The Hollow Gods

by A. J. Vrana

  “Wait a minute—” A man dressed in a logger shirt and a thick hunting vest stood up. There were deep, purple bruises along the side of his face and neck; his lip was split open and his eye swollen half-shut. “We saw a girl in the woods just last week, when we were attacked by some psycho! He beat us up, snapped our guns. Guy looked human, but there was somethin’ in his eyes, somethin’ not right. Strong as a damn ox too.”

  “What did he look like?” Raymond called out.

  The man looked down at his friend—equally battered by the looks of it. They both shook their heads like they couldn’t quite remember. “Tall, dark hair, dressed like a bum.”

  “Isn’t that the same guy who’s been attacking people in alleyways, taking their stuff?”

  “If he’s really that strong, maybe he’s not human! The Dreamwalker always sends someone to do her dirty work. He was with a girl in the woods, right?”

  “Shit—what if he’s with the Dreamwalker? What if he’s one of her wolves?”

  “He might have taken Emiliya!”

  Mason wanted to warn them they weren’t cross-checking their facts before jumping to conclusions—but something stopped him. The hunter’s description fit Kai Donovan’s appearance. It should have sounded ridiculous, but Mason couldn’t shake the suggestion that Kai Donovan was a wolf. And if that was true, was it a stretch to think he could be one of the Dreamwalker’s wolves? It was irresponsible not to consider, given the blood test results. Mason wanted proof that it was all fantasy, but he received the exact opposite, leaving him with no answers, not even a hypothesis. All he could do was remain a witness and see where this journey took him.

  “While Andrea and Patricia are at the police station, nothing is stopping us from taking action. I say we organize a search party and go into the woods ourselves.” Jenny turned to the bruised hunters. “Gentlemen, if you would be so kind, we would appreciate your assistance. If you could show us where you last saw the young woman with your attacker.”

  Both men stood up, exuding an almost militant eagerness to follow. “Yes, ma’am. Whatever we can do to help Black Hollow get Emiliya back to her family.”

  “If she’s still a girl,” an elderly voice interjected.

  Jenny frowned, shaking her head in the direction of the old woman who’d spoken. “The Dreamwalker may be real, but let’s not jump the gun.” She put a reassuring hand on Raymond’s slumped shoulder. He looked half-broken. “If something’s wrong with Emiliya when we get her back, there are people who can help. Doctors, priests, psychics. We’ll find a way to get the spirit out of her.”

  “I agree, let’s organize,” another woman’s voice chimed in, the suggestion quickly gaining traction as people got to their feet while Jenny gave out orders.

  “Let’s get some supplies for the woods. Flashlights, batteries, water bottles, snacks, warm clothes for Emiliya when we find her.”

  “Those with a hunting license, bring your rifles!” The call was met with cheers. “We don’t know what we’ll run into while we’re in those woods!”

  “There’s always a hockey stick or a baseball bat if you don’t have a gun!”

  Mason shot up from the bench and withdrew to the rear. He didn’t want someone to notice him—not while tensions were so high. But he had every intention of following the search party into the woods. He had to find Emiliya first—he had to save her. He knew all too well what would happen if the townsfolk found her.

  Gene Robinson’s face, half-mad and grief-stricken, flickered before Mason’s eyes.

  He knew what had to be done. Like an undercover spy, he would join their trumpeting cause without absorbing any of its substance. He could already hear Jazlyn and Annabelle protesting—the younger of the two swinging violently at his head as if a concussion would knock sense into him, while the other planted her hands on her hips and sternly told him he was aggravating her crows’ feet. No matter. Neither of them was here to stop him.

  He felt like a boy again, reading Sherlock Holmes and the Hound of the Baskervilles, waiting for the moment the great detective would debunk the unsolvable mystery and explain the science behind the superstition. He needed to know that Kai Donovan wasn’t real. He needed proof that the villagers’ beliefs were a lie, that they had been led astray by their irrationality. There was no Dreamwalker. There was no wolf. There was no kidnapping. There couldn’t be. Because if there were, the ground would no longer be the ground, and there would be nowhere left for Mason Evans to stand.

