The village of Ballyclogh lies in a valley where
the land folds inward, as if the earth itself
resists being seen. A single road winds through
it, flanked by stone walls and fields that never
yield more than what is needed. The air smells
of peat and damp wool. No one speaks of the
Hollowing, but everyone knows it.
The estate agent arrives in a black Ford Focus,
her name tag reading "Maeve O’Rourke – Property
Solutions." She has no idea why she was sent
here, only that the commission is high and the
paperwork is clean. The house she’s tasked with
selling sits on the edge of the village, its
windows dark, its door sealed with a rusted iron
lock.
She finds a key under a loose flagstone in the
garden. Inside, the walls are lined with shelves
of dried herbs and glass jars filled with
strange powders. A map hangs on the wall, marked
with lines that twist into a spiral. The
floorboards creak when she steps on them, and
the air grows colder.
That night, she hears voices in the walls. Not
in the house, but in the earth itself. They
speak in a language older than Gaelic, a rhythm
of wind and stone. She follows the sound to the
cellar, where a stone door opens without touch.
Beyond it, a tunnel leads downward, lit by
bioluminescent moss.
She descends. The tunnel opens into a chamber
where people live in silence, their faces pale,
their eyes reflecting the glow of the moss. They
do not speak, but they show her a ritual: a
circle of stones, a jar of soil, a vow written
in ash. The Hollowing is not a myth—it is a pact.
The villagers trade their memories for safety,
their voices for the land’s protection.
Maeve returns to the surface, but the house is
gone. In its place stands a stone circle, the
same as in the chamber. The villagers gather,
their expressions unreadable. They offer her a
choice: join them, or leave and forget. She
refuses both. Instead, she takes a vial of soil
from the circle and buries it in her garden.
The next morning, the village is empty. The
roads are overgrown. The only sign of life is a
single white gate, slightly ajar. Maeve walks
through it, and the land shifts around her. The
valley opens into a new landscape, where the old
rules no longer apply. She is alone, but not
forgotten. The Hollowing is not a curse—it is a
beginning.
