The Hollow Gods

by A. J. Vrana

  “All talk, huh?” he teased.

  “Sorry, I’m not bold like you.”

  He stifled a snicker. “What makes you think I’m bold?”

  “You seem like you don’t care for pretence,” she reasoned, then grinned coquettishly. “I could see you losing your virginity in an alleyway behind some seedy diner.”

  He didn’t respond, a smirk crawling up the side of his face as he eased himself back down.

  “Oh my god!” Miya sat up and shoved a finger in his face. “You totally lost your virginity behind a garbage dumpster! Or in a bathroom stall!”

  “Maybe.” He playfully snapped his teeth at her finger, then grabbed her arm and yanked her down next to him. “And when are you going to lose yours?”

  Miya yelped as she was toppled over, her mouth dropping like a fly trap. “You can tell?”

  “Oops,” he simpered. “I guessed right, huh?”

  She went off like a thunderstorm and whipped the pillow at his face. He turned away, laughing as she battered him with a bag of feathers.

  “What are you so embarrassed about?” He snatched her weapon away.

  “I don’t know,” she fumbled. “People get weird about it. You’re either too young to have sex or too old to be a virgin.”

  “Relax,” he snorted. “It’s not a real thing—just a way to let men fuck and judge women for it.”

  Miya stared at him like he’d grown another head.

  “I don’t care what you put between your legs.” He rolled towards her and threw his leg over her thigh. “Unless it’s mine. Then I might.”

  “I have no intention of putting anything of yours between my legs,” she choked through her giggles as she kicked him off.

  “Oh, really?” Kai grinned. “You were considering it a few minutes ago.”

  “I don’t know yet,” Miya shot back coyly. “Might need to give you a test run before committing.”

  He erupted into laughter, then pulled her into his side. “I’m a quick learner,” he whispered in her ear, sending a current of electricity through her body.

  Screw the bunnies, she thought. The hunger had moved lower. Wedging her leg between his, she pushed him onto his back.

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” she challenged, then pressed her lips to his. He eagerly accepted and tangled his fingers in her hair, deepening the kiss as his free hand wandered down her body.

  He was no longer interested in sleep, and that was fine by Miya. The Dreamwalker could hunt her in her dreams, but she wouldn’t be there tonight. Temptation lay on this side, and it was where she intended to stay.

  35

  The Unveiling

  * * *

  “Sweetie, can you hear me?”

  The voice sounded muffled but familiar. Perhaps someone she’d met before—someone who’d left a strong impression.

  “Miya, please, wake up!”

  The call was clearer now, more desperate.

  “Miya!”

  Her eyes shot open. Someone was holding her hand; cold, clammy sweat tickled her palm as she flexed her fingers and looked around.

  “Thank goodness, you’re all right.”

  Miya recognized her mother’s voice. She tried absorbing her surroundings, but everything looked like grey silhouettes on a dark background.

  “Mom?” she tried to sit up, only to feel hands on her shoulders.

  “Don’t move too fast. You’re still weak.”

  Miya didn’t feel weak. “Why do you think that?”

  Silence followed, the blobs in front of her only marginally discernible. She could make out another figure—a man—standing in the back of the room.

  “You were missing.” Her mother’s voice cracked. “You were kidnapped.”

  “How did I—”

  “You don’t remember anything.”

  Why was she being told rather than asked? “I don’t think I was…”

  “Don’t strain yourself,” her mother hushed. “There’s no use in thinking about it. All that matters is that you’re back.”

  Back from where, Miya wondered.

  “Andrea.” It was her father—the man at the back of the room. “May I have a moment alone with Emiliya?”

  Emiliya. He never called her that.

  She heard shuffling, felt a weight lifting from the bed as her mother retreated. Why was she leaving? Before the abandonment could sink in, her father’s heavy footsteps echoed closer.

  “So,” Miya chuckled, trying to break the tension, “took a kidnapping for you guys to visit me.”

