Member-only story
The Hollow Ones
Dark Lore Digest# 9
Davis Keith stood with his toes touching the grass field of St. Bartholomew’s Academy. It was Thursday, his turn as yard monitor. There had been nothing unusual — no cause for alarm.
Not until he saw a group of first-years huddled together in the field. They weren’t talking, or laughing, or mouthing anything at all. They were standing there, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, staring at each other.
Davis leaned, turning an ear toward the cluster of children — there was a noise, a muted crackling, but damp — it made him think of when you walked through a wet field with the wild grass slapping your pant legs.
“They do it on the bus, too, Mr. Keith. The other kids don’t notice because they’re all sitting with friends or plugged into their phones. But I hear them. I notice. But I don’t like to look at them.”
“Melody! You snuck up on me! I almost popped out of my shoes,” Davis said, looking down at his favourite third-year pupil.
“They look real, but I don’t think they are. I think they’re wearing skins. And they make that sound with their eyes blinking like a bird — eyelids beneath their eyelids.”
Davis paused. He didn’t know what to say, but the chill chasing his spine made him look back at the first-years.
