The Hollow

A dark romance flash fiction.

A bit of context before we begin. A few days ago, I had a pleasant discussion with the always lovely

Kathrine Elaine

. Our chat chiefly revolved around a note she posted over the weekend where she challenged readers to come up with interesting questions for her to answer. Whoever had the question that she found the most engaging, she’d write a flash fiction story for.

Let it suffice to say that mine wasn’t the one chosen, but our chat about the topic did lead me to an interesting idea: a fiction trade. Basically, it’s a spin on the art trades I’ve seen done among illustrators, where two will partner up to each draw a chosen character from the other in their own style. The idea here was similar; each of us would give the other a prompt to write a short fiction story from. “The Hollow” is the result of that trade. I hope you enjoy.

Photograph by Sander Veraverbeke

The air was acrid, and the smell of still-fresh ash stung the nostrils of young Hosea Arlington. Only a week had passed since Roswell’s Hollow burned. Before the storm, the old aspen forest seemed invincible. Its conifers were tall and lush, their needles green well into the winter. Branches wove a canopy so thick that even the bright days of summer dimmed beneath their shade. In autumn and winter, that shadowy darkness was such that it felt as if those branches cradled a mystical night that never seemed to end.

Lightning proved the death of that myth. The storm rolled through two days before the fires. As it left, it rained arching bolts from the sky as if possessed by some angry pagan god. The townsfolk of Roswell’s Hollow spent that time sheltering in their homes, praying it would pass without incident. As Hosea walked through what remained of that old wood, he couldn’t help thinking that God had ignored those prayers.

That probably wasn’t true, though. While the fire burned hot and dangerous, it hadn’t taken any of their homes. Far as he could tell, only the forest was claimed by it. Where those grand and glorious trees once stood, charcoal corpses remained. Black and broken, they reached up to the gray autumn sky with spindly branches devoid of the needles and pinecones which held down that everlasting night a mere seven days ago. Now it looked like the trees were reaching for the night they’d lost, clawing at the clouds with skeletal arms that jutted from charred pillars.

Try as they might, they couldn’t reach it through the clouds. Spiny fingers strained to claw through them, but all they pulled away were gray wisps. Bemoaning their fate, the trees made their lamentations known by keening into the wind. When the branches were full, the trees would rustle and dance. Now they wailed in woe, and the eerie sound made Hosea’s stomach knot.

He shouldn’t have come out here, he knew that. Discounting the fact those withered branches might snap and fall on him, or that one of the weaker trees may collapse in the wind, the fire made it unlikely that Aberdeen would come out to meet him today. She was already nervous enough about their liaisons as it was, afraid of what her father might do if he found out she’d secretly been seeing a local cattleman’s son in the face of his aspirations to marry her off to some New York tycoon or a moneyed land-grabber in Wyoming. As long as they maintained their looks and proper upbringing, Obadiah Dalton couldn’t care one whit what his daughters wanted out of life. To him they were a meal ticket, his way of recouping the losses of his own weak mind for business, and his wife’s refusal to live within their means.

How a sweet girl like Aberdeen came about in a household like that was a mystery to Hosea. Equally mysterious was the liking she took to him. She was a beauty, blonde-haired and round faced, with rosy cheeks, full lips, and a button nose. She had the bluest eyes, too, so bright that looking into them was like staring up at the summer sky. By contrast, he was a gruff cattleman’s son with a mop of dirty brown hair and thick stubble that hid a boyish smile. In his own mind, that always made him look like he had the face of a hairy baby.

Aberdeen saw something different in him, though. Something he couldn’t see in himself. “You’re too handsome for a little wench like me,” she’d say when they snuggled up close out on Blessing’s Boulder.

A large stone that jutted out of a hill in the middle of the wood, Blessing’s Boulder formed a shape akin to a cupped hand which made it a perfect sitting stone. It had become their favorite spot to sneak away, and Hosea started calling it a blessed place because it felt like he’d always find her there. Soon after, the name came along naturally, and those happy feelings it represented spread out to the rest of the forest.

