Hollow Pines

Chapter 1

We moved to Hollow Pines just three weeks ago. The whole neighborhood looks like it’s straight out of a model town: identical houses, matching mailboxes, lawns trimmed to perfection. Everyone waves. Everyone smiles. It was my brother Tomás’s idea. —It’s quiet, safe… Great school districts, he told me. Funny thing is, neither of us has kids. Tomás moved in first, just a street over. A week after he settled, he called me: —You gotta come, man. These people are unbelievably nice. And they were. Too nice. My first week was… uneventful. Lucía, the neighbor across the street, brought banana bread. An old man with thick glasses lent me his lawnmower. I skipped the welcome party. But after a few days, Tomás stopped answering his phone. I figured he was pulling one of his stunts—disappearing without warning—but by the third day, I got worried. I walked to his house. The porch light was on. His car was still parked. The curtains, drawn. I rang the bell. Pounded on the door. Nothing. Across the street, three neighbors stood frozen in their yards. Not looking at me. Just… there. I left. Filed a missing person’s report. The cops shrugged. —He’s an adult. Maybe he just took off, they said. I went back at night. Climbed in through a side window. Everything was in order. Too orderly. The TV remote on the couch. A mug of cold coffee on the counter. His phone still charging. Then I saw the notebook. A yellow legal pad, open on the table. Names handwritten—some crossed out, others underlined. One circled in red. At the top of the page, a hastily scribbled note: “They all attend the meetings.” And at the bottom: a phone number. No name. I texted it. No reply. Until hours later. A message. 🕷️ One word: “Careful.” The next morning, I found a note under my pillow: “Let him go. He’s at peace now. You will be soon.” I texted the number again. Finally, someone replied. His name was Elías. He said Tomás had been investigating a cult in Hollow Pines. That he’d found proof—recorded things he shouldn’t have. He sent me a scanned newspaper clipping: “Six vanish in northern subdivision. No suspects.” I decided to check the notebook again. “Only one of them is in the newspaper photo,” Elías told me. “And he’s there every Sunday. If you figure out who it is, you’ll know you’re close to the truth.” Now, I challenge you to help me uncover who’s tied to the cult.

Chapter 2

The notebook didn’t lie. Lucía. Frequency: every Sunday. Organizer. Always smiling. Too perfect. When I saw her name in the notebook, something clicked. Like a hidden memory unlocking in my mind. I remembered the newspaper photo. Her smile. How she’d been at the welcome party… and at my door on the first day. My phone buzzed. A message from the unknown number: “You know. You’ve seen enough. Get out before the next meeting.” I looked out the window. Lucía was crossing the street. Smiling. Holding a plate of cookies. I didn’t answer the door. I went to the basement. Grabbed a flashlight, my backpack, a pocketknife, and Tomás’s hand-drawn map of Hollow Pines. In one corner, scrawled in red ink: “The gate.” I headed for the shed at the edge of the neighborhood—the same one I’d run to after the fire. I moved low, ducking between hedges, avoiding the cameras I now knew were active. The gate was there. Black. Rusted. Covered in ivy. I pushed. It didn’t budge. Another message: “Check under the rock by Tomás’s mailbox.” I ran back. Terrified. The neighborhood was quieter than ever. I found the rock. Under it, a small black key with an engraved symbol: a circle with five spokes. I returned. The key fit. I turned it. A screech ripped through the silent woods. The gate opened. Then I heard it: distant chanting, a collective hum from the heart of the neighborhood. Voices in sync. Not words, not melody. Just… vibration. I didn’t look back. I ran.

Chapter 2

I messed up. I tapped a name in the notebook. Eduardo. Or maybe Sara. I don’t remember. What I do remember is feeling something watching me from behind the page. My phone screen flashed. A notification. From the same number. “They’re watching you now. No turning back.” A chill ran down my spine. I stood up. That’s when I noticed the neighborhood sounds had stopped. That constant background noise of Hollow Pines—sprinklers, overly cheerful birds, someone’s radio. Gone. Total silence. I closed the notebook. Tried the front door. Locked. I didn’t remember locking it. Went to the window I’d climbed through. Sealed. Bolted shut from the outside. I pounded. Screamed. No response. My phone vibrated again. “Stay tonight. They’ll only watch. You can still understand.” I turned around. A figure stood in the corner. Lucía. But… it wasn’t her. Pale skin. Eyes too wide. A smile that didn’t move. —You shouldn’t have looked, she said—without moving her lips. I ran to the hallway. It was full of neighbors. All still. All blocking the exit. They didn’t attack. Just surrounded me. —You’re one of us now, one said in a hollow voice. Everything went black. Or did it???

