Slow Hollows Novels & Stories

Not angry, not yet—but aware. The Hollow was no longer empty. And somewhere in that silence, a single, ancient howl echoed through the roots of the world.

Candy moved first, kneeling by a flat stone slab half-submerged near the center of the bank. “It’s here,” she whispered. Jimmy helped lift the stone. Underneath, a staircase spiraled into darkness, lit by faint runes glowing blue along the walls. “Are we seriously going in there?” he asked. “We don’t have a choice,” I said, brushing past him. The Hollow was colder than I expected—not just physically, but spiritually. I felt it in my bones, in my soul. At the bottom was a round chamber, walls covered in etched lunar symbols. In the center stood a bowl of black water, still and deep.

Amaris shook her head. "Not necessary. I've got a better idea." She closed her eyes. She concentrated and made her wish. Her hawk came back to her out of the sky and landed on her shoulder. "Are you ready my friend? One more time over the camp." Once the bird was gone, Anna exclaimed with delight. "You are going to have to introduce me to him for my birthday!" Taji laughed. Amaris could still hear an audible sigh coming from the direction where Lyle was standing. The hawk flew high up over the camp and then swooped down to glide right over the top of the bubble of the shield that contained all the vampires. The only difference was that now the top of it looked like a glass dome

Ground turned to old grey bones of the world sticking up. The Hollow wasn’t a cave. Worse. A bowl in the hills where the wind went to die. The grass lay flat and colorless, like it had given up on green. The air smelled… empty. No sap. No rot. No animal sharp. My skin crawled before we even dropped over the lip. “What happened?” I whispered. “Rovan practiced.” I wanted to leave. I didn’t. At the floor, the threads found me at once. There were so many.

Instantly, the familiar room dissolved into nothingness, replaced by an atmosphere thick and brittle, reminiscent of glass poised on the brink of splintering. The Hollow welcomed her with a profound, eerie silence. No breaths of wind caressed her skin; there was no laughing sky above or firm ground beneath her feet—only the resonating beat of her heart that echoed in the stillness and an endless expanse of ash, punctuated by grotesque shapes that masqueraded as trees—distorted bones entwined in slithering vines, some still exhaling shallow breaths of life. She felt herself drift rather than walk; the Hollow conspired to guide her, weaving her path deeper into the gloom, drawing her toward a

"They’re using the deep-sea pressure to amplify the sound. It’s a sonic bomb, Leo. If that rig fires, it’ll shatter the neural stability of every shifter in the hemisphere." ​As they approached The Obsidian Bore, the rig emerged from the mist like a mechanical monster. It was a tower of rusted iron and glowing violet lights, sitting in the middle of a swirling vortex of seaweed and debris. ​"No guards on the perimeter," Silas noted, checking her thermal scope. "But the internal heat signatures are... strange. They aren't wolves, and they aren't human." ​"They're 'Hollows,'" Leo said, his arm beginning to vibrate with a warning signal. "The Iron Trust’s final experiment. Bodies without minds,

“It’s not physical. It’s in his soul.” I thought as much... But unfortunately, that makes it more difficult to even do anything now. A whisper rides in the wind. I don’t know who speaks it first. Maybe one of the old fae who linger at the edges of the battlefield. Maybe one of the dying spirits. "The Hollow has taken him." My blood goes cold. The Hollow. It’s not death, not exactly. It’s the space between, a veil-thin plane where souls are neither here nor gone. Where time frays and memories decay. Where you forget who you are.

” he asked and turned on the radio before I could reply. let my baby stay by Mac DeMarco. It was the same song he played when we went hiking on Monday. Our song. So we sang along as he drove, and my mind drifted back to Monday. Before the blood moon. Before the chaos and deaths. Before the walls of my life crumbled. Many things happened before the blood moon. And the days went by too quickly. But the days after the blood moon moved slowly. It was still the second day, but I felt depleted as someone who mourned for a year.

Azalea's POV Every full moon night, something strange happens. I don't know exactly what happened last night. But as I washed my hair in the sink this morning, I could vividly recall my dream last night, when I "wolfed-out" and ran through the streets of Brooklyn. The moonlight illuminated my path, made everything enveloped in silver light, and I was completely happy. I haven't been that happy in a long time. The thing is, I'm not a wolf. I'm an ordinary human... right? And werewolves don't exist... right?

It knocks every muscular endurance and cripples every tissue, but when I try to let go, it only remains attached deeper to me and makes me feel so much worse. At times, it barely beats at all, and it is almost perfectly flat. The pulse is too sluggish and too frail to be taken more seriously. At first, there is tranquility. There is no longer any shrinking or cussing; the backlash has finally simmered down. No more experiencing pain, and I am supposed to be grateful only if it is not because of the bleakness that I am experiencing. I absolutely can not stand the solitude when my intrinsic shambles quiet down and the conflicting clamors are subsided; it's maddening. I think it's the abyss tha