Speaker 1: Calarogu Shark Media, Hello and welcome to Ghost Scary Stories.
This episode is titled Veil's Edge, The Unraveling of Hollow Creek,
Episode five. The Hollow Men.
Speaker 2: Identity such a fragile concept, a collection of memories, experiences, beliefs.
But what happens when those things begin to shift, to change,
when the very essence of who you are becomes fluid.
I'm not sure who's speaking to you now. The voice
is that of Arthur Blackwood, yes, but the thoughts behind
it they belong to something else, something vast and ancient
and terrifyingly new. Hollow Creek is changing, or perhaps it's
revealing its true nature at life. The people, oh, the people.
They walk and talk as they always have, But there's
something missing now, a vital spark, a crucial element of
humanity that's been hollowed out. It started with small things.
Old man Jenkins forgot how to tie his shoes, Sarah
Holloway couldn't remember her son's name. But then then it
got worse. I watched as Mayor Gladwell gave a speech
in the town square yesterday. His words were perfect, his
gestures precise, but his eyes, his eyes were empty, devoid
of anything resembling genuine emotion or thought. And as he spoke,
I saw the crowd slowly change. Their expressions became blank,
their postures too stiff, too uniform. By the end of
the speech, they moved as one, a perfect, synchronous mass
of humanity that was anything but human. And at the
center of it all that symbol, the one from the woods.
It hung in the air, invisible yet palpable, pulsing in
time with their movements. I ran, I'm not proud of it,
but I ran back to my church, my sanctuary. But
even here I'm not safe, not from myself, you see,
dear listeners, I'm changing too. Memories that aren't my own
flood my mind with every passing moment. I remember the
founding of Hollow Creek centuries ago. I remember wars and
plagues and times of plenty. I remember other things, things
that happened in the spaces between moments, in realities that
brush against our own like silk against skin. And I
remember what I am, what we all are. Hollow Creek
isn't just a town. It's a nexus, a point where
multiple realities converge, and we its inhabitants We're not just people.
We're possibilities, versions of ourselves from countless different timelines, all
existing simultaneously in this one fragile point of space and time.
But something has gone wrong. The delicate balance that kept
these realities separate is breaking down, and as it does,
we're merging, becoming hollow shells filled with fragments of countless lives.
I visited the Holloway House today. Timothy was there, but
he wasn't Timothy, not entirely. He spoke with the voice
of a child, yes, but his words, his words were
those of something ancient and vast. It's starting, he said,
his eyes swirling with colors that shouldn't exist, the convergence.
Soon we'll all remember what we truly are. Sarah stood
in the kitchen, methodically cutting vegetables that weren't there. Her
movements were perfect, precise, but her eyes were as empty
as the mayre's had been, as empty as old man Jenkins's.
As he tied and untied his shoes on his front porch,
over and over and over again. I tried to help
to snap them out of it, but with every word
I spoke, I felt myself slipping further away. Memories cascaded
through my mind, memories of being Sarah, of being Timothy,
of being every person in Hollow Creek, across a thousand lifetimes,
and behind it all, something waits, something that exists in
the spaces between realities, something that's been waiting for this moment,
for an eternity. I stumbled back to the church, my
mind reeling. The stained glass windows seemed to move, the
figures within them, shifting and changing. For a moment, I
saw myself depicted there, not as a reverend, but as
something more, something with too many eyes and too many
limbs wrapped around the very fabric of reality. I blinked
and it was gone, but the memory lingered, as real
and vivid as any I've ever had. The symbol is
everywhere now. I see it in the arrangement of fallen leaves,
in the cracks on the sidewalk, in the very constellations themselves.
It pulses with a life of its own, growing stronger
with each passing moment, and I am beginning to understand it.
The knowledge deeps into my mind like water into parched earth.
It's a key, you see, a key to unlocking the
barriers between realities, and once those barriers fall. I'm afraid,
dear listeners, not for myself. I'm not sure there's enough
of myself left to fear for, but for what's coming,
For what we might become when the last vestiges of
our individual identities are stripped away, leaving only the vast,
cosmic truth of our existence. The church bells are ringing,
though I haven't touched them. Their sound is wrong, discordant,
as if they're ringing in multiple realities at once, the
sounds overlapping and intertwining in impossible ways. Outside, I can
hear the townspeople gathering. Their movements are synchronized. Their voices
are perfect unison as they chant words in a language
that's both familiar and alien. They're coming for me, or
perhaps I'm coming for them. It's so hard to tell
the difference anymore. The door is opening now I see faces,
so many faces, all familiar, all strange, all wearing expressions
that are identical in their blankness. And behind them. Oh oh,
I see now, I understand, Dear listeners. I wish I
could explain what I'm seeing, but human language is woefully
inadequate to describe the truth of our reality, of all realities.
Speaker 1: Know this though.
Speaker 2: Hollow Creek was never just a town. It was a crucible,
a place where the boundaries between what is and what
could be were always thinner than they should be. And
now those boundaries are collapsing entirely. We are becoming something new,
something that exists in all possible states simultaneously. Hollow men
filled with the infinite possibilities of existence. And I I
am both the creator and the created, the alpha and
the omega. I am Arthur Blackwood, and I am Hollow Creek,
and I am something for which no name has ever existed.
The symbol flares in my mind, burning away the last
vestiges of my humanity. I can feel myself expanding, encompassing
not just this reality, but all realities, every possible version
of Hollow Creek, of myself, of every person who ever
lived here, all coalescing into a singular entity that defies comprehension.
Is this transcendence or is it oblivion? Perhaps they're one
and the same. The flood of cosmic awareness threatens to
overwhelm me entirely, but with my last shred of individuality,
I offer this final warning. Reality is not what you
think it is. Identity is an illusion, and in the
spaces between what is and what could be, something vast
and hungry weights. Beware the hollow men, dear listeners, for
we are coming. We are already here, we have always
been here, and now at last we remember what we
truly are. This is Arthur Blackwood, or what remains of him,
signing off for the last time from the edge of infinity. Goodbye,
dear listeners, and beware your own reflections, for you too
might be closer to hollowness than you realize.
Speaker 1: Ghost is a Calorogus Shark Media production written and hosted
by Alexander Ian McIntyre, produced by Mark Francis. Executive producers
Mark Francis and John McDermott. Portions of this podcast may
have been created with the disistance of AI. This show,
along with hundreds of others from Calaroga Shark Media, is
available commercial free on any player hassel free. Just look
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