  But more than all that, Mason had a life to save. He wouldn’t let there be another Amanda or another Elle.

  Light the torch of your grief.

  Gavran’s words, once hollow, were suddenly imbued with meaning.

  When night falls, only flames reveal the road ahead.

  Mason strove to overpower his grief, but with Gavran’s help, he now understood its place. It would be the flame that guided him to Emiliya, and it would help him save her life.

  “Let’s meet back here in two hours,” Jenny announced. “There’s plenty of daylight left. We’ll break after the sun goes down, but the search will continue at dawn until Emiliya is found.”

  With that settled, Mason realized he had to return to Annabelle’s. He was ill-equipped to go into the woods. Annoyed he’d put so much effort into avoiding his hostess for naught, Mason trudged back to his lodgings, rehearsing what he’d say. The scent of roast beef wafted through the cracks of the front door, greeting him as he came up the porch steps.

  “That you, Mason?” she called to him once he was inside, the bell on the door announcing his return.

  “It’s me,” he answered, a little less enthusiastically than he’d intended. “Smells great in here!” Now that sounded too enthusiastic.

  “I’m making a pot roast. You okay to stay for lunch?” she asked, turning the corner as she wiped her hand on a tea towel.

  “Of course.” He smiled nervously. “But I’ll be heading out again after.”

  He wondered if she’d be suspicious when he didn’t elaborate. He avoided eye contact while examining the lines in the hardwood floor.

  “You’re going with the search party.”

  It never ceased to amaze Mason how well-informed Annabelle was for a woman who spent her days in a farmhouse isolated from the rest of town. Her interactions with the villagers seemed limited to grocery shopping and trips to the bank. But perhaps it wasn’t the town that was feeding her information. Feeling caught, Mason tore his eyes from the floor, unable to gauge her intention as she regarded him calmly.

  “Oh, don’t look so surprised,” she chided. “I already knew this was coming. I hoped you’d let it go, but I knew in my heart you wouldn’t. This town’s legends, its mysteries, and its secrets—they make you feel alive, don’t they?”

  When he didn’t—couldn’t—respond, she smiled compassionately, as if to tell him he didn’t need to justify himself. “I think I understand. My Matty was the same. And the closer he got to the end, the more engaged he was with these big mysteries. I guess some people are just born detectives.”

  He huffed and leaned back against the wall. “I think something terrible is going to happen. I can’t stop the villagers, but I can maybe get ahead of them, you know?”

  “Is that all?” Annabelle questioned. “I don’t doubt you, but I think there’s more to it.”

  “There’s more,” Mason admitted quietly. “I’m not as amazing as your son, Annabelle.” He hesitated, searching for the words. “I don’t want to believe in any of this. I really don’t. But when I see everyone else believing, I feel like I have to prove them wrong. For my own sake. I know that’s selfish, but I need to prove them wrong. If I can’t, it means I’m the one who’s been living a lie.”

  “But what if you can’t prove them wrong?”

  “It might destroy me,” he confessed, “but it might also mean there’s hope. I don’t want to be wrong, but I have to know the truth. This thing I’m chasing—it might even redeem me.”

>   Annabelle sucked in a shaky breath. “You can’t change the past, Mason. And it sounds to me like you want to be right even when you’re wrong. But I understand how you feel. You came here to escape. Seems like you can’t, though. Not until you put what’s haunting you to rest.”

  “What about you?” Mason asked. “Do you believe?”

  Annabelle nodded. “My son believed. And if he did, then I do too.”

  She padded over to an old wooden desk in the corner of the lounge and forced one of the drawers open with a rough jerk. After rummaging through, she found what she was looking for and came over to Mason.

  “Here,” she offered, handing him what appeared to be a folded map. “Mathias’s old hiking trails. The more he got into the fable, the more time he spent in the woods. Everyone’ll tell you the forest’s impossible to get through, but no one knows that place like my Matty did. If you get lost, these might help you.”

  Mason stared down at the ratty old paper in his hand. “Thank you, Annabelle. You don’t know how much this means to me. But why are you helping me?”

