Letters from the Hollow - Part One: The Girl in the Fog

Okay. So this starts weird. Like... really weird. I woke up to fog. Not just a little morning mist kinda thing, no — it was thick. Like someone poured milk over the whole town. I could barely see my own hands. And get this — my phone? Dead. No signal, no battery, no time. Just... blank.

I live in a place called Hollow Ridge. Honestly, it’s a boring little dot on the map. You blink, you miss it. But that morning, it felt like I was the only one left in it. No birds. No cars. No mom yelling at me to eat breakfast. Just this silence so loud it made my ears ring.

And then I saw it. A letter. On the porch. Sealed with wax. Who even uses wax these days?

I picked it up. My name was on it. In my handwriting.

Wait. WHAT?

I swear I hadn’t written anything. I mean, yeah, I journal sometimes. But this wasn’t that. This was neat. Precise. Not like my usual chicken scratch. I sat down right there, on the cold step, fog curling around my ankles like a cat, and opened it.

It said:

"Hey. I know you're confused. I would be too. But listen: don’t go into the woods. Not yet. Not until you find the second letter. You remember the old gas station? The one that shut down after the fire? Yeah. Go there. And please — don’t talk to anyone. Not yet. Trust me. Trust us."
— You.

What. The. Hell. I looked around, half-expecting a prank camera or something. But nope. Just fog. Thick and endless and way too quiet.

And because I’m a total idiot (or maybe just curious), I grabbed my jacket and walked to the station. It was like walking through a dream. Or a nightmare. Same thing sometimes, right?

The sign was still half-burned. The doors boarded up. But guess what? Another letter. Same wax seal. Same handwriting. Same me-but-not-me vibe.

This one said:

"Good. You’re listening. That means the loop hasn’t broken yet. That’s good. Bad news? He knows you’re awake now. He’s watching. You won’t see him. But he sees you. Keep going. Next letter's where it all began. Under the swing."

Who's he?? And what loop?! I had a billion questions and no answers. And yeah, I was kinda freaking out, but like, the quiet kind where your stomach flips and you start noticing every shadow looks like it wants to eat you. That kind.

I ran. Like, full-on sprinted to the old park. The one we used to go to before—before everything changed. (I don’t even know what that means. My brain is all scrambled right now.)

The swing was there. Rusted. Lonely. And under it? Yup. Letter three.

But I’m not opening that one yet. Because I saw something move. In the fog. And I swear to you — it looked like me. But older. Tired. And scared.

To be continued...