  He didn’t respond, but his hands fell on her shoulders and yanked her up. She winced and pulled back, trying to break free of her father’s hold.

  “You’re hurting me!” she yelped, but his grip only tightened.

  “Don’t lie to me!” His voice shook with rage, his fingertips digging into her skin until she felt bruised. “You’re not my daughter!”

  Miya grabbed his wrists. “Dad! What are you talking about? It’s me!”

  “Liar!” he spat in her face, ripping his hands away. Before she could speak, fingers curled around her throat. “You must be banished. You’re a curse on this place, and you must be exorcised!”

  Miya clawed at her father’s arm, fighting for every waning breath. Her heart shrivelled as she realized she couldn’t convince him of her identity; what he saw in his daughter’s place—an imposter—was all that mattered.

  What would it take for her to be seen?

  Tears welled in her eyes. I don’t want to die. She couldn’t gather the breath to form the words. She had no voice, no power, no means to actualize her will.

  I don’t want to die.

  I won’t.

  I won’t let them hurt me anymore.

  Anger and spite crept into her, pooling like liquid fire in the pit of her stomach and imbuing her with inhuman strength as she thrashed, flayed, and finally kicked herself free. A raw, war-like scream ripped from her throat as she struck her attacker and shoved him away. Salty tears spilled over her face and washed out the grey filter that blinded her.

  She saw her father slumped against the wall, his eyes wide open, blank as paper. Disoriented, Miya surveyed the room—a hospital room—then looked at her hands. They were emaciated, her fingernails broken and bloodied, dirt caught in the calluses on her palms. Then she saw the black and violet feathers cascading over her shoulders. Miya shakily felt around her head. Her hair was tangled in plumage that sprouted from her scalp like it had taken root and infected her. She squeezed one of the stems and plucked out a feather, gasping when a sharp pain shot through her spine.

  “Unpleasant, isn’t it?”

  Miya jolted at the intruding voice, her eyes darting up to find Kai—no, Abaddon—standing next to her father’s limp form.

  “What do you want?” she hissed, crouching on the bed and inching away, only to find her back against the wall.

  Abaddon’s mouth twisted, his resemblance to Kai unsettling. He took a single step forward, then stopped.

  “You know what happens to the girls when they return, yes?”

  Miya swallowed, her neck still burning at the memory of her father choking her.

  “You’re just like the rest of them.” The words were accusatory, vicious.

  Miya gripped the sheets on the bed and clenched her jaw. “I won’t be a victim!” she declared. She squeezed her eyes shut and turned away. She knew this was a dream, a haunting. Eventually, she’d wake up.

  “And then what?” Abaddon’s voice echoed as he read her mind. “You’ll be back in the woods, and only closer to your death.”

  Miya straightened up and caught Abaddon’s eyes with a fearsome glare.

  The lull in their exchange yawned out until he looked down at her father’s lifeless body. “You’ll only hurt them,” he said in a tone that bordered on compassionate.

  “What does that mean?” asked Miya, but it was too late. Thorny vines sprouted from the floor and coiled around her limbs, biting into her f
lesh. As though commanded by Abaddon’s laugh, they ignited into black flames.

  Miya screamed and writhed against her bonds, but they were only strengthened by her blood and fear. The vines drew tighter, the flames stronger, and the pain unbearable until she withered and sunk deeper into the dreamscape.

  36

  Mason

  When Mason joined the town’s search for Emiliya Delathorne, he hoped she’d be found quickly; but three days went by, and there was no sign of her anywhere. This, of course, only served to cement the conviction that she’d been kidnapped. The villagers tore through every inch of the forest they could map out, and yet they always missed something. No matter how many times they thought they knew where they were going, they discovered new places—groves and valleys that simply hadn’t been there before.

