Description

Uncover the chilling truth behind the urban legend of the Hollow Man. When a vigilante enters a haunted asylum to hunt a monster, he discovers a horrifying secret about his own past. A dark psychological horror story that will leave you questioning what is real.

Full Story

The moonlight bled through the trees, casting long, monstrous shadows across the overgrown path. The air was thick with the scent of decay and whispers—a symphony of phantom voices from nowhere. Ahead, the asylum stood as a jagged silhouette, its crumbling walls blanketed in ivy and its shattered windows like empty sockets.

You clutched the cold knife, your heart a drum against your ribs. Your mission: to hunt down the Hollow Man. For months, he had been the subject of creepy true stories and urban legends, leaving a trail of mutilated bodies and hollowed-out graves. The police were useless, but you, Adrian, a self-proclaimed vigilante, had the courage they lacked. This was your scary story.

The rusty gates of the asylum groaned open. The graveyard lay beyond, a field of tilted headstones. You stepped inside, your boots crunching on the gravel as the whispers intensified. You had learned to ignore these voices, a constant echo from your darkest dreams.

The asylum’s doors were ajar, splintered and rotting. The interior was a labyrinth of peeling wallpaper and grotesque symbols carved into the stone. Debris littered the floor: shattered glass, broken furniture, and so many bones. The coppery scent of blood hung in the air, a chilling prelude to what was to come.

You moved cautiously, a knot of dread tightening in your stomach. The Hollow Man was here. You could feel his presence in the shifting shadows and the way the air grew colder as you descended into the asylum’s lower levels. The whispers became a deafening chorus, pulling you toward a door covered in the same strange symbols you had seen on the walls.

With a final, bone-chilling creak, the door swung open. Inside was a macabre spectacle: shelves lined with jars containing fleshy organs and a blood-stained table. Lying on the table was the body of the Hollow Man, gaunt and pale, his eyes hollow, his mouth twisted into a grotesque smile.

“You’ve come,” he rasped, his voice a low growl. “I’ve been waiting for you, Adrian.”

Your blood ran cold. How did he know your name?

His smile widened. “You don’t remember, do you? What you did?”

A wave of fragmented memories flooded your mind, memories you had buried deep in your subconscious. The asylum. The experiments. The screaming. You were never the hero of this asylum horror story. You were a patient here, a broken boy who fought back and killed everyone.

The Hollow Man was not a monster; he was a manifestation of your own darkest impulses. “I am you,” he whispered, his voice an echo inside your mind.

You screamed, a desperate cry lost in the asylum’s deafening silence. The walls seemed to close in, and then, mercifully, there was nothing.

You awoke in the graveyard, the asylum reduced to rubble. The Hollow Man was gone. But as you stood, the whispers returned, faint and unmistakable, no longer from the outside—they were coming from within. You had become the monster.