The Hollow Howler of Blackthorn Creek

The first time I heard the Hollow Howler, I thought it was my brother calling me from the woods.

It was a crisp October evening in Blackthorn Hollow, the kind where the air smells like woodsmoke and the last of the autumn leaves cling to the trees like they’re afraid to let go. My family had just moved into the old Miller house at the edge of town, and my parents were still unpacking boxes while my little brother, Tommy, and I explored the overgrown backyard that bordered the creek.

The Miller house had been empty for years, ever since old Mr. Miller passed away. The townsfolk whispered about it—said it was cursed, that strange things happened there. But my dad, ever the skeptic, just laughed and said, ‘A good deal’s a good deal, no matter what the superstitious locals say.’

So there we were, Tommy and I, kicking through the tall grass, throwing sticks into the creek, and generally making the kind of noise that drives parents crazy. That’s when I heard it.

‘Jaaaason…’

The voice was soft, almost like the wind rustling through the dead leaves. But it had my name. My full name. The way only someone who knew me would say it.

‘Tommy?’ I called back, scanning the tree line. ‘That you?’

No answer. Just the sound of the creek burbling over the rocks and the distant caw of a crow.

‘Jaaaason…’

There it was again, closer this time. It sounded like Tommy, but… wrong. Like his voice had been stretched thin, then stuffed back into a hollow log. Like it was coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.

I took a step forward. ‘Tommy, if that’s you, it’s not funny. Stop messing around.’

That’s when I saw him. Tommy was on the back porch, watching me with wide eyes, a half-eaten apple in his hand. ‘I didn’t say anything,’ he said, his voice small. ‘I’ve been right here.’

A cold finger traced my spine. If Tommy was here… then what had called my name?

The Legend Awakens

That night, I asked my dad about the voice. He was a history teacher, always had a book or a story about wherever we lived. He set down the box he was unpacking and gave me a long look.

‘You heard the Hollow Howler,’ he said.

‘The what now?’ Tommy asked, climbing onto the couch beside me, his apple forgotten on the coffee table.

Dad didn’t answer right away. Instead, he walked over to the stack of boxes by the door and started digging through one labeled ‘Books – Folklore.’ He pulled out an old, leather-bound volume—Forgotten Legends of the Appalachian Foothills. The cover was cracked, the pages yellowed with age. He flipped through them until he found what he was looking for.

‘According to local folklore,’ he said, tapping a faded illustration of a shadowy figure among the trees, ‘Blackthorn Creek is home to something called the Hollow Howler. It’s not a wolf, not a bear, not any animal they could name. It’s a shadow with a voice.’

‘A shadow with a voice?’ Tommy’s eyes were huge, the last of the daylight catching the fear in them.

Dad nodded. ‘The stories say it mimics people. Calls their names from the woods. Lures them in.’ He tapped the page again. ‘There’s a pattern. It only calls to the curious. The ones who step forward instead of back. The ones who have to know.’

I swallowed, thinking about how I’d taken that step forward, toward the trees. ‘And what happens to them?’

Dad’s expression darkened. ‘That’s the thing. No one knows. The stories all end the same way—with the person walking toward the voice… and then silence. No footprints. No body. Just gone. Like they were never there at all.’

Tommy shivered and scooted closer to me. ‘That’s creepy.’

Dad closed the book with a soft thump. ‘It’s just a story, kids. Probably just an echo or an owl. Or maybe the wind playing tricks.’ But the way he said it, the way his eyes flicked toward the darkening windows, I could tell even he didn’t quite believe that.

The Second Call

The next day, Tommy and I were at the creek, skipping stones across the water. The sun was high, the air warm—nothing scary about it. The events of the previous evening already felt like a distant, half-remembered dream. But then I heard it again.

‘Tommy…’

My brother froze, a flat stone clutched in his hand. ‘Did you hear that?’

I nodded, my heart pounding. The voice had come from the woods across the creek. It was faint, almost lost beneath the rush of the water, but it was there. And it sounded like… like our mom.

‘Tommy, come here, sweetie…’

Tommy took a step toward the water, his face lighting up. ‘Mom?’

‘Tommy, no!’ I grabbed his arm, my fingers digging into his sleeve. ‘It’s not her. Remember what Dad said?’

Tommy looked at me, confused, then frustrated. ‘But it sounds like her.’ He tried to pull his arm free. ‘Maybe she’s looking for us.’

‘She’s inside making lunch,’ I said, my voice sharper than I meant it to be. ‘She wouldn’t be out here. It’s the Hollow Howler, Tommy. It’s calling you.’

Tommy hesitated, his eyes flicking between the woods and me. For a second, I thought he was going to listen. But then he shook his head. ‘I don’t care. It sounds like Mom. And if it is Mom…’ He pulled his arm free and took another step forward.

That’s when I saw it.

Between the trees, something moved. It was tall—taller than a person—and thin, like it was made of smoke. It shifted and rippled, like the heat above a bonfire on a summer day. And then, as we watched, it seemed to… breathe. The air around it shimmered, and for just a second, I thought I saw the outline of a boy, standing there, watching us.

And then… it spoke again.

‘Tommy…’

This time, the voice wasn’t just across the creek. It was right behind us. So close I could feel the breath of it on the back of my neck.

We didn’t wait to see more. We ran.

The Truth in the Hollow

We ran all the way home, and I didn’t stop until we were inside with the door locked behind us. My lungs burned, my legs ached, but I didn’t care. Tommy was pale, his hands shaking as he fumbled with the deadbolt.