  The twists and turns that sprung with every expedition inspired more and more paranoia. The deeper the search party went, the more shadowy everything became. The air grew foggy and dense; trees cast ghoulish shadows that appeared alive in the white vapour, moving like creatures from storybooks. Some gave up, going home and wanting nothing more to do with the forest. Others grew more militant in their efforts, stocking up on rifles and all manner of hunting equipment. The most radical enthusiasts even brought ghost hunting paraphernalia—night vision accessories, EVP recorders, spirit boxes, EMF readers and the like. They were convinced that if they could somehow contact the spirits of the Dreamwalker’s previous victims, they might find clues regarding Emiliya’s whereabouts.

  Throughout the chaos, Mason was a fly on the wall, eavesdropping on conversations while refusing to engage. Even though he’d awoken the following two mornings exhausted and sore, he couldn’t pull himself away. He feared he’d miss some integral piece of information—or worse, the search would end without him bearing witness to its resolution.

  On the third day, the party broke up into groups of five or six, hoping to cover more ground. They set out in the morning and continued well after dark. Fatigue had worn down Mason’s mental faculties enough that he’d forgotten—or perhaps simply given up—on recharging his phone. He had trouble focusing, losing himself to the fleeting sounds and sights of the forest. He’d broken away from the others, opting instead to use the maps that Annabelle gave him. Up until that point, he hadn’t bothered checking Mathias’ trails. Jenny had continued to take the lead; her family had a long history in Black Hollow, giving her access to old documents, maps, reports, and journals. Even then, the information was fragmented.

  Mason had grown weary of walking in circles. He pulled the dream stone from his pocket—something he now kept close at all times. Placing it on the map in the palm of his hand, he muttered a haphazard little prayer, not expecting it would actually do him any good. But it couldn’t hurt. He asked the forest to be merciful—to keep him from getting lost.

  Much of his path was dictated by the height of undergrowth. He passed through a thicket of towering pine trees interspersed with firs, sugar maples, and aspens, then came across a small glen with a gorgeous white oak, densely surrounded by paper birch trees and a shallow stream. But the deeper Mason ventured into the woods, the less he noticed time pass until night fell and he was unsure of where he’d wandered and how to get back. Everything looked the same—the trees, the rocks, the spaces between them. Occasionally he’d hear whispers—or were they the cries of birds and animals? He swore they were telling him, This way! But whenever he turned in their direction, there’d be nothing there.

  Something in his periphery grabbed his attention—the way the breeze sounded, gently nudging the leaves and branches. The stone in his hand began to hum, the song growing louder as Mason trailed the wind until he found himself drawn into the glade where the grand willow resided. He knew by the size and shape of its great mane that it was the same tree from Mathias’ photo. Had he found it, or had it found him?

  Mason felt compelled to touch this magnificent beast, to feel with his own senses what was behind the town’s madness.

  “What are you?” His fingertips hovered near the bark before he finally laid his hand on the massive trunk.

  Drawn into a vacuum, the tree took hold of him. Sensations, perceptions, and emotions Mason knew weren’t his own penetrated his body in disorienting waves. It was like they belonged to a multitude of people who had come to this place before him.

  Then he saw the girl, the same one from his dreams. He recognized her even without the cloak—her long, dark locks swaying in time with the willow’s limbs. A torrent swept through him—one he’d only felt twice before: in the dream with Gavran, and when Amanda died. Was this girl Amanda? It was torture—to recognize a person he was unable to place. When would his failures cease haunting him? He couldn’t seem to bury them, no matter how deep he dug the grave.

  “Why me?” He asked, meekly. “Why was I chosen for this?”

  From somewhere within, the response echoed loud and clear.

  Who says you were chosen?

  When it became too much, Mason tore his hand from the tree. The girl disappeared like vapour, severing their moment of contact.

  Mason quickly shook his head. “No, no, no, no,” he whimpered. “This isn’t real. You’re not really here. I’ve heard the story—I don’t want to hear it again.”

  From the forest behind him, Mason heard thrashing wings approach, and although he couldn’t see him, Mason could feel his familiar, uncanny presence pressed against his neck.