Hosea wished he could latch onto that sentiment now, but it was nowhere to be found. Looking about, he tried to figure out where he was. Blessing’s Boulder should’ve been close by now, but he couldn’t see it anywhere. Although the fire had opened the forest to the sky and revealed the gaps between the trees, ostensibly making it easier for Hosea to see, it also left once familiar landmarks irrevocably changed. Certain trees he used to watch for when picking his path weren’t recognizable anymore, and while the hills and stones were more visible, he found it hard to recognize them, too.

“Hell,” he muttered. “How am I gonna find it now?”

He continued scanning his surroundings for something familiar, but nothing was. Pillars of char were his only company, spaced wide enough apart that he could pick most out individually, but packed close enough together to make it feel like this ashen forest stretched on forever.

Hosea’s stomach knotted again. His head started to spin. Even as a boy he’d been good at picking his way through the woods. He and his friends loved playing in them, much to his mother’s dismay. She always warned him of wolves or bears or mountain lions, but they hadn’t been seen near Roswell’s Hollow since his granddad’s day. Who would’ve thought that the way the forest would finally scare him was by showing him the sky? The idea certainly hadn’t crossed Hosea’s mind before, but neither had the idea that the forest might burn someday. Fire changed everything it touched, and now it left him in a familiar space that he no longer understood.

He had to find his way. North, that was the ticket. If he could figure out which way north was, he could find his way again. Slowly casting his eye around, he started looking for the low mountains that comprised the northern border of Roswell’s Hollow. He couldn’t see them, the trees were packed too close.

What about the sun, then? It was still early in the day. If he could figure out the arc of the sun, he could figure out his direction. Only, the sky was overcast, and the gray clouds hung low and thick. He couldn’t see the sun.

“Damn it all!” he spat, frustration mounting.

After one last fruitless scan, he kicked a small rock by the toe of one of his worn leather boots. Puffs of ash and dirt came up with it.

“To Hell with it,” he grumbled. If he couldn’t find his way like normal, then he’d pick a direction at random and be done with it. But which way, though? Which direction should he-

“Hosea!”

Aberdeen’s songbird voice cried out to him from his right, carried on the moaning wind. Craning his neck, he peered around the trees to try and catch sight of her, but she wasn’t within view.

“Hosea!” she called out again, louder. Closer. Close enough that he could hear the hoarseness in her voice, and the worry.

“Aberdeen!” he called back. “Aberdeen, I’m here! Where are you, girl?!”

He got no answer, so he called out again. “Aberdeen!” he cried, and the charred wood replied.

Alongside the melancholy groan of the trees, two sounds were carried on the wind. The first was a crack, sharp and loud. Hosea thought at first that it might’ve been the snap of a branch. Then he heard Aberdeen’s shrill scream and his mind filled with visions of branches falling upon her.

Adrenaline surged, and with a cry of, “I’m coming, Aberdeen!” Hosea broke off into a sprint. He had to find her. He had to save her! Whatever was happening, he had to-

A black horse thundered out from the wood at his left. Unable to react in time, the beast bowled him over and sent Hosea sprawling. His head took a hard knock against the trunk of a blackened tree, dazing him. Burned or not, the damned things were still plenty hard. Rolling onto his side, Hosea tried to see the animal that ran him down. All he got for his trouble was a repeat of that sharp crack as a bullwhip lashed across his back.

“Papa, stop it!” Aberdeen screamed.

Hosea couldn’t see Obadiah through his pain hazed eyes, but he could hear him.

“Shut your rotten mouth, child! I don’t want to hear a goddamned word out of you!”

The bitter cuss hissed as he spoke, and his words dripped with a viper’s venom.

“The Hell you think you’re doing, Obadiah?” Hosea growled as he tried to stand.

Again the bullwhip lashed his back. Hosea cried out through clenched teeth. Nearby, Aberdeen wept. He still couldn’t see her. Shit, he could barely see Obadiah for the watering of his eyes and the knock he took on his head, but he could still hear him.

“That’s Mister Dalton to you, boy,” Obadiah barked, “and there’s plenty more of that waiting for you, you rotten cur!”

Hosea tried to stand again, and a third crack of the whip came. Then a fourth, and a fifth. All the while