MidnightScreams

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You stand at the edge of the forest, the moonlight casting long, jagged shadows across the overgrown path. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and decay, and the wind carries with it the faint sound of whispers—voices that seem to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. Ahead of you looms the asylum, its crumbling walls covered in ivy and its windows shattered like the eyes of a skull.

You tighten your grip on the knife in your hand, the cold metal biting into your palm. You’ve come here for one reason: to find him. The Hollow Man.

The name sends a shiver down your spine. For months, the Hollow Man has terrorized the nearby towns, leaving behind a trail of mutilated bodies and hollowed-out graves. The police are useless, too afraid to venture into the asylum where he is said to hide. But you are not afraid. You are Adrian, a young vigilante with a brave heart and a burning need for justice.

The gates of the asylum creak open as you push them, the sound echoing through the silent night. The graveyard lies just beyond, its headstones tilted and cracked, their inscriptions worn away by time. You step inside, your boots crunching on the gravel path. The whispers grow louder, more insistent, but you ignore them. You’ve heard voices before—in your dreams, in the dark corners of your mind—but you’ve learned to shut them out.

The asylum’s doors are ajar, the wood splintered and rotting. You step inside, the air thick with the stench of mildew and something else—something metallic, coppery. Blood.

The interior is a labyrinth of crumbling hallways and empty rooms, the walls covered in peeling wallpaper and strange symbols carved into the stone. The floor is littered with debris—broken furniture, shattered glass, and bones. So many bones.

You move cautiously, your senses on high alert. The Hollow Man is here. You can feel it in the air, in the way the shadows seem to shift and writhe when you’re not looking directly at them.

The whispers grow louder as you descend into the lower levels of the asylum, the air growing colder with each step. The walls are damp here, the stone slick with moisture. You pass by cells, their iron bars rusted and bent, and you can’t shake the feeling that you’re being watched.

And then you see it.

At the end of the hallway is a door, its surface covered in the same symbols you’ve seen carved into the walls. The whispers are deafening now, a cacophony of voices that seem to be coming from behind the door.

You approach cautiously, your heart pounding in your chest. The door is unlocked, and it swings open with a creak that sends a chill down your spine.

Inside is a room unlike any you’ve seen before. The walls are lined with shelves, each one filled with jars containing strange, fleshy objects. In the center of the room is a table, its surface stained with blood. And on the table is a body—or what’s left of it.

The Hollow Man.


He is tall and gaunt, his skin pale as death and his eyes hollow, empty sockets. His mouth is twisted into a grotesque smile, and his hands are stained with blood. He turns to face you, his movements slow and deliberate.

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

You freeze, your blood turning to ice. How does he know your name?

The Hollow Man steps closer, his smile widening. “You don’t remember, do you? You don’t remember what you did.”

Your mind races, trying to make sense of his words. What is he talking about?

And then it hits you.

The memories come flooding back—memories you’ve buried deep within your mind. The asylum. The experiments. The screams.

You were a patient here, once. A young boy, broken and forgotten. They did things to you—terrible things—and you fought back. You killed them. All of them.

The Hollow Man is not a serial killer. He is a part of you, a manifestation of your darkest impulses.

“You can’t escape me, Adrian,” he says, his voice echoing in your mind. “I am you.”

You scream, the sound tearing through the silence of the asylum. The walls seem to close in around you, the whispers becoming a deafening roar.

And then, silence.

You wake up in the graveyard, the sun just beginning to rise. The asylum is gone, reduced to rubble. The Hollow Man is gone, too—or so you think.

But as you stand there, the whispers return, faint but unmistakable.

They are coming from inside you.