Hollow Pines | Shiver Shot

Noel hated driving through small towns, but the backroads were his only option tonight. His phone’s GPS showed two more hours until he’d reach his Airbnb near the Oregon coast. The thought of a hot shower and a quiet night almost distracted him from the way the forest seemed to press against the two-lane road like it was alive.

The rain hit harder as he turned onto an unlit stretch, trees crowding the view. A low rumble of thunder vibrated through his old Subaru, masking the faint snap of a branch somewhere deep in the woods. His heart quickened—a reaction to the unknown rather than a real threat, or so he told himself.

Noel was not one for dramatics, but something about tonight, this road, gnawed at him. Maybe it was the silence that followed the thunder, the absence of chirping insects or the hum of other cars. He turned up the music, a vintage Fiona Apple track pulsing through the speakers.

“Not spooky,” he muttered. “Just tired.”

The headlights washed over a wooden sign, faded letters barely legible: HOLLOW PINES.

It wasn’t on the map.

A figure darted out from the trees.

Noel swerved, tires skidding on wet pavement. His stomach plummeted as the car careened into the ditch, stopping with a metallic crunch. His breath hitched in his chest, eyes darting to the rearview mirror.

No one. Nothing.

He fumbled for his phone, swiping at rain-speckled glasses to focus on the screen. No signal. Of course.

The rain made his nerves hum as he stepped out, a flashlight in hand. His boots squelched in the mud as he scanned the woods. Shadows swayed in the rain-soaked foliage. His breath clouded the air.

“Hello?” His voice was swallowed by the trees. “Anyone there?”

A soft crunch came from his right. He turned, catching sight of something—a pale face?—before it slipped back into the shadows. His heart slammed against his ribs. He wasn’t alone.

Noel locked himself back in the car, hands trembling against the wheel. Every instinct screamed to leave, but the engine refused to turn over. He slumped forward, forehead against the wheel, as rain streaked the windshield in relentless sheets. His reflection stared back at him, distorted by rivulets of water, eyes wide and anxious.

A thud rocked the car.

Noel’s head shot up. The window next to him fogged over, faint breath marks spiraling outward like someone exhaled against the glass. But there was no one there.

Fingers trembling, he wiped at the window, peering out. For one chilling moment, his reflection wasn’t his own. The face that stared back was gaunt, with sunken eyes and a mouth that twisted into a knowing smile.

“...Get a grip,” he muttered, voice trembling.

Another thud—a harder one—against the back of the car. He turned in time to see the silhouette of a man, impossibly tall, outlined in the red glow of his brake lights. The figure didn’t move.

“Hey!” Noel shouted, adrenaline surging. He honked the horn.

The figure cocked its head, slow and deliberate. Then it began to walk toward the driver’s side window, each step unhurried. The rain distorted its outline, but as it drew closer, Noel realized the thing wasn’t walking. It was gliding, feet never touching the ground.

Instinct trumped logic. Noel yanked his seatbelt free and climbed into the passenger seat, bursting through the door on the opposite side. He hit the ground running, plunging into the forest without looking back.

The rain turned the forest floor into a maze of slippery roots and brambles. He stumbled more than once, gasping when sharp branches clawed at his arms and legs. The beam of his flashlight caught glimpses of the woods: a moss-covered stump, a flash of movement between the trees.

Keep going.

But where? The road was gone. The Subaru was gone. Even the sound of rain seemed dulled, as though the forest had swallowed it whole.

A soft whisper tickled his ear.

“Noel...”

He froze, throat constricting. His name, carried on the wind. No. Not the wind. It was clearer than that, spoken softly but with purpose. He turned slowly, the flashlight shaking in his grip.

“Who’s there?” His voice cracked.

The light caught something—a figure draped in shadows, standing impossibly still between two tall pines. The face was obscured, but it raised a hand and beckoned.

Noel bolted in the opposite direction. His lungs burned as he ran, tripping over roots and sinking into the mud. But no matter how far he thought he ran, the figure was always there, somewhere in the periphery, waiting.

He found the cabin by sheer luck—or fate. It was small, weathered, the windows glowing with the faintest hint of light. Smoke curled lazily from the crooked chimney.

He didn’t question why it was there, or why he felt drawn to it. He pounded on the door until his knuckles ached.

“Hello? Please—let me in!”

The door creaked open, revealing a tall, slender man with dark hair and a wary expression. He was maybe in his late thirties, dressed in a threadbare sweater that hung loosely on his frame.

“You shouldn’t be here,” the man said, voice low and drawling.

“I—there was something—someone—on the road. Please, I need—”

“Quiet,” the man cut him off, gaze darting to the woods behind Noel. “You’ll bring it here.”

He grabbed Noel by the arm, yanking him inside before slamming the door shut. The lock clicked into place, followed by the scrape of a heavy bolt.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of herbs and woodsmoke. Candles flickered on every surface, casting long, dancing shadows. The walls were lined with shelves of jars, filled with things Noel didn’t want to examine too closely.

“What’s your name?” the man asked, his voice tight but calm.

“Noel. I—”

“You saw it, didn’t ya?”

Noel nodded, shivering despite the warmth of the fire. “What is it?”

The man’s mouth set into a grim line. “The Watcher. It don’t like bein’ seen. And now it’s marked ya.”

“Marked me?” Noel’s voice rose. “What does that even mean?”

“It won’t stop ‘til it has ya. Shoulda stayed on the road.”

“I didn’t have a choice!” Noel snapped, his fear giving way to anger. “What the hell is this thing? Why is it following me?”

The man sighed, running a hand through his hair. “The Watcher ain’t alive. It’s a shadow of somethin’ older. And meaner. Folks who see it...” He trailed off, eyes flicking toward the window. “They don’t come back.”

A low, rhythmic tapping interrupted them. It came from the window, faint but deliberate.

The man went pale. “Don’t look.”

The tapping grew louder, more insistent. Noel’s breath came in shallow gasps as he stared at the man, who had begun murmuring under his breath—prayers, maybe, or something older.

The candles flickered, their flames bending toward the window like they, too, were drawn to the sound.

“Stay away from the glass,” the man whispered. “No matter what ya hear. No matter what ya see.”

But Noel’s feet betrayed him, carrying him closer to the window. The tapping stopped, replaced by a voice that sounded like his own.

“Noel... it’s okay. You’re safe now. Come outside.”

His pulse thundered in his ears. He reached for the curtain.

“Don’t!” the man hissed, grabbing his arm.

It was too late. The fabric fell away, revealing the Watcher’s face pressed against the glass. Its mouth twisted into an impossibly wide grin as it mouthed the words:

“Let me in.”

The next morning, the cabin was empty.

And so was the Subaru.

The road stretched on, bathed in the eerie silence of Hollow Pines.

©Genevieve Mazer, 2025