Herd of the Hollow
Herd of the Hollow
In a world where reality itself is fractured, there exists a place few have ever glimpsed and even fewer have returned from: The Veil. This parallel realm, hidden within the interplay of light and water, is populated by the Herd of the Hollow—distorted reflections of humanity whose culture is as alien as their appearances. Unlike humans, their society is rooted in the worship of perfection, a trait absent in their warped forms. To them, perfection is both a concept and a deity, something to be venerated—and ultimately, consumed.
The story begins with Seren Walsh, a former physicist turned drifter, whose life spirals out of control after a car accident takes the life of his wife, Reilynn, and leaves his daughter, Isobel, mysteriously missing. Seren’s claim that he saw Isobel’s reflection walking away from the scene—into the rain-soaked highway—is met with disbelief. Grief-stricken and maddened by his inability to find her, Seren abandons his career, possessions, and life as he knew it, roaming the streets and searching for answers in the reflections cast by rain.
His journey leads him to a revelation: The Veil is not merely a trick of light but a tangible realm, a distorted mirror of our own. It is a place where the laws of physics twist and bend, and where those who cross over become solid in its alien landscapes. The Herd of the Hollow, who can slip into our world as misty, spirit-like forms, have coaxed Isobel into their realm. Her purity and beauty make her an anomaly in their world, a beacon of perfection that Vorrath, The Hollowed One—the ruler of The Veil—has taken as a trophy.
Within the twisted logic of the Herd, Isobel’s sacrifice will grant their people peace, allowing them to share in her perfection through her destruction. Seren, driven by an unyielding determination to save his daughter, must find a way to cross into The Veil. But to survive its dangers and infiltrate Vorrath’s lair, Seren must disguise himself as one of the distorted—a feat that will challenge not only his ingenuity but his very sense of self.
As Seren traverses The Veil’s surreal and hostile landscapes, he encounters monstrous and pitiful beings, uncovering truths about the fragile boundary between the two worlds. Along the way, he must grapple with the question of what it means to be human and whether saving Isobel will come at the cost of his own humanity.
Key Elements of the World:
• The Veil: A liminal world accessible only when light refracts in water in a specific way, resembling beams of light shooting into the rain-slicked ground. In their realm, the Herd are solid, but in ours, they exist as spirit-like mist.
• The Herd of the Hollow: Distorted reflections of humanity, neither entirely malevolent nor benevolent, whose worship of perfection shapes their bizarre and unsettling culture.
• Vorrath, The Hollowed One: The enigmatic ruler of The Veil, formerly Dr. Alaric Verrick, who sees Isobel as the ultimate prize. Obsessed with becoming a god and bringing his subjects to a state of perfection, Vorrath renamed himself and the inhabitants of The Veil, molding their society to reflect his twisted ideals.
With Herd of the Hollow, readers are invited to journey through a tale of grief, hope, and the fragile balance between worlds, where the fight for one’s humanity takes center stage in a battle against the distorted.
Chapter 1: Reflections
The rain came down in relentless sheets, a deafening rhythm against the windshield. Seren Walsh’s grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles turned white. Beside him, Reilynn reached out, her fingers brushing his arm.
“You’re gripping that thing like it’s about to fly away,” she teased gently, though her tone was edged with concern.
“It’s just the storm,” Seren muttered, his eyes fixed on the dark, winding road ahead.
From the back seat, Isobel’s small voice cut through the tension. “Daddy, are we almost home?”
“Soon, sweetheart,” Seren replied, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. Her wide eyes shone in the dim light, her favorite stuffed rabbit clutched tightly in her hands.
Reilynn sighed. “We’ve driven this road a hundred times, Seren. Just slow down if you need to.”
“I’m fine,” he said, but his stomach churned even as the words left his mouth. Something about how the headlights reflected off the rain-slicked asphalt felt... wrong.
A strange shimmer danced across the road—a ripple of light, like heat waves rising off summer pavement. Seren blinked, his pulse quickening.
“What was that?” he murmured.
“What was what?” Reilynn asked, but before he could answer, the blinding glare of headlights filled the car.
“Seren!” Reilynn screamed as a truck swerved into their lane.
He yanked the wheel hard, the tires skidding on the wet road. The world spun in a blur of rain and metal. Glass shattered. The car flipped once, then again, before coming to a bone-jarring halt.
For a moment, everything was silent.
