The station was in chaos.
Officers moved frantically, searching for an escape route Malcolm could have used. But there was nothing. No broken vents, no unlocked doors. Just a vanished man and a stain on the floor where he used to be.
Aaron and Sarah stood near Inspector Graves' office, watching through the glass as he argued with several officers.
"I don't care if it doesn't make sense!" Graves snapped. "A man doesn't just disappear inside a locked cell. Find out what the hell happened!"
David, leaning against the wall with a smirk, chuckled. "I gotta hand it to you two—if this is some kind of elaborate joke, you're really selling it."
Aaron's jaw tightened. He wanted to hit him. Badly.
Sarah didn't even look at David. Her arms were crossed, her fingers digging into her sleeves.
"It's not a joke." Her voice was flat.
David rolled his eyes. "Relax, I'm just saying. Maybe the guy had a twin brother? Or maybe one of you let him out by accident?"
Aaron turned toward him, expression cold. "Do you really think that's what happened?"
David's smirk wavered for just a second. Then he scoffed. "Look, I don't believe in ghosts or demons or whatever you two think this is. But if you're so convinced this is something… supernatural, why don't we find out? The boss already put us on the case, so let's investigate.The sooner we do, the sooner we can put this to bed."
Aaron didn't answer.
Because, for once, David had a point.
They had one lead left.
The village.
The thought sent a chill down Aaron's spine, but there was no turning back.
"Fine," he said finally. "We leave tomorrow."
Sarah exhaled softly, as if bracing herself.
David grinned. "Good. Can't wait to see what's so scary about this place."
Aaron didn't respond.
Because deep down, he had a terrible feeling—
That David wouldn't be grinning for long.
The next morning, the station felt different.
Even with officers moving around, answering calls, and shuffling through paperwork, there was a weight in the air.
A silent understanding.
Malcolm was gone.
And no one had an explanation.
Aaron, Sarah, and David sat in the records room, surrounded by stacks of files and a single flickering desk lamp. The overhead lights had mysteriously shorted out when they entered.
David, flipping lazily through a case file, sighed. "This is pointless. If there was anything weird about that village, don't you think we'd already know about it?"
Aaron ignored him. He was focused on an old, dusty folder he had just pulled from the archives.
Sarah sat across from him, scanning through missing person reports. Her brows furrowed.
"Something's wrong," she muttered.
Aaron looked up. "What?"
Sarah held up two files.
"These cases—one from fifteen years ago, another from five years ago. They're identical. Same number of missing people, same location…" She flipped through another folder. "And here's one from twenty-five years ago."
Aaron's stomach tightened.
David peered over, frowning. "You're saying this happens every ten years?"
Sarah nodded. "And always near the same village."
Aaron flipped open the dusty folder he found earlier. The cover read: Hollowbrook Township – Official Records.
Inside were black-and-white photographs of the village. But what sent a shiver through him was the final page—
A map of the village…And a red stamp across it.
"RESTRICTED. DO NOT ENTER."
Aaron and Sarah exchanged looks.
David scoffed. "Oh, come on. It's just an abandoned town. Who cares if people went missing there?"
Aaron turned the page.
A newspaper clipping was attached to the back.
"Hollowbrook Village Condemned After Mysterious Disappearances – 1954"
And below it, a single quote from the last known survivor.
"Don't go there. It doesn't let you leave."
Aaron felt the air in the room grow cold.
Sarah exhaled sharply, pushing her chair back. "We need to talk to Inspector Graves."
David, still smirking, leaned back. "So, what, you think this place is cursed?"
Aaron stared at the warning in the newspaper clipping.
"I think we're about to find out."
Aaron, Sarah, and David walked into Inspector Graves' office, their arms filled with files. Graves sat behind his desk, sipping coffee, looking exhausted. The events with Malcolm had taken a toll on the entire department.
He barely looked up. "Tell me you have something."
Aaron dropped the folder onto his desk. "This isn't the first time people have gone missing near the village."
Graves raised an eyebrow.
Sarah laid out the disappearance reports in a neat row. "It happens every ten years. The same number of people vanish. The village was condemned in 1954 after a major disappearance case, but after that, it was still happening."
Graves sighed, rubbing his temples. "Damn… And no one ever caught this pattern?"
David, still half-skeptical, crossed his arms. "Apparently not. But you gotta admit, boss, it's weird. And what's even weirder is that the village was never officially investigated."
Aaron opened the Hollowbrook Township file to the RESTRICTED MAP.
Graves frowned. "Where did you find this?"
Aaron hesitated. "It was buried in the archives. No records of an official search. No case numbers attached. Just this map."
Sarah leaned forward. "Someone made sure this was hidden."
For the first time, Graves looked genuinely concerned. He flipped through the pages, stopping at the newspaper clipping. His fingers tightened around it.
"I remember this," he muttered.
Aaron and Sarah exchanged glances.
"You do?" Sarah asked carefully.
Graves nodded slowly. "A case from my early days. An old man came in, rambling about the village. He'd lived near the area when he was younger. He told me the place was… cursed. That it 'takes people.'"
David snorted. "So we're listening to crazy old men now?"
Graves shot him a glare. "He wasn't crazy. He died that night. Found in his apartment. No sign of forced entry, but his face…"
He stopped himself.
