short fiction · 2026-10-12

Whispers in the Hollow

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

At midnight I slipped through the cracked doorway of the old mill, the floorboards groaning beneath my weight. Dust motes drifted like ghosts in the stale air, and a faint, rhythmic pulse seemed to echo from somewhere deeper. From the shadows emerged figures draped in tattered cloth, their movements silent, their eyes reflecting the dim glow of broken windows. They did not speak, yet their presence filled the room, as if they were the unspoken guardians of forgotten stories. I felt an uneasy calm settle over me; the silence was not empty but alive, a collection of silences that had waited for a witness.