My parents were in the kitchen, making dinner. Mom took one look at our faces and knew something was wrong. ‘Boys? What’s going on?’

‘We heard it again,’ I said, breathless. ‘The Hollow Howler. It called Tommy’s name. It sounded like you.’

Mom’s face went pale. Dad dropped the wooden spoon he’d been using to stir the pot of chili. They exchanged a glance—a glance that lasted just a second too long.

Then Dad sighed and ran a hand through his hair. ‘There’s something you should know. Blackthorn Hollow isn’t just a town. It’s a… test.’

‘A test?’ Tommy asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Dad nodded. ‘A long time ago, maybe a hundred years or more, a boy lived here. His name was Elias. He was about your age, Jason. Loved exploring the woods, just like you two. One day, he went out and never came back. They searched for weeks, but they never found a trace of him.’

‘What happened to him?’ I asked.

Dad shook his head. ‘No one knows. But the stories say his spirit got… twisted. Trapped between this world and the next. Now it calls to others, hoping someone will finally answer it the way no one answered him.’

Mom put her hand on Tommy’s shoulder. ‘But here’s the thing—the Hollow Howler can’t hurt you. Not really. It can only take you if you let it. If you answer its call. If you follow its voice into the woods.’

‘So what do we do?’ I asked, my voice shaking.

Dad’s eyes were serious. ‘You ignore it. No matter what it says, no matter who it sounds like, you do not answer. And you do not follow. That’s how you pass the test.’

‘And if we don’t?’ Tommy asked.

Dad didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

The Final Night

That night, I lay in bed, listening to the wind outside. The house creaked and groaned, settling into the night. Tommy was in the room across the hall, and I could hear him tossing and turning, his bed springs squeaking with every movement.

I tried to sleep, but every little noise had my heart racing. The rustle of the curtains. The tap of a branch against the window. The distant hoot of an owl. Each one could have been the Hollow Howler, waiting, watching.

Then, just as I was about to drift off, I heard it.

‘Jaaaason…’

It was right outside my window.

I sat up, my heart hammering against my ribs. The voice was soft, pleading. Desperate.

‘Jason, help me…’ It sounded like Tommy. Like my Tommy. ‘I’m lost. I can’t find my way home…’

I knew it wasn’t him. I knew it. Tommy was across the hall, safe in his bed. But the voice was so sad. So real.

I got out of bed and crept to the window. The floorboards groaned under my feet, and I froze, waiting for the voice to call out again. But it didn’t. The night was still.

The glass was cold under my fingers as I peeked through the curtains. The yard was empty, the trees swaying gently in the moonlight. But the voice was still there, whispering on the wind.

‘Please, Jason… I’m scared.’

I closed my eyes. I wanted to help. I wanted to believe it was Tommy. But Dad’s words echoed in my head, loud and clear: You do not answer. And you do not follow.

So I didn’t.

I turned away from the window, climbed back into bed, and pulled the covers up to my chin. The voice kept calling, softer and softer, until it faded into the night. Each word was like a needle pricking at my heart, but I didn’t move. I didn’t speak. I didn’t give in.

The next morning, Tommy burst into my room, his face pale, his eyes wide. ‘Jason, I heard it too! It sounded like you! It kept calling my name, saying it was lost, asking for help. I almost went outside, but then I remembered what Dad said.’

I let out a breath I felt like I’d been holding for hours. ‘Me too. It sounded like you.’

We looked at each other, and for the first time since we’d moved to Blackthorn Hollow, I felt like we were going to be okay. Like maybe, just maybe, we’d passed the test.

The Hollow Howler’s Secret

A week passed. Then two. The calls stopped. Tommy and I started to relax, thinking maybe the Hollow Howler had finally given up. Maybe it had found someone else to test. Maybe it had moved on.

But then, one afternoon while we were playing by the creek, we found something.

It was a small, wooden box half-buried in the mud near the water’s edge. The wood was rotted, the hinges rusted, but it was still intact. Tommy pulled it free with a wet squelch and brushed off the dirt.

Inside were a few old coins, their surfaces green with age, a rusted pocketknife, and a note. The paper was yellowed with age, the ink faded, but the words were still clear, written in a careful, looping hand:

‘If you’re reading this, you resisted. You’re the first. The Hollow Howler isn’t a monster. It’s a test. A test of courage, of wisdom, of the strength to turn away from the unknown. And you passed. The calls will stop now. But remember this: the next time you hear a voice in the dark, ask yourself—is it calling for help… or is it calling for you? And whatever you do, don’t look back.’

Tommy and I stared at the note, then at each other. The Hollow Howler had been a test all along. A test to see if we were smart enough, brave enough, to resist the call of the unknown. And we had.

But as I folded the note and tucked it into my pocket, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the test wasn’t really over. That maybe it had only just begun.

That night, as I lay in bed, I listened to the wind outside. It was quiet. Peaceful. No voices. No calls. Just the sound of the night.

But as I closed my eyes, I couldn’t help but wonder… what if the Hollow Howler wasn’t the only test? What if Blackthorn Hollow was full of them? And what if the next one wouldn’t be so easy to resist?

I rolled over, pulling the covers up to my chin. The house was silent, the night still. But as I drifted off to sleep, I could have sworn I heard one last whisper on the wind, so soft it might have been my imagination.

‘Goodbye… for now.’