  “I don’t want to see anyone else get hurt, Mason.” The words were cryptic, but after seeing the meeting in the church, he knew what she meant. She stepped forward and wrapped her arm around him in a tight embrace, her warmth sinking into him.

  “I hope whatever you find in those woods brings you peace, Mason.”

  30

  Miya

  There was something familiar, peaceful, yet deeply unsettling about the forest. Like a dream Miya couldn’t quite remember, it drowned her in emotions she didn’t understand—feelings that had no words to describe them, like an overpowering wave of nostalgia that was warm, pleasant, yet uncanny.

  It wasn’t as though she’d never stepped foot in the forest. She grew up surrounded by it. But as she floated between the ground and sky, suspended in a living maze, she had no idea where she was. She wasn’t even sure how much time had passed since she’d gone with Ama, but the sun was still high. How long ago did she leave the hospital? Part of her screamed it was time to go home—that night was supposed to have fallen hours ago, but she didn’t feel hungry, and she didn’t need the bathroom. With her perception and her internal clock scrambled, her only anchor was that Kai hadn’t come looking for her. If he wasn’t panicking, Miya doubted she needed to.

  Ama was a few paces ahead, and like Kai, she seemed perfectly oriented. Miya took her in, scrutinizing her idiosyncrasies—the way she moved, how she reacted to sounds and smells. She was like Kai, but there was a sense of cohesion about her that he lacked. Like she already had herself figured out.

  “So, you’re a wolf?” Miya asked.

  “That I am.” Ama smiled, weaving through several trees before she stopped in front of Miya. She leaned in, peering into her like she was reaching down into her soul to see what it was made of. “Are you worried I’m one of her wolves?”

  Her tone was wry like she knew something Miya didn’t—something Miya should have known.

  “I don’t know.” Miya tilted her chin up in defiance. “But I feel like I know you, or you know me.”

  Ama pulled back, then circled her again. “We’ve met before.”

  Her eyes drew Miya in, the space between the two women melting away. Miya’s attention drifted to Ama’s hair—beautiful, silvery strands she’d never expect on a young woman. Miya wondered if she was a white wolf, but it was her warm, amber eyes that captivated her most—large, curious, and full of life. She recalled the wolf from long ago, whose eyes remained etched in memory. They too captivated her, filled her with wonder.

  “Oh my god—” Miya clamped a hand over her mouth as Ama smiled knowingly. “You’re—”

  “You were just a peanut then,” Ama laughed. “But fearless. You were barely fazed when you saw me.”

  Miya’s heart danced; she finally found her—the wolf from her childhood. “Have you always been watching me?”

  Ama nodded but offered nothing further.

  “Why?”

  “I was told to keep an eye on you.”

  “By whom?”

  “A friend,” said Ama. “But that’s not what you care about most right now, is it?”

  Miya felt the heat rise to her cheeks. “What do you mean?”

  A sly smile spread over Ama’s face. “It’s all right. He’s not all bad. Kai, that is.”

  “I have concerns,” Miya cleared her throat, “like his connection to missing girls from Black Hollow. He said he’s got nothing to do with it. I believe him. But it’s too bizarre to just shrug off. I wish I knew why he keeps repeating the same cycle, you know?”

  “I think you’ll find out soon.” Ama canted her head as though listening to something far away. “It’s time to go.”

  A disappointed whimper slipped out. There was so much more she wanted to know. “But you haven’t even told me who this friend is, or why they’ve asked you to watch me! What do you mean I’ll find out soon?”

  “The one responsible for this mess is on the move.”

  Miya found herself sinking, disoriented, but before she could steamroll Ama with questions, the white wolf ventured onward.

  Wasn’t the cabin back the other way?

  Miya opened her mouth, but the words wouldn’t formulate, so she followed, fearing she’d be left behind. She barely noticed when they ended up back at Kai’s cabin.

  It looked different now.

  There was a strange, mist-like quality to the air—a stillness, heavy like smog as the daylight dimmed, then disappeared altogether. It wasn’t dark out—there just wasn’t any sun. Everything was dusky, opaque, faded like an oil painting left in the attic too long.

