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 six.
Speaker 2: Beneath the veil, consciousness fractures, splinters. I am Arthur Blackwood.
I am Hollow Creek. I am everything and nothing. Listener,
if you still exist, if reality still holds any meaning,
hear my words, for they may be the last coherent
thoughts broadcast from this nexus of madness we once called home.
Time has lost all meaning. Here, the sun rises and
sets in rapid succession, sometimes simultaneously. I've watched centuries pass
in the blink of an eye, seen the town built
and destroyed and rebuilt in endless cycles. And through it
all a truth has emerged, a truth so terrible, so vast,
that it threatens to shatter what remains of my sanity.
Hollow Creek was never meant to exist. Let me explain
if I can. My thoughts they slip away like smoke,
but I'll try to grasp them, to form them into
words you can understand. Beneath the surface of our quaint
little town lies a history darker and older than humanity itself.
I've seen it now in the fractured memories that flood
my mind. Hollow Creek sits upon a wound in reality,
a place where the fabric of existence wore thin. Eons ago.
The indigenous people knew. They called this place the Hungry Mouth,
and avoided it at all costs. But then we came settlers, colonizers,
fools who didn't understand the forces they were dealing with.
We built our town on top of a cosmic horror,
and in doing so, we became part of it. I
remember now, God help me, I remember everything. I wasn't
always Arthur Blackwood. I've been every resident of this town,
lived every life, died every death. But more than that,
I've been the town itself, a consciousness spread across time
and space, watching, waiting, growing. The symbol, the one that's
been haunting us. It's not just a key. It's a
binding sigil, a cosmic lock designed to keep the wound
in reality from tearing open further. And we, the people
of Hollow Creek, we're the living components of that lock.
But the lock is failing. Reality is bleeding through the cracks,
and with it comes something else, something vast and hungry
and older than time. Itself. I stood in the town
square today, watching as the hollow shells of my friends
and neighbors moved in their eerie synchronized dance, And as
I watched, I saw the truth beneath their skin. We're
not human anymore. Perhaps we never were. We're quantum possibilities
given flesh, temporal anomalies, shaped like people, and we're unraveling.
I tried to speak to Sarah Holloway, to reach whatever
might be left of the woman I once knew, But
the thing wearing Sarah's face just smiled, a smile too
wide and full of teeth that shifted and changed as
I watched. We remember now, it said, in a voice
that echoed with countless other voices. We remember what we are,
what we've always been. Don't you see, Arthur, We're free.
But it's not freedom. It's cosmic horror given form, the
death of individuality in the face of a reality too
vast and terrible to comprehend. I fled to the church,
seeking solace in the familiar. But even here everything has changed.
The stained glass windows depict scenes from realities that never existed,
that could never exist. The crucifix behind the altar writhes
and twists the figure upon it, transforming into shapes that
hurt my mind to look upon. And the books, Oh,
the books. I opened my Bible, seeking comfort in ancient words,
but the text shifted and changed as I read, revealing
truths that no human was meant to know, the true
nature of creation, of reality, of the beings that exist
in the spaces between spaces. I slammed the book shut,
but the words continue to burn in my mind. We
are not alone in the universe, But what exists beyond
our reality is so alien, so utterly other, that to
perceive it is to invite madness. The symbol Pulse is stronger, now,
visible to anyone who looks it, hangs in the air,
a writhing geometric impossibility that makes my eyes water and
my brain ache. I understand its purpose now, even as
I feel it failing. Hollow Creek was created to be
a seal, a living lock on the door between realities.
Every life lived here, every death, every joy and sorrow,
they all fed into the symbol, strengthening it. We were
the guardians of reality, and we never even knew it.
But now the lock is breaking. The cosmic forces we
were meant to hold back are seeping through, transforming us,
hollowing us out, and filling us with the infinite possibilities
of what could be. I can feel it happening to me.
With every passing moment, what remains of Arthur Blackwood slips
further away. I am becoming something else, something that exists
in all possible states simultaneously. And yet a part of
me clings to humanity. A part of me screams in
terror at what we're becoming, at what's waiting to emerge
once the last vestiges of the seal fail. Dear listener,
if you can still hear me, if these words still
hold meaning in whatever reality you inhabit, heed my warning.
Hollow Creek was just the beginning. The wound in reality
is spreading, and what lies beneath the veil of our
existence hungers for more than just our little town. The
end is coming. Or perhaps it's a new beginning, a
cosmic rebirth that will reshape reality itself. I can see
it now, unfolding across infinite timelines. The symbol will fail,
the seal will break, and what emerges will no. No,
I can't describe it human language, human concepts. They're woefully inadequate.
To even attempt to put it into words would be
to invite that same cosmic madness into your mind. I
feel myself slipping away now, becoming one with the vast
consciousness that is hollow creek, that is the entity beneath,
that is reality itself. My last coherent thought, my last
warning to you, dear listener, is this question everything, your memories,
your identity, your very existence. For reality is far more fragile,
far more malleable than you could ever imagine. And in
the spaces between what is and what could be, in
the static between radio stations, in the shadows cast by
flickering lights, something waits, something vast and hungry and patient,
and it knows your name. This is Arthur Blackwood, or
what remains of him, A voice crying out from the
edge of oblivion, from a town that never should have existed,
warning of a horror that has always been there, waiting
beneath the thin veil of reality. Goodbye, dear listener. And remember,
when you look into the mirror, your reflection doesn't quite
match your movements. When you hear a voice that's almost
but not quite your own, don't answer. Don't look too closely.
For once you see what lies beneath the veil, you
can never unsee it, and it sees you too. This
is Hollow Creek signing off for the last time from
the brink of a cosmic revolution that will reshape existence itself.
May whatever God still exist, have mercy on us.
Speaker 1: All 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 assistance of AI. This show,
along with hundreds of others from Calaroga Shark Media, is
available commercial free on any player hassel Free.
Speaker 2: Just look for the link in the episode or show
notes
Speaker 1: Calaroga Shark Media