Aaron leaned in. "His face what?"
Graves hesitated. Then he closed the file.
"You don't want to know."
A heavy silence filled the room.
Sarah spoke first. "We need to go there."
Graves sighed heavily. "I figured you'd say that." He pulled open his desk drawer and slid something across the desk.
A key.
"If you're going, take this. It unlocks the old police storage. There might be something useful in there."
Aaron took the key, feeling its weight.
Graves stared at them for a moment, then said, almost too quietly—
"Be careful. Some things aren't meant to be disturbed."
Aaron swallowed hard.
Because deep down, he knew—
They had already disturbed it.
Aaron turned the key, and the heavy steel door groaned as it swung open. Dust filled the air, swirling in the dim light.
Inside, rows of metal shelves stood untouched for years. Old case files, rusted weapons, and evidence boxes lined the room. Some were labeled, others weren't.
Sarah clicked on her flashlight. "Let's find whatever Graves thought would help us."
David grumbled. "Why do I feel like we're gearing up for war?"
Aaron ignored him, heading to the back. Something felt… wrong. The air was thick, like the room itself was watching them.
Then, he spotted a wooden chest, different from everything else. It was old, worn, and had deep scratches along its edges.
Aaron knelt and lifted the lid. Inside, he found:
An old revolver with strange markings along the barrel.
A leather-bound journal, the pages yellowed with age.
A rusted cross pendant, cold to the touch.
A map—hand-drawn, showing a path leading beyond Hollowbrook.
Sarah picked up the journal and flipped through it. The writing was messy, frantic.
"They watch from the trees. Shadows that should not move. It whispers when you sleep. DO NOT ANSWER IT. If you hear it calling, it's already too late."
She swallowed hard.
"This guy lost his mind."
Aaron wasn't so sure. The words felt too familiar.
David smirked, pulling out the revolver. "Old school. You think this thing actually works?"
Before Aaron could answer, Graves' voice echoed from the doorway.
"Found what you need?"
They turned to see him standing there—but he wasn't alone.
Beside him was a priest.
An older man, dressed in a long black cassock, a silver crucifix hanging from his neck. His face was grim, unreadable.
Graves exhaled. "This is Father Matthias. He's coming with you."
David chuckled. "Oh great, now we have an exorcist."
Matthias ignored him. His gaze was locked onto the chest, specifically the rusted cross in Aaron's hand.
"Where did you find that?" the priest asked, stepping forward.
Aaron hesitated. "In here. Why?"
Matthias slowly took the cross, turning it over. His jaw tightened.
"Because this doesn't belong here."
Sarah frowned. "What do you mean?"
Matthias looked at them all, his voice low and grave.
"This cross belonged to a man who entered Hollowbrook over fifty years ago."
Aaron felt a chill crawl up his spine.
"And he never came back."
Aaron exchanged a glance with Sarah, then back at Father Matthias.
"You're saying this belonged to someone who went to the village?" Aaron asked, his grip tightening on the rusted cross.
The priest nodded slowly. "Yes. He was an investigator, much like yourselves. He was sent to Hollowbrook in 1972 after several families vanished without a trace."
David scoffed. "And let me guess, he never made it out?"
Matthias' expression remained cold. "Not alive, no."
The room fell silent.
Sarah, still holding the old journal, flipped another page. The words became more erratic, almost unreadable. Smears of ink—or was it something else?—darkened the last entry.
"I SAW IT. IT KNOWS ME. THE HOLLOW ONES ARE EVERYWHERE. I AM LOST. I AM NOTHING."
Aaron's stomach turned. He shut the journal and exhaled sharply.
"Alright, enough stories. We're looking for answers, not ghost tales." He turned to Graves. "If this guy was investigating Hollowbrook, then there must be more on him."
Graves nodded, stepping toward an old metal filing cabinet, yanking open a drawer. He rummaged through the files before pulling out a yellowed manila folder labeled:
HOLLOWBROOK INCIDENT – 1972
Aaron took the file and flipped it open. Inside were black-and-white photos, police reports, and a single newspaper clipping.
The headline sent a chill through his spine.
"FOUR MEN ENTER VILLAGE—ONLY ONE RETURNS. CLAIMS 'THEY TOOK HIM.'"
Sarah leaned over. "Who was the survivor?"
David scanned the report, his pulse quickening.
"A priest. Name… Father Matthias Caldwell."
Their heads snapped up to look at Father Matthias, who was now standing unnaturally still. His expression unreadable.
David, ever skeptical, narrowed his eyes. "Wait. You're saying this guy is the same Father Matthias? That's impossible, he'd be like—what? Over 90?"
Matthias' lips pressed into a thin line.
"I never said I was the first Matthias.I am the reincarnation of the last one".
The air thickened.
Aaron felt something shift in the room—like the temperature had dropped. He looked at the priest's hands. They were clean, unwrinkled. Not the hands of a man close to ninety.
"Who the hell are you?" Sarah whispered.
Matthias finally looked up. His eyes, for the briefest moment, seemed hollow.
"I am here to keep you from making the same mistake."
The lights in the storage room flickered violently.
Then, from somewhere deep within the station—a scream.
Not just any scream.
It was Malcolm's.