Chapter 3

We moved to Hollow Pines just four weeks ago. The whole place looks like a model town: identical houses, matching red mailboxes, lawns cut with laser precision. Everyone waves. Everyone smiles… and they all watch you as you walk by. It was my brother Tomás’s idea—the same Tomás you think you know by now. —It’s peaceful, safe… Great schools and the perfect spot for my work, he told me. Strange thing is, neither of us has kids. At least not that I remember. Tomás moved in first, a street over. A week later, he called: —You’ve gotta come, man. These people are incredibly kind. There’s something about them… And yeah, they were. Too kind. My first week was… dull. Lucía, the neighbor across the street, brought banana bread. At first, I couldn’t stop staring at her—thought she’d be fun to hook up with… but something about her smile felt off. An old man with thick glasses lent me his lawnmower… which I now realize I never returned. I skipped the welcome party… and I think I should’ve gone… But after a few days, Tomás stopped answering his phone. I figured he was pulling another disappearing act—but by day four, I got worried. I walked to his house. The porch light was on. His car still parked. Curtains closed. Rang the bell. Pounded the door. Nothing. Across the street, four neighbors stood frozen in their yards. Not looking at me. Just… there. I thought I saw Lucía among them… but it was too dark, and they were just shadows. I left. Filed a report. The cops shrugged. —He’s an adult. Maybe he left on his own, they said. I went back at night. Climbed in through a window. Everything was in place. Too perfect. The TV remote on the couch. A mug of cold tea on the counter. His phone on the table, battery low but still on… Then I saw a notebook. Damn… it felt familiar… A yellow legal pad, open on the table. Handwritten names—some crossed out, others underlined. One circled in red. At the top, scribbled in frantic handwriting: “They all attend the meetings.” And at the bottom: a phone number. No name. I texted it. No reply. Until hours later. A message. One word: “You never learn.” What did that mean? The next morning, a note under my pillow: “Let him go. He’s at peace now. Soon you will be too. No second chances.” I texted the number again. Finally, a reply. His name was Elías. Said Tomás had been investigating a cult in Hollow Pines. That he’d found evidence—recorded things he shouldn’t have. He sent me a scanned newspaper clipping: “Seven vanish in northern subdivision. No suspects.” And there she was. Lucía. Smiling, like always. I checked the notebook again. When I opened it—I don’t know how—every page was soaked in a red liquid that looked like blood… I had to clean it, fast, and pray the contents weren’t ruined…

Chapter 4

After cleaning what I could, I found what I needed… The notebook didn’t lie. Lucía. Frequency: every Sunday. Organizer. Always smiling. Too perfect. Seeing her name triggered something. Like a hidden memory unlocking. I remembered the newspaper photo. Her smile. How she’d been at the welcome party… and at my door on day one. My phone buzzed. A message: “You know. You’ve seen enough. Leave before the next meeting.” I looked outside. Lucía was crossing the street. Smiling. Holding a plate of cookies. I didn’t answer. I went to the basement. Grabbed a flashlight, my backpack, a knife, and Tomás’s map of Hollow Pines. In one corner, scrawled in red: “The gate.” I headed for the shed at the neighborhood’s edge—the same one I’d run to after the fire. I moved low, avoiding the cameras I now knew were watching. The gate was there. Black. Rusted. Covered in ivy. I pushed. It didn’t move. Another message: “Check under the rock by Tomás’s mailbox.” I ran back. Terrified. The neighborhood was dead silent. I found the rock. Under it, a small black key with an engraved symbol: a circle with five spokes. I returned. The key fit. I turned it. A metallic screech tore through the silent woods. The gate opened. Then I heard it: distant chanting, a humming chorus from the neighborhood’s center. Voices in sync. Not words. Just… vibration. I didn’t look back. I ran.