short fiction · 2026-10-08

Echoes in the Hollow

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

The corridor stretched long and indifferent, its walls painted a weary beige that seemed to absorb sound as much as light. I walked slowly, each step a soft press against the worn linoleum, and listened. When I was certain no ear but my own caught the rhythm, the footsteps returned to me—not as a muffled thud but as a clear, reverberating echo, bouncing off the far doors and returning like a whispered reply. I paused, heart beating a little faster, and wondered if the echo were a property of the space or a concession granted only to solitude. I turned and walked back, this time imagining a unseen presence just around the corner, a breath held, an eye peeled. The sound stayed flat, a dull slap that died instantly against the floor. No echo came. I smiled, feeling both observed and unseen, and continued, letting the silence swallow my steps until the next moment I was alone again, and the hollow answered.