GRIMM AND HOLLOW

Grimm stumbled backward, his breath catching as Sarah’s hollow, blackened eyes followed him, unblinking. Her twisted smile remained, a grotesque expression that felt like a death mask. She rose to her feet with a strange grace, as if some unseen force were lifting her.

“Sarah, stop,” he said, trying to steady his voice, but it trembled despite him.

She took a step forward, her eyes fixated on him, empty yet all-knowing. “There is no Sarah here,” she whispered, her voice layered with something ancient and inhuman. “Only what is bound to Hollow. What has always been.”

Grimm reached for his gun, his fingers numb. It was a useless reflex, a desperate grasp for control. What could a weapon do against this darkness, this presence that seemed to seep from the walls, from the very ground of Hollow itself?

The woman—no, the thing that had once been Sarah—laughed, a sound so hollow it felt like shards of glass scraping across his skin. She tilted her head, and the smile stretched wider.

“You cannot stop it, Detective Grimm. Hollow has chosen. And soon, you will understand.”

She stepped toward him, but then her movement faltered. Her eyes flickered, and for a split second, he saw something behind the darkness. A glimpse of Sarah, the real Sarah, fighting to break free.

“Help me.” Her voice was faint, lost beneath layers of something else. Her eyes darted wildly, pleading, but then the shadow overtook her once more. Her body convulsed, and a sharp, ragged scream tore from her throat.

Grimm was frozen, his mind unable to process the sight before him. He wanted to help, but he was helpless against the force holding her captive. The shadows around her coalesced, wrapping her in tendrils of darkness, dragging her back into the depths of whatever curse gripped this town.

He took a step forward, unsure of what he could do, but then it happened.

Her body fell limply to the floor, her head striking the wooden boards with a sickening thud. The room fell silent. A heavy, dreadful silence.

Grimm knelt beside her, his fingers pressing to her neck, searching for a pulse. There was none. Sarah Dunne was dead.

He looked down at her, his mind spinning. This wasn’t just death—this was something far worse. It was as if whatever force had gripped her had drained her completely, leaving behind an empty shell.

He heard a creak behind him and spun around, his heart pounding. In the doorway stood Jacob, his face pale, his eyes wide with terror.

“She’s…?” Jacob’s voice cracked, his eyes filling with tears.

Grimm didn’t answer. He rose to his feet, his hands shaking. There were no words that could explain what he had just witnessed, no comfort he could offer Jacob. Not here. Not in Hollow.

---

Outside, the sky was a dull gray, a storm rolling in from the mountains, heavy and foreboding. Grimm stepped out of the house, needing air, needing distance from the twisted darkness he had just witnessed. He breathed in the cool morning air, trying to clear his mind, but the stench of decay lingered, as if the town itself was rotting from the inside.

He walked toward the center of town, each step heavy, weighed down by the grim truth that was settling in his mind. These weren’t random deaths. They were something far more sinister.

But the deeper he went, the more he realized something else—a sense of familiarity, as if he had walked these streets before, though he knew that was impossible. Memories stirred in his mind, dark and fragmented. Whispers from a time long buried. They drifted through him, faint echoes of a past he couldn’t place.

As he reached the church, he paused, staring up at its towering, crumbling spires. The building loomed before him, casting an impossibly long shadow over the town. He felt drawn to it, pulled by a force he couldn’t name.

He pushed open the heavy doors once more and stepped inside. The air was colder here, thick with an ancient energy that made his skin crawl. Candles flickered along the walls, casting long, distorted shadows that danced across the stone. He could feel it, pressing down on him—the weight of centuries, of untold secrets,

Sister Amara stood at the altar, her back to him, her hands folded in prayer. The sight of her made his blood run cold, but he forced himself to step forward, his footsteps echoing through the empty hall.

“Sister Amara,” he called, his voice steady, though his heart was racing.

She turned slowly, her face shrouded in darkness. Only her eyes were visible—cold, empty, and ancient. They bore into him, as though seeing straight through to his soul.

“You have seen it, haven’t you?” she asked, her voice a whisper that echoed through the hall.

Grimm swallowed, his mouth dry. “What are you doing to these people? Why are they dying?”

She regarded him with that same, hollow smile, one that chilled him to the bone. “They are not dying, Detective. They are being reborn.”

“Reborn?” The word felt heavy, wrong. “What do you mean?”

Sister Amara stepped closer, her movements slow, deliberate. She raised a hand, gesturing to the shadows around them. “Hollow is not a place. It is a doorway. A passage between worlds, between life and death. The souls of this town have been bound here, for centuries. And now, the door is opening once more.”

Grimm shook his head, trying to make sense of her words. “Bound here? By who?”

Her gaze intensified, her voice lowering to a whisper. “By those who came before. By the ones who understood the power of death, and the strength it brings to those who are reborn.”

He felt a shiver crawl down his spine. “You mean… they sacrificed people?”

She smiled, a cruel, knowing smile. “The people of Hollow have been sacrificed for generations. Each death, each ritual, brings us closer to the truth. To rebirth.”

Grimm took a step back, the reality of her words sinking in. The deaths weren’t just random murders—they were part of a cycle, a ritual designed to keep something alive. Something ancient and hungry.

“Why?” he demanded. “Why would you do this?”

Sister Amara’s eyes glinted with something dark, something beyond his comprehension. “Because, Detective, life is fleeting. But death… death is eternal. Through death, we are reborn. And soon, you will understand.”

Before he could react, she raised her hand, and the shadows around her surged forward, wrapping around him like tendrils, cold and suffocating. He struggled, his vision blurring, his mind reeling as the darkness pulled him under.

And then he saw it—a vision, or perhaps a memory, flashing before his eyes. He saw Hollow as it had been, centuries ago, a small, peaceful town nestled in the mountains. He saw the first rituals, the sacrifices, the blood spilled on sacred ground to bind the town to the darkness.

And he saw himself, standing among them, dressed in the robes of a priest, chanting words he didn’t understand. He felt the weight of centuries press down on him, the knowledge of a past life he had never known. He had been here before. He had been part of this.

Grimm’s mind reeled, his heart pounding as the vision faded, leaving him gasping in the darkness.

He stumbled back, breaking free from the shadows, his body trembling. He looked up at Sister Amara, his face pale, his eyes wide with horror.

“You… you brought me here,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “You brought me here because…”

Her smile was colder than death itself. “Because you are one of us, Detective. You always have been. And now, it is time for you to be reborn.”

---

Outside, the storm broke, thunder rumbling through the sky as rain poured down over Hollow. Grimm staggered out of the church, the vision still burning in his mind, his sense of self unraveling.

The town watched, silent and still, as he fell to his knees, the rain soaking him, washing over him like a baptism. He looked up at the sky, feeling the weight of the past settle over him, crushing him.

He was not just a detective. He was something far older, something bound to this place, to the darkness that had gripped Hollow for centuries.

And now, he knew the truth.

There was no escape.

Only death.

Only rebirth.