Chapter 4: The Hollow One
Clara didn't sleep that night.
Not a wink.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the reflection—the smiling mouth, the twisting shadow, the cracked surface of the mirror. It wasn't just her mind playing tricks anymore. The shadow had crossed over from the other side, and now it lingered in her world, hungry, waiting for something more.
And it was waiting for her.
By morning, she was barely holding on. Her eyes burned from exhaustion, her thoughts jumbled like broken glass in her head. She wanted to tell herself it was over, that the ritual had worked, that the thing in the mirror was contained. But she knew better.
Her shadow was still there.
It followed her everywhere. It never left. Not even when she stepped outside into the sun.
That wasn't how shadows were supposed to behave.
By mid-afternoon, the exhaustion had set in so deeply that Clara couldn't stop herself from visiting the library again. She'd tried to distract herself earlier by cleaning the apartment—removing every mirror, even the small compact in her purse—but nothing helped. The air still felt thick, heavy, as though the shadow was breathing through the walls.
Harper was there, in the back corner of the library, working through stacks of old texts, hunched over, oblivious to the world. When Clara walked in, Harper looked up, startled.
"Clara, I—"
But Clara was already on her way to the stacks.
"I have to find something," Clara muttered, her voice barely a whisper.
"Find what?" Harper called after her.
But Clara didn't answer.
The library was dark and quiet, the smell of old paper and dust thick in the air. Clara's fingers brushed over the spines of the books, but none of them seemed right. She was looking for something—anything—that could explain what had happened to her shadow. What it was. Why it was hunting her.
Her eyes scanned the shelves desperately. Her shadow stretched across the floor in an unnatural way—longer, twisted. As though it had a life of its own.
Then she found it.
A book titled The Hollow Ones.
She pulled it from the shelf, fingers trembling. The cover was ancient, faded, but the title burned into her mind. It felt like a sign. Like something had led her to this moment.
Clara opened it.
Inside, the pages were yellowed with age, written in a language that was barely legible. But there, in the middle of the book, was a drawing—an engraving of a shadow, not human, but something darker, more grotesque. Its features were twisted, its form bent and unnatural. The caption read:
The Hollow One—A being of shadow, cast away from its creator, a fragment of self lost to the void.
Clara's breath caught in her throat. It couldn't be. But it had to be. She flipped the pages desperately, trying to find more.
A voice beside her startled her.
"Clara, don't." Harper's voice was low, pained. "I don't think you're ready to know."
Clara looked up, eyes wide. "Harper, I have to know. It's trying to—"
"I know what it's trying to do." Harper's face was pale, her eyes hollow. She looked almost as if she hadn't slept in days, though Clara knew she had. "But the Hollow Ones—"
She trailed off, the words stuck in her throat.
Clara's mind raced. "What? What about them?"
"The Hollow Ones aren't just shadows," Harper said, her voice almost a whisper. "They're the lost fragments of people. Pieces of souls that broke off, separated from their hosts. They're not meant to exist on their own. They wander, searching for something to latch onto. They need someone. They feed on their creator's energy. And they'll take it, piece by piece, until they've consumed everything."
Clara felt the blood drain from her face. "You mean…"
Harper nodded, her eyes dark. "It's been with you for a long time. Longer than you think. It's been feeding off your fear, your doubt, your pain. It's growing stronger."
Clara recoiled, her heart pounding in her chest. "How do I stop it?"
Harper shook her head, her expression bleak. "You can't. Not really."
"Then what? Do I just wait for it to take me?"
"No. But you need to understand what it really is." Harper took the book from Clara's hands, her fingers brushing Clara's skin. "The Hollow One is a reflection of everything you've tried to forget. The part of you that isn't whole. It's the things you've buried deep inside, and now it wants to come back. It wants to take you."
Clara's voice broke. "But it is me. It's my shadow. It's supposed to be mine."
"Not anymore," Harper said softly, "It's more than that now. And once it takes what it needs from you, it won't stop. It'll leave nothing behind."
Clara felt her knees buckle, but she caught herself against the bookshelf. She needed air. She needed to breathe.
"Do you know where it came from?" Clara asked.
Harper didn't answer at first. But when she did, her voice was barely above a whisper.
"It was the moment you looked into the mirror. The moment you saw it. That's when it crossed over. When you looked, you gave it a piece of yourself. And now… it wants everything."
Clara couldn't stop shaking.
The room felt too small, the air too thick. She needed to leave. But the shadow was already there, waiting for her, growing closer, its presence closing in.
"I need to leave," Clara said. "I can't stay here."
Harper didn't try to stop her. She didn't move.
But as Clara turned to leave, she saw it—just for a moment—a figure standing in the shadows between the rows of bookshelves.
Not Harper.
But something that looked like her.
It had no face.
And it smiled.
To be continued