Echoes of the Hollow Episode 3: The Forest Walks
Bee woke in the dark, drenched in sweat. The sheets clung to her skin. Bonbon and Boba were still curled at the foot of the bed, breathing slow and steady.
Something had stirred her, though she couldn’t say what. She pushed herself up, body heavy with sleep, and wandered to the window. Outside, the world was still. The orchard was wrapped in mist, the trees faint outlines.
And there, beyond them, stood the same antlered creature she’d seen on the road. It glowed faintly, as if holding light inside its ribs. She didn’t wake her grandparents. She didn’t even change. Still barefoot, still in her thin pyjamas, she stepped outside.
The deer — if that’s what it was — met her gaze. Then it turned and moved into the woods.
She followed.
Grass slicked her feet. The ground was soft and uneven. The deeper she walked, the stranger the forest became. The air thickened, damp and green. Light filtered through the trees in shifting blue tones, as if she had stepped underwater.
Shapes moved at the edge of her vision, too fast to name, too quiet to follow. Small lights hovered between the branches. Not fireflies. They moved like they were choosing where to look.
Then, a clearing.
She stumbled forward and stopped.
The construction site lay quiet beneath a sheet of mist. Machines stood like sleeping giants. The land was raw and wounded, trees broken, roots exposed. The smell of cut earth clung to everything. At the edge of the clearing, pale figures drifted. Not men. Not animals. Something else. They didn’t speak. They simply watched her, as if uncertain she should be there. The antlered creature stepped forward. Another figure met it in the centre of the site, dim and flickering like it was struggling to stay. The glowing creature pressed its head gently to the fading one. There was no sound.
Something inside Bee tightened.
She didn’t understand what she was seeing, but the feeling that rose in her was sharp and sudden. It felt like grief, but not hers. Older, quieter, deeper.
She stepped back. Then again.
She turned and made her way through the trees. The lights behind her faded. The air warmed slightly. Her feet were wet with dew. She slipped back through the door and into the guest room. Bonbon shifted at the foot of the bed. Boba let out a soft sigh. Bee lay down without brushing the leaves from her feet. The pillow was cool against her cheek.
She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, morning had arrived. The house creaked gently. Someone was moving in the kitchen.
She sat up slowly, unsure if she had ever left.
Bonbon stretched. Boba yawned.
“Sleep well?” her grandmother asked, turning from the stove with the kettle in hand.
Bee nodded.
She didn’t mention the deer. Or the lights. Or the wound in the ground. But part of her still felt damp with forest air. And her thoughts hadn’t left the trees.
ARTIST: KIRA GUERTLER
