The Howling Hunger of Hollow Creek – A True Scary Story

The humid night air clung to us like a second skin as we gathered for a barbecue at Mark’s place on Willow Road. It was the same stretch of asphalt where we’d glimpsed the unsettling figure weeks prior, a lanky silhouette gliding impossibly above the ground. We brushed it off then, teenage bravado masking a sliver of unease. Tonight, the memory flickered like a dying ember in the back of our minds.

The party pulsed with the usual teenage energy – loud music, boisterous laughter, and the smoky scent of grilling meat. Around 2 am, a lull in the revelry brought a chilling sight. Perched on the far side of the wide, gaping sewer, a woman in white sat slumped against the wall, her head buried in her hands. We called out, concern lacing our voices, but she only wept silently.

Mark’s father, alerted by the commotion, joined us. The woman remained unresponsive, her sorrow a tangible presence. Unease prickled our skin. Just as Mark’s father decided to call the police, someone gasped. Empty space. The woman was gone.

The party sputtered back to life, a nervous energy replacing the carefree abandon. During dinner, a bone landed with a clatter outside. Mark’s dad, a touch more on edge than usual, reminded us not to litter.

Later, as music thrummed from a makeshift sound system perched on the very wall where the woman had sat, two of the guys huddled over their phones, playing DJ. Suddenly, a collective gasp tore through the air. The boys scrambled back, their faces drained of color. Following their terrified gaze, we saw her – the woman in white. But this time, she was no longer a weeping figure.

Hovering a few feet off the ground, her form exuded a malevolent energy. Her eyes, devoid of humanity, fixated on the discarded chicken bones scattered around. Hunger, primal and raw, emanated from her. One brave soul, Tom, yelled for us to retreat. The scene unfolded in a blur – the boys scrambling back, the woman in white tearing into the bones with an inhuman ferocity.

Terror solidified in our chests. This wasn’t a prank, a costume. This was pure, chilling horror. We huddled inside, the silence broken only by the relentless pounding of our hearts. Then, the dogs began. A chorus of mournful howls pierced the night, a symphony of fear that seemed to go on forever.

Finally, a horrifying visage materialized on the rooftop – the woman in white, a grotesque smile twisting her face. Shrieks erupted as we fled downstairs, the house erupting in chaos. Mark’s family, awakened by the pandemonium, managed to calm us down. They checked the roof – nothing. Relief, laced with lingering dread, settled over us.

The next day, we received a call from Mark. His voice trembled as he told us to come over. As we climbed the stairs to the roof, a sickening stench assaulted our senses. Blood stained the concrete, and scattered feathers painted a macabre picture. The roof had been the battleground for some unseen struggle.

Mark’s father explained. Sounds had racked the house after we left, terrifying his family. Now, this gruesome scene. They’d called in an exorcist, a weathered man with an air of quiet authority. He performed a ritual, his voice battling the unseen entity. We, huddled outside, could feel its presence, a palpable power radiating from the house.

The exorcist negotiated, his words barely audible over the creature’s otherworldly shrieks and chilling laughter. It spoke of a time before houses, before the road, when the land was quiet. Our noise, our revelry, had disturbed its slumber. An agreement was struck – peace in exchange for offerings. Three kilos of raw meat, placed on the roof every Thursday for three weeks.

We watched, numb, as the exorcist fulfilled the pact. Over the next three weeks, the offerings were made. The silence, once broken, fell heavy again. We never spoke of that night, the memory a locked box buried deep within us. But sometimes, late at night, a stray dog’s howl would send shivers down our spines, a chilling reminder of the night we disturbed the hungry hollow of Hollow Creek.

True Scary Story

While this story may seem like a work of fiction, it is based on a true encounter. Names and locations have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved. The details, however, remain true to the terrifying experience that unfolded.