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The Hollows

A Short Story Based on Old Folk-Tale Storytelling

By Jeanette LaterPublished 5 years ago 6 min read
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We tried to warn the King. He was new to our land, and while we had been humble in the take over, we were adamant that he leave the forest alone. He didn’t listen. We knew he couldn’t understand the consequences—couldn’t understand the capabilities nestled so peacefully between the leaves and bushes. At least, they used to be peaceful.

The King wanted more land. More to cultivate, more to grow, more to tax. Always more. We fought back, willing to give him anything else. We forced all of our metals, our gems, our food and livestock, even our fair daughters to the gates of the castle. He took them all, and demanded more. But no one would work to clear the forest, no matter how much money he offered, no matter how much he demanded. Eventually he began drafting—not for war, but for labor. A few of those chosen ran, though we doubt they made it past the river outlining our small village. One man, our only blacksmith’s apprentice, hung himself when his name was read.

Still, the King wanted more, and greed clouded his vision. Men started work on the forest. They worked slowly at first, but the King grew impatient. He pushed the men to push against the forest. "Cut everything down! Burn it if you have to!" He pushed them, and they in turn pushed the trees and bushes and birds and animals farther and farther, day after day.

No one but the King was surprised when the forest pushed back. People began disappearing. The laborers at first, then children and widows. No one pushed against the forest anymore, but the forest pushed harder and harder against us. Our small village diminished daily and our new King locked himself in his castle—afraid that a curse had come for him. We knew what was to come though, and it was no curse. It had no preferences, no target, and no mercy. And while our King was afraid because people went missing, we were much more wary for when they would come back.

The first time we tried to trim the forest, we were not prepared for its vengeance. We cried witchcraft and tried to burn it all down. We hunted for those among us with the mark of the devil, and even tried to burn a few poor souls over a stretch mark or scar. Nothing helped, and the fire had made everything worse. When our loved ones were taken, we mourned. When they returned, we rejoiced, but quickly learned that joy should have been far from our small, terrified minds.

The forest exacted its revenge for a fortnight as it re-grew trees and limbs and bushes and grass. At the end of our horror, it looked exactly as it had before. We never touched it again. Now, as the damage was so much more expansive, we feared the King had pushed a torturous destruction on us all. Few of us ran though—only the younger ones with strong hearts not scarred by the last time we had made such a mistake. Entire families learned the hard way that the river and the forest play on the same team, and they play for keeps. No matter how sturdy the bridge, it would fail, and the river would sweep lives downstream, and that would be the end of it.

The King rejoiced when the first villager returned. It was the first time we had seen him for two weeks. He went to embrace the man—more relieved that his escape meant the curse was breakable or non-existent than the return of a villager. Some of us warned him not to touch the man, but most of us had seen enough of the King. As he clapped the man’s shoulder the King grew pale and thin. He only held onto him for a second--maybe two--but the King fell to his knees and the villager stood taller. We had barred our doors before the King even touched the man.

We called them Hollows. They were shells; hungry black holes that stole the skin of anyone they could latch onto. The first time, they succeeded in re-joining those of us with souls and feeding on anyone who touched them. We stopped touching them. A stale, crystallized fear grew in between each of us, but that wall was fragile and some couldn’t bear to see what looked like their husband or child starve. It took time to weed out those who were no longer part of us, and it left many scars, but we learned to live in a timidly peaceful way, trapped between the river and the trees.

But the Hollows came in waves now, and with the King withering away, we took the castle for ourselves. We stored our food and family within the stone walls, hopeful to weather out the hungry, soulless shells the came yelling for help, for family, for safety. We lost some who went out to find forgotten necessities, and more who crumbled under the cries of a son or daughter. We covered every way in or out except for one window at the very top of the castle. It was small, but it had a view of the destroyed forest. We watched and waited for it to re-grow. That would be our signal for safety—for the end.

It took time, nearly three times longer than before. We were out of food, nearly out of everything else when a lookout decided that it looked safe enough. Out hunger drove us out of the candlelit halls before we could make ourselves doubt it. The doors were forced open and we blinked against the sun, twinkling off of dewey leaves and grass. The forest had done more than re-grow, it had expanded, pushing roots and grass and vines in a surge forward. Everything was green, and the afternoon sun reflected warmth and light off of each new addition. Our home was embedded in various moss mountains and cat tails, but we realized as we wandered to our overgrown houses that we missed the green as soon as we shut the door. We couldn’t stay away from the inviting glow of the trees in the sunlight, or the way the grass always seemed to be waving slightly in an invisible breeze. It became impossible to be anywhere but outside. This was our home now, and it was beautiful.

We wandered among the forest for many days and found many other abandoned houses and memoirs of villages the further we went. We walked happily, aimlessly, until we reached the end of the tree line. We didn’t want to leave—couldn’t make ourselves leave even. But as we watched a farmer take an ax to the trees we now loved, we realized with a sharp pain that writhed within us that we were very, very hungry.

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