  More troubling was the lack of movement inside. She expected Kai to burst out the door, yelling obscenities or at least lunging at Ama’s throat and trying to tear it out in a grizzly display of dominance. But there was nothing—not even a rustle or a creak.

  Ama walked up to the door, her hand staying on the knob. She looked over her shoulder at Miya. “Something’s wrong.”

  The door slowly chirred open. Miya’s eyes followed the sound until they fell on a shadow in the corner of the room. It was Kai, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, his knees pulled up and his elbows resting on them. His shoulders were slumped, his head hanging as though he was unconscious. The sound of their entry failed to inspire even a twitch.

  As Miya stepped past the doorframe, he jolted—his face pale, his eyes bloodshot and wild with a touch of madness. He looked right at her, his gaze digging into her like the barrel of a loaded gun. And yet, he appeared to see neither of the women. He was looking straight through them, at something beyond, from someplace else.

  “Kai?” called Miya, but she received no response. Kai remained motionless, unblinking, his expression frozen in agony while the rest of him held like a hollowed shell ready to topple with the breeze.

  “He can’t hear you,” said Ama, her eyes locked on him and her body language guarded. The hair on her arms stood on end, and Miya knew they were in danger.

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  “He’s being haunted.”

  “What?” Miya snapped. “You mean by a ghost?”

  Ama smiled sourly. “We typically use the term metaphorically, but yes, in this case, I do mean something supernatural. Not exactly a ghost, though.”

  A harrowing snarl erupted from the back wall. Kai collapsed to the floor, clawing at the hardwood until his fingernails bled. Miya couldn’t see his face, but his every muscle convulsed. His back arched until he began to heave, vomiting something black and tarry onto the floor. The putrid smell reached Miya on the other side of the cabin.

  She rushed over and planted a hand on his shoulder. It was like touching a hot stove, her fingertips burning until she snatched her hand back to safety. For a moment, she could feel everything—the pain, the terror, the confusion—the desire to let go and fall into the inferno. As though rebelling against whatever force held him, Kai curl
ed into a fetal position and clutched his knees to his chest. He was barely clinging on. Sooner or later, the dam would break.

  “You won’t be able to reach him from the outside.” It was Ama, approaching her from behind. Their history aside, Miya wanted to blame her, to call her out for backing away the moment there was danger, but she held her tongue. Ama could know how to help.

  “You’re keeping away,” Miya observed. “Why?”

  “Angry spirits are not to be trifled with,” she replied, maintaining her distance. “I wanted to see how it would react if someone approached.”

  Miya wondered if Ama had truly been watching over her, or just watching. “So you let me be the guinea pig?”

  She shrugged. “You volunteered quite eagerly.”

  “How do we help him?” Miya demanded.

  Ama considered her, then looked down at Kai—a mess of tremors and guttural snarls, bile oozing out the side of his mouth as he battled whatever was inside him. “You need to fight it from the inside.”

  “How!” Miya slapped her palm to the floor, exasperated by her curtness.

  “Move from this realm to the next.”

  Miya shifted her weight, noticing droplets of sweat licking the side of Kai’s face. “Which realm is that?”

  “The one where you go to when you sleep.”

  Miya wrinkled her brow. “You mean dreams?”

  “Something like that.”

  What did that mean? “Why do I have to do it?”

  “Because I can’t. And even if I could, I don’t care enough for him to put myself at risk.” Ama squatted down beside her, dipping her head close and wriggling her nose as though trying to catch a particular scent. “Besides, it’s quite easy to get lost wandering the dreamscape.”

  At these words, Miya’s chest tightened. This had happened to her before.

  “Are you sure you want to help him?” Ama’s snide humour dissipated.

  Miya questioned if she really wanted to leap in headfirst. Motivation wasn’t her strong suit lately; she was a picture of powerlessness, locking away her fears to avoid confronting them. But there was no time for helplessness now, and she was sick of being at the mercy of things outside her control. Seeing Kai in such unbearable pain shifted something inside her. She realized suffering was a perspective driven by fear. Pain, however, was a reality. If she could uncover the truth Kai couldn’t speak, maybe she could change that reality.