post, cracked straight down the middle. I went to what appeared to be the townhouse as it was the largest place in the town. It looked deserted