  He heard two voices—the boy’s and the old man’s—their every syllable in perfect synchronicity, enunciated by the same, chilling entity.

  “Everything beats in cycles.”

  The words sucked the breath from Mason’s lungs and pulled the strength from his body. Before he could utter his watcher’s name, Mason released the singing dream stone and crumpled to the forest floor, his consciousness extinguished like a candle flame.

  37

  Kai

  Even while he slept, there wasn’t a scrap of sensory information that eluded Kai. He knew something was wrong when in the middle of the night he was awoken by the girl’s heart, hammering hard enough for him to feel against his bare chest. Her arms were like ice, but her face was on fire.

  Kai tore the blankets off and sat up, his gut sinking when he realized she was still asleep. He’d hoped the threat would be some intruder he could rip to pieces—another hunter, or even a bear.

  No such luck.

  He looked Miya over, but she was physically unharmed, which meant only one thing.

  Abaddon was diversifying.

  He cursed under his breath and pulled her into his lap, trying to rouse her with a gentle shake. “Lambchop,” he called, but she shuddered and tried to scramble away, flailing her arms like they were made of springs. He caught her wrists, but she yanked her hands away with surprising vigour.

  “No!” she shrieked, still unconscious. Her heels slid against the blankets as she fought against an invisible foe. Her uncoordinated flapping turned to violent thrashes as she nearly threw herself off the bed.

  Kai tried to grab her, but she slipped through his grasp like water, squirming away from his attempts to hold her. His urgency mounted with her terror. He smelled her fear, and it prickled under his skin like ants crawling in his veins, tramping his nerves.

  “Please wake up,” he heard himself plead, fumbling to keep her close, his mind paralyzed as he grappled with what to do. Ama wasn’t there to help, but why should she be? He should’ve been able to protect her himself.

  Kai had never felt so helpless—not since Alice died—not since his body bent and broke and left him at the mercy of his surroundings. Miya was harbouring his demon, and now it was after her—the one person he’d let take a step closer to him.

  From somewhere in the pit of Kai’s battered heart, a whimper crawled up his throat, an anguished cry that echoed through the cabin before drowning in the rot of the old wooden walls. He hated feeling powerless, hated that he wanted to curl into a ball, hide his
face in a tail he didn’t have, and sleep until the next snow.

  She saved your fucking life, he fought back against his fear.

  Little Red Riding Hood had more teeth than the Big Bad Wolf.

  She grazed him with her fingertips and weakly grasped for his arm, unsure whether she wanted to stay close or pull away. Kai felt his heart pound and his breaths grow shallow as heaviness pressed down on his chest.

  “What do you need?” he whispered, desperate for guidance. Even the raven’s squawking would have been welcome. He curled his fingers around hers and squeezed her hand, bringing it to his nose as he watched her struggle against the malice he’d been battling all his life.

  Every second that passed was torture, a winding, endless spiral of self-loathing and shame. But Kai couldn’t tease apart his myriad of emotions; he only felt the subsequent anger, and the desire to act.

  Do something.

  He squeezed her hand harder, wishing the pressure was uncomfortable enough to wake her.

  Just. Fucking. Do. Something.

  Overcome with urgency, Kai sunk his teeth into the underside of her forearm, sparing no tenderness as blood filled his mouth. He continued clutching her hand as his jaws locked tighter around her arm. When she didn’t react, he only bit deeper, harder. Crimson spilled over his lips and down her arm, soaking into her clothes and staining the sheets.

  From some distant place, Kai heard Abaddon’s wicked laughter, an echo from another plane. He was no doubt pleased. He’d succeeded in making Kai hurt the one thing he’d grown to cherish since Alice.

  Succumbing to the futility, Kai released Miya’s arm and wrapped his hand around the wound to quell the bleeding. He rocked forward and released a guttural roar. Blood was smeared over his face, dripping from his teeth as he squeezed his eyes shut only to keep the sting of tears at bay.