Letters from the Hollow - Part Two: The Swing Letter

I didn’t open the third letter right away. I just stood there. Breathing like I had no lungs. You ever get that feeling? Like your whole body is shaking but your skin’s pretending everything’s fine? Yeah. That.

The swing moved. Just once. Barely. No wind. And no sound. But I swear it moved. And that shape in the fog? Gone. Like poof. Vanished.

I finally bent down and pulled the envelope from under the swing. Damp, cold. My fingers were trembling — but not from the chill. I tore the wax open and read:

"He’s closer now. I saw you see me. That means it’s starting to crack. Don’t panic. The loop hasn’t broken completely. Yet. But you need to remember. The photo. Behind the mirror. You hid it for a reason. Don’t let him touch it."

Photo? Mirror? My brain was flipping through memories like a broken Rolodex. Nothing. Blank. But I knew one mirror that mattered — grandma’s old house. Which was… oh great. Deep in the woods.

Because of course it is.

I hesitated. I mean, come on, it’s the woods. Alone. With fog that’s getting thicker like it’s alive. But curiosity? She’s louder than fear sometimes. So I walked. Slowly. Every crunch of leaves under my boots made me flinch. And I kept thinking, "If I turn around and see myself again, I swear I’ll scream so loud it’ll break the loop myself."

After twenty awful minutes of following what I think was a trail, the house appeared. Or, well, the bones of it. Roof half-caved. Porch covered in moss. That smell? You know the one — damp and old and... sad.

I stepped inside. The mirror was still there. Cracked. Faded. And yep, dusty as a nightmare.

Behind it, taped with yellowed corners, was a Polaroid.

And oh. My. God.

It was me. Holding a lantern. Wearing the same jacket I had on. In the same woods. Standing right next to... him. Blurred face. Long arms. Just out of focus. But so... there.

I don’t remember that photo being taken. At all. But the timestamp said: Tomorrow.

To be continued...