Seren’s ears rang as he struggled to orient himself. Blood trickled down his temple. “Reilynn?” he croaked, his voice hoarse.
A weak cough came from beside him. “Seren... Isobel...”
He turned to look at her, panic rising as he saw the blood staining her lips. “Reilynn, stay with me. I’ll get help.”
Her hand found his, trembling. “Find her,” she whispered. “Don’t stop.”
“No—Reilynn!”
Her hand went limp.
Seren’s breath came in ragged gasps as he turned to the back seat. It was empty. The door was ajar, the seatbelt unlatched.
“Isobel?” His voice cracked as he shoved the door open and stumbled into the rain.
The cold bit into his skin as he called her name, his voice echoing into the darkness. “Isobel! Isobel, where are you?”
His foot slipped in a puddle, and he froze. In the shallow water, he saw her—a fleeting reflection, her face turned toward him. He spun around, but there was nothing there.
Sirens wailed in the distance, growing closer, but Seren barely noticed. His heart pounded as he searched desperately for any sign of her, his mind racing.
When the paramedics arrived, they pulled him away from the wreckage, their voices blending into the chaos. “Sir, you need to sit down—”
“She’s out there!” Seren shouted, trying to break free. “My daughter—she’s out there! I saw her!”
The officers exchanged wary looks. “Sir, there’s no one here but you and your wife...”
The words hit him like a physical blow, but he refused to believe them.
________________________________________
The funeral was no less cruel.
The sky hung heavy with clouds, threatening rain as Seren stood at the edge of the grave. Reilynn’s family huddled together, their grief evident in every tear-streaked face. But when they looked at him, it was with something else—blame.
The mourners shuffled past in silence, offering empty condolences that echoed hollowly in his ears. They moved like a herd, going through the motions without grasping the true weight of the loss.
A police detective approached him as the ceremony ended, his tone calm but insistent. “Mr. Walsh, I know this isn’t a good time, but we still have questions about the accident.”
Seren glared at him. “I’ve told you everything. I saw her. She’s out there.”
The detective frowned. “Sir, the evidence doesn’t support that. There’s no sign of your daughter.”
“She’s not gone!” Seren’s voice rose, drawing murmurs from the mourners. “I saw her! You’re not looking in the right places!”
A reporter stepped forward before the detective could respond, flanked by cameras and microphones.
“Mr. Walsh,” she began, her tone sharp, “Do you have any comment on your claims about the accident? About the... unusual things you said you saw?”
The detective shot her a warning glare. “This isn’t the time or place.”
But she pressed on, undeterred. “Your statements have raised concerns about your mental health. Have you considered psychiatric evaluation?”
Seren’s hands shook with rage. “You think I’m crazy?” he snapped. “I know what I saw!”
His phone buzzed, and he answered without thinking.
“Seren, it’s me,” his boss said, his voice uncertain. “Listen… you’re live on the news right now. I just saw the segment. You look like a madman. I think it would be best if you took some time away. Maybe… focus on getting the help you need.”
Seren lowered the phone, his breath hitching. Around him, the whispers and murmurs grew louder, the weight of judgment crushing him.
Then the rain began to fall.
It started as a drizzle, quickly building into a steady downpour. Seren’s gaze dropped to the wet asphalt of the graveyard road, where the reflections of headlights shimmered like liquid fire.
And there it was again—a fleeting shadow, a blur of movement that looked like Isobel. Her face flickered in the water, distorted yet familiar. The reflection seemed... hollow, as though it carried only a shadow of her essence.
His rage drained away, replaced by a fragile, flickering hope. He turned to the reporter, his voice calm. “Here,” he said, handing her his phone.
She blinked. “What are you—”
“I don’t need it anymore.” Seren shrugged off his jacket, letting it fall to the muddy ground. Rain soaked through his shirt as he stepped away, his movements deliberate and unhurried.
“Mr. Walsh!” the detective called after him. “Where are you going?”
Seren didn’t answer. The rain embraced him, washing away the voices, the stares, and the weight of his old life.
All that mattered now was the flicker of hope he’d seen in the reflections.
Chapter 2: Whispers in the Rain
Seren Walsh drifted through the streets, a shadow of the man he had once been. Days had bled into weeks, and the world around him blurred into a haze of gray. His hands trembled from hunger, and the cold air bit into his skin, but none of it mattered. His eyes were fixed on the ground, scanning every rain-soaked surface for a sign. A glimpse. Anything.
