Page 89 of Hollow

I slowly raise my head and look. There is light streaming in from under my door. It flickers in and out, so someone must have the fire going.

What time is it? The middle of the night? How long was I asleep?

After the incident with the drunk at the bonfire, we decided to leave. It wasn’t just that he ruined the mood, more that Mary was sincerely worried about the murderer still at large and thought the earlier we headed back home, the better. She made a joke about me being a witch, and so I’d have a better chance at protecting myself if I wanted to stay behind, but the joke fell flat. Because somehow, I think my being a witch makes things worse. It makes me a target.

Needless to say, she dropped me off at home early, and I went straight to bed while she went straight home to deliver the treats to Mathias. My mother was just leaving with Famke—they decided to go to the bonfire after all and said they would be back late.

Now I have no idea what time it is and—

Katrina. Kat.

Kat.

There it is again.

That voice.

Unlike any voice I have heard before. Low and guttural and yet also a whisper. It makes my scalp prickle, sending sickly shivers down my spine.

Then I hear a thump. Another thump.

The sound of footsteps inside the house. They echo, shaking the floorboards that reach under my door. Whoever is out there is coming straight for me.

They stop outside my door.

I try and sit up, pull my sheets over my body, but I can’t.

I can’t move at all.

I’m stuck, frozen, paralyzed. I can only stare as the doorknob turns.

I gasp, but no air moves. It’s like I can’t even breathe.

The door opens slowly, inch by inch, with a low, long creak.

Until it reveals a man standing on the other side.

He is seven feet tall, and he has no head.

I open my mouth to scream.

I can’t.

I try to get out of bed.

I can’t move.

I can only watch in pure, utter horror as the man places something down by the door and slowly walks across my bedroom toward me. This giant man in a black cloak that seems to blend with the shadows. This man with no head.

Unlike the other times I had seen him—in the void, on the trail—I don’t get the sense that he’s looking for someone else. Instead, I know he’s looking for me.

Katrina Van Tassel, he says, his voice flowing through the air and over my body like the wind. It settles over me, a physical thing, ripe with desire, and I see him reach down to his crotch, stroking something large and long and dark as sin.

I open my mouth to cry out, but nothing, there’s nothing. My scream is choked in my throat, and I can’t even breathe as he stops in front of me. With a raise of his other hand, the bedsheets are ripped right off me, leaving me exposed in my nightgown.

I don’t know what to do. I can’t defend myself; I can’t call for help. I’m prey caught in a trap, and he’s the hunter coming to finish me off.

It’s like he was saving me for last.