“The Hollow Road”

The road leading to the old Buckner house was called Hollow Road. Just a short stretch of cracked asphalt winding between skeletal trees, it looked harmless enough during the day. But folks in Deacon’s Creek knew better. Kids on bikes pedaled fast as they crossed Hollow, and no one drove it at night. The locals said it wasn’t just haunted; it was cursed.

Only one person still dared live on Hollow Road, and that was Ethel Buckner. She was 89, blind in one eye, and as feisty as a live wire. The locals called her "Batty Buckner," but she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she hadn’t minded anything, not since the night her husband, Arlo, had gone missing on Hollow Road back in 1962.

There was one rule about Hollow Road that the town had kept for generations: don’t stop, no matter what. The rumor was that if you did, you’d hear Arlo’s voice calling out from the shadows, asking for help. And if you were unlucky enough to see him, it wouldn’t be Arlo at all. No one knew for sure what that meant—at least, no one who’d seen it was still around to tell the tale.

On Halloween night, seventeen-year-old Danny Ross and his best friend, Jake, drove Hollow Road on a dare. They’d swiped a couple of beers from Jake’s dad, and as the clock struck midnight, Danny turned the wheel onto Hollow, grinning at Jake. “No big deal, right? Just a spooky old road.”

But a few yards in, the headlights began to flicker, and a chill seeped into the car. The usual hum of the engine felt muffled, as though the road were swallowing the sound. When they passed the Buckner house, Jake glanced out the window. Through the moonlight, he thought he saw a figure standing in the yard—a tall, thin shadow, watching them.

“Don’t stop,” Jake muttered, half-joking, but his voice shook. “Just keep going, Danny.”

Danny laughed, but his voice didn’t sound quite right either. He glanced at Jake and then back at the road. That’s when they heard it: a low, strained voice, coming from somewhere just up ahead.

“Help me…please…need a hand here.”

It sounded like an older man, voice scratchy and broken. Jake’s heart raced, the town tales flooding his mind. “Danny, don’t stop. Seriously.”

Danny’s foot hovered over the brake. “C’mon, what if someone’s actually hurt? What if they need help?”

The voice echoed again, closer this time. “I’m lost…help me…”

Jake gripped Danny’s arm. “I’m telling you, man, it’s the curse. Just drive.”

But it was too late. Danny had stopped the car.

In the dark, the headlights illuminated the road ahead, empty except for a thin trail of fog curling out from the woods. And then, in the blink of an eye, the figure appeared—a man, tall and thin, his face pale and hollow, dressed in clothes that looked like they’d been dug up from some grave. He took a step forward, moving unnaturally, his eyes reflecting the headlights like an animal’s.

Jake felt paralyzed, unable to move or scream. The man’s mouth opened, wide and black, and the voice that came out sounded like it was being pulled from the depths of the earth.

“Why’d you stop, Danny?” it whispered. The voice was soft but seething, like something dead trying to remember how to speak.

Danny’s breath hitched. “Who…who are you?”

The man’s face twisted, a slow, unnatural smile spreading across his lips, revealing rows of teeth too sharp, too many. “I’m someone who stopped once. Just like you.”

And then, with a final, hollow laugh, he lurched toward the car. Danny slammed his foot on the gas, but the wheels spun uselessly. They were stuck, rooted to the spot as if the road itself had grabbed hold of them.

The figure reached the car, tapping on the window with one long, skeletal finger. “Mind if I catch a ride?” he rasped.

Just as Danny and Jake screamed, the lights went out completely, and Hollow Road swallowed them up, leaving nothing behind but the silence.

The next morning, the car was found parked on the side of Hollow Road, empty, engine cold, and both doors wide open. Danny and Jake were never seen again. Just a whisper carried on the wind, a hollow, echoing plea that travelers swear they can hear if they stop on Hollow Road.

“Help me…”