The city’s lights shimmered in the puddles that dotted the cracked pavement, stretching and twisting like something alive. Seren crouched by one of them, his breath fogging the surface as he stared into its depths. The reflection rippled slightly as the wind picked up, and for a moment, he thought he saw something move. His heart quickened.
“Isobel?” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the hum of distant traffic.
But the puddle stilled, and the only reflection that stared back was his own. His gaunt face, hollow eyes, and unkempt beard made him flinch. He looked like a madman—perhaps he was. People walking by avoided his gaze, their hurried steps echoing in the damp alley.
Rain began to fall again, the first drops splattering against the ground. Seren tilted his head back, letting the cold water wash over his face. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled. He pushed himself to his feet and stumbled toward an overpass, seeking shelter from the growing storm.
Beneath the concrete bridge, the rain pooled into large puddles, each one reflecting the flickering glow of a streetlamp. Seren leaned against a column, his body trembling from exhaustion. He slid down to the ground, his knees drawing close to his chest as he tried to quiet his racing thoughts.
And then he heard it.
A faint whisper, hollow and chilling, cutting through the sound of the rain.
“Welcome to the Veil, child. The Herd welcomes you. We must take you to Vorrath, The Hollowed One.”
Seren’s eyes snapped open, his breath catching in his throat. He scrambled to his feet, his gaze darting around the empty space beneath the overpass. There was no one there.
“Who’s there?” he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. The rain answered him with a steady rhythm, but no one replied.
His heart pounded as he turned toward one of the larger puddles. The surface shimmered unnaturally, and in the faint glow of the streetlight, he saw her. Isobel. She stood motionless, her wide eyes staring back at him. Her stuffed rabbit hung limply in her hands. Seren stumbled forward, nearly falling to his knees.
“Isobel!” he cried, reaching out. But as he moved closer, the reflection shifted. A hulking shadow loomed behind her, its form twisting and contorting as if it were struggling to hold itself together. Seren froze. The thing’s head dipped closer to the surface of the puddle, and for a split second, it broke through. The shadow loomed behind her, its form rippling like smoke. It moved as though tethered to some unseen force, each step deliberate yet devoid of will.
The part that emerged—a jagged, grotesque protrusion—instantly dissolved into a mist, dissipating into the air. Seren staggered back, his mind reeling. The shadow in the puddle turned its eyeless gaze toward him, and his blood ran cold.
“Papa?” Isobel’s faint, trembling voice echoed from the puddle. “Papa, I’m scared.”
Seren’s breath hitched. “I’m coming for you,” he whispered. “I swear it.”
The reflection vanished, leaving only the rippling water behind. Seren sank to the ground, his hands clutching his hair as he fought to process what he had seen. Was he losing his mind? Or had he glimpsed something beyond human comprehension? His religious upbringing whispered warnings of demons and hell, but he pushed the thoughts aside. This wasn’t damnation—it was something else. Something worse.
Driven by a newfound determination, Seren rose to his feet. He didn’t know what The Veil was, but he was going to find out. Even if it killed him.
Chapter 3: The Library
The city's central library was an imposing structure, its stone façade weathered but steadfast against the passage of time. Seren Walsh hesitated at the entrance, his rain-soaked coat dripping onto the stone steps. He felt the weight of his desperation in the stares of passersby, who gave the disheveled man a wide berth. But the stares didn’t matter. He had nowhere else to go, no other path to follow.
He pushed the heavy glass doors open, stepping into the quiet sanctuary of books. The faint scent of old paper mingled with the distant hum of fluorescent lights, grounding him for the first time in weeks. A librarian at the desk glanced up, her polite expression faltering slightly as she took in his ragged appearance.
“Can I help you?” she asked, her tone cautious but kind.
“I... I’m looking for books on...” Seren trailed off. The words felt absurd. What am I even looking for? Hell? Demons? Another world? He struggled to form a coherent sentence. “On... other realms. Or... religion, maybe.”
The librarian’s brow furrowed in confusion, but she nodded. “Religion and philosophy are on the second floor. Folklore and mythology are on the third. If you’re looking for something specific, I can—”
“No,” Seren interrupted, his voice tight. “I’ll figure it out. Thank you.”
She gave a hesitant nod, her gaze lingering as he walked away. Seren could feel her eyes on him, but he didn’t look back.
