The Hollow in the Hall

After the funeral, I thought the worst was behind us. But Marla, Delia’s sister, seemed to have vanished into the deepest well of sorrow. She barely ate, barely spoke, and when she did speak, it was in a whisper so faint I had to lean in to hear. I crossed the city every afternoon to sit with her in that stuffy apartment, the one she shared with Delia before the accident. The air was thick with the smell of stale tea and dying flowers.

One day, as she wept into my shoulder, her sobs muffled by the fabric of my coat, I noticed a shape in the doorway. It was tall, impossibly black, a silhouette that seemed to absorb the dim light of the hallway. It had no distinct features, just a wavering outline like heat distortion. It stood perfectly still, and when my eyes met the void where its face should have been, I felt a cold that had nothing to do with the draft. The shape tilted its head, as if aware of my gaze, and then it drifted to the right, sliding silently toward the staircase. I blinked, and it was gone.

I gently disentangled myself from Marla, my heart hammering against my ribs. ‘I’m just getting a glass of water,’ I said, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. I walked down the stairs, each creak of the old floorboards a gunshot in the silence. The kitchen was at the end of the hallway, and I half-expected to see the figure waiting for me there. Instead, I saw the hallway mirror. In it, the black shape stood behind me, its head tilted at an unnatural angle. I spun around, but there was nothing. When I looked back at the mirror, it was gone from the reflection, but I saw a faint smudge on the glass, like a handprint that had been wiped away.

I found the kitchen empty, the kettle cold. I poured myself a glass of water and tried to calm down. It was just grief, I told myself. Delia’s death had shaken us all, and my mind was playing tricks. But as I turned to go back upstairs, I saw the front door ajar, and the hallway was darker than before. A cold dread settled in my stomach. I called out for Marla, but there was no answer. I ran up the stairs, two at a time, and found her sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall. She was rocking back and forth, muttering, ‘It’s still here, it’s still here.’

I knelt in front of her, gripping her shoulders. ‘What’s still here?’ I asked. She turned to look at me, and for a moment, her eyes held a clarity that frightened me more than the figure. ‘The hollow,’ she whispered. ‘The one that took Delia. It’s come back for me.’ I shook my head, trying to reason with her, but she grabbed my wrist with surprising strength. ‘You saw it, didn’t you?’ Her grip tightened. ‘You saw it in the doorway. It’s been following me since the funeral. It stands in the corner of my room at night, and it whispers in a language I don’t understand.’

I pulled away, backing toward the door. I wanted to leave, to run from this madness, but I couldn’t abandon her. I made a decision. I would stay with her until the morning, sleep in the chair by her bed, and prove to her that nothing was there. That night, I lay in the armchair, listening to Marla’s uneven breathing. The room was suffocating, the shadows deep. I must have dozed off, because I woke to a cold draft. The window was open, the curtains billowing. Marla was standing in the middle of the room, facing the corner. She was perfectly still, her arms at her sides. I called her name, but she didn’t respond. I got up and walked toward her, and as I drew closer, I saw that the corner was darker than it should have been. A shape hovered there, watching me.

I tried to scream, but my voice caught in my throat. The shape turned, and in the place where its face should have been, there was a swirl of gray, like a storm. It reached out with a hand that had too many fingers, and it touched Marla’s cheek. She didn’t flinch. She simply smiled, and her eyes rolled back. The shape began to fade, and as it did, Marla crumpled to the floor. I rushed to her, shaking her, but she was cold. She was gone. And in the mirror above the dresser, I saw the hollow’s form reflected, and it seemed to be looking at me, its head tilted in a question. I ran out of the apartment, down the stairs, and into the street, never looking back.

But the hollow’s hollow lingers. Now, when I pass a mirror, I catch a glimpse of a darkness at the edge of my vision. I hear a whisper in the static of my radio, a voice that sounds like Marla’s, telling me to come back. I know it’s waiting for me, the hollow in the hall, and it won’t be long before it shows me the same mercy it showed her.