Prologue
Hollow Creek wasn’t just shrouded in mystery—it was a wound stitched shut with silence, festering beneath layers of denial. Nestled deep within the fog-choked valleys of the Blue Mountains, its rugged peaks weren’t protective sentinels; they were the jagged teeth of something ancient, waiting to devour. The town’s history wasn’t whispered—it was buried alive, scratching at the coffin lid of collective memory, desperate to be heard.
Generations lived and died here, bound by invisible chains of secrets so deeply ingrained they became part of the bloodline. The streets weren’t paved with cobblestone—they were laid over bones, the echoes of forgotten screams trapped beneath crumbling homes. Hollow Creek didn’t age; it decayed, and the decay seeped into the souls of those who dared to stay.