Seren spent the first day buried in religious texts, his trembling hands flipping through pages of scripture and theology. He read about heaven and hell, purgatory, and the concept of liminal spaces where souls might linger. Some passages hinted at otherworldly realms, where light and shadow converged to form gateways, but nothing felt real. None of it matched what he had seen in the rain-soaked reflections.
He was barely aware of the time passing until the librarian approached him near closing. Her voice was gentle but firm. “I’m sorry, sir, but we’re about to close.”
Seren blinked, disoriented. His eyes were bloodshot, his stomach growling from neglect. He nodded, mumbling a thank-you as he gathered the books into a haphazard pile. Outside, the rain had stopped, leaving the city drenched in a cold, damp silence.
The next morning, Seren was already waiting on the library’s doorstep when the staff arrived to unlock the doors. The same librarian paused when she saw him, a flicker of concern crossing her face. Did he sleep here? she wondered, but she didn’t ask. Instead, she offered a polite smile and stepped aside to let him in.
Seren made a beeline for the third floor, where the shelves were lined with books on folklore and mythology. He devoured stories of faeries, spirits, and shadowy otherworlds. Myths of mortals lured into another realm, their reflections left behind as decoys, caught his attention. He lingered on tales of Orpheus and Eurydice, of Persephone and Hades, wondering if there was truth buried in the ancient stories.
But as the hours dragged on, frustration crept in. These were just stories—fairy tales meant to entertain, not explain. He slammed a book shut in irritation, earning a disapproving glare from a nearby patron.
When the library closed that evening, the librarian noticed the exhaustion etched into his features. She hesitated, her voice softer this time. “Take care of yourself, sir.”
Seren didn’t reply. He simply nodded and walked back into the night.
By the third day, Seren’s obsession was evident. The staff found him pacing between shelves, muttering to himself as he scoured every possible section for answers. He poured over occult texts, treatises on alternate dimensions, and pseudo-scientific theories about parallel worlds. Each book offered fragments of insight, but none gave him the clarity he craved.
Late that evening, he stumbled upon a display case near the entrance. Inside were several antique books, their spines cracked with age. One title caught his eye: Reflections and Realities: A Study of Liminal Spaces by Dr. Alaric Verrick. The words sent a jolt through him, though he couldn’t explain why.
He leaned closer, squinting to read the small card beneath the book: Available by request at the front desk.
The librarian was tidying nearby when Seren approached her, his voice hoarse. “I need to see that book. Please.”
She glanced at the display and hesitated. “That’s part of our rare collection. It can only be viewed under supervision.”
“I’ll do whatever you need,” Seren said, desperation creeping into his tone. “I just... I need to see it.”
The librarian studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Come back tomorrow morning. I’ll set it up for you.”
The next morning, Seren returned before the library opened, his unshaven face and bloodshot eyes a stark contrast to the calm demeanor of the staff. True to her word, the librarian led him to a quiet reading room where the book awaited him on a wooden table. Its leather cover was worn, its pages brittle with age.
Seren opened it carefully, his heart pounding. The text was dense, filled with jargon and diagrams, but one passage stopped him cold: “The Veil is a liminal boundary, a mirror that distorts and reflects the essence of our reality. To breach it is to confront one’s own truth—and risk losing it. The so-called 'Herd of the Hollow' represents those who wander the Veil, their essences distorted and stripped of individuality. They are reflections of humanity, yet hollow echoes of their former selves.”
The more he read, the more the words began to haunt him. The Hollow wasn't just a place—it was a state of being, a reflection of all Seren feared to become.
The diagrams were hauntingly familiar, depicting beams of light refracting through water, converging at a single point. His mind raced, recalling the strange shimmering puddles he’d seen—the reflections that seemed alive.
A reference caught his eye: Supplemental notes housed at the University of Heidelberg Archives.
Seren’s breath hitched. Whatever answers Dr. Verrick had uncovered, they were in Germany. His chest tightened with the weight of realization. He had no money, no connections—nothing but the faint hope that he might still find Isobel.
The librarian returned, her soft voice pulling him from his thoughts. “Do you need more time?”
Seren shook his head, carefully closing the book. “No... thank you.”
As he left the library, the weight of his next step settled on his shoulders. Heidelberg was far, but he had to find a way. Isobel’s faint voice echoed in his mind, urging him forward: “Papa... I’m scared.”