In the quiet town of Elmsworth, nestled between two forgotten hills, there was a place known only as The Hollow. It wasn’t marked on any map, nor did it appear in any records, but those who had lived long enough to remember whispered about it in hushed tones. The Hollow was said to be where time unraveled, where the past and present bled into one another like ink in water. No one knew exactly when The Hollow first appeared, but it was always there, just beyond the edge of the forest, hidden behind a curtain of mist that never fully lifted. Some claimed it was a gateway to another world, others said it was a trap for the lost. But the most common story was this: if you stepped into The Hollow, you would never return the same. The tale began with a boy named Elias, who was no older than ten when he vanished. He had been playing near the old mill at the edge of town, chasing fireflies under a sky streaked with orange and purple. His mother called him, but he didn’t answer. When she finally found him, he was gone, and the only clue was a single red ribbon tied around a tree branch, its edges frayed as if it had been there for years. The search for Elias lasted for weeks, but no trace of him was ever found. The townspeople grew uneasy, and strange things began to happen. Lights flickered in empty houses, whispers echoed through the streets, and some swore they saw a small figure moving through the trees at dusk. No one dared to go near the mill anymore. Years passed, and the story of Elias faded into legend. But every now and then, someone would come across a red ribbon, or find a child’s footprint in the dust of an abandoned room. It was as if the Hollow was waiting, watching, and remembering. One autumn evening, a young woman named Clara arrived in Elmsworth. She was a researcher, drawn by the local folklore and the unsolved mystery of Elias. She stayed in the old inn at the edge of town, where the owner, a gruff man named Harlan, warned her not to wander too far after dark. Clara spent her days poring over old newspapers, interviewing the elderly, and walking the woods near the mill. She found a journal belonging to Elias’s mother, filled with frantic entries about her son’s disappearance. The final page was torn out, but the words “He’s still there” were scrawled in shaky handwriting. On the third night, Clara decided to go to the mill. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and pine, and the moon hung low, casting long shadows across the ground. She reached the clearing and found the tree with the red ribbon still tied around it. As she touched it, a chill ran down her spine, and the world seemed to hold its breath. Suddenly, a voice called her name. It was soft, almost like a memory. She turned, expecting to see someone, but the forest was empty. Then she heard footsteps, slow and deliberate, coming from behind her. She spun around, but nothing was there. The silence was so heavy it felt like a presence pressing against her chest. She ran back to the inn, heart pounding, and told Harlan what had happened. He looked at her with a mix of fear and something else—recognition. “You shouldn’t have gone there,” he muttered. “The Hollow doesn’t let go of what it takes.” The next morning, Clara woke to find a red ribbon tied around her wrist. She didn’t remember putting it there. She tried to leave the town, but every road seemed to lead back to the mill. The people of Elmsworth avoided her, their eyes hollow, as if they had seen something they couldn’t explain. One night, she returned to the mill, determined to uncover the truth. The air was colder, the mist thicker. She found a small door hidden in the roots of the tree, barely visible beneath the moss. Inside, the walls were lined with photographs of children, all with the same look in their eyes—lost, searching. At the center of the room stood a mirror, cracked and dusty. When she looked into it, she saw not her reflection, but a younger version of herself standing in the woods, holding a red ribbon. The image winked at her before vanishing. Clara ran, but the path behind her had changed. The trees twisted into unfamiliar shapes, and the sky turned a deep shade of blue, like it belonged to another world. She stumbled into a clearing where a group of children sat in a circle, their faces pale and silent. They turned to her as one, and she realized with a sinking feeling that they had been waiting for her. The last thing she saw was the red ribbon fluttering in the wind, as if it had always been there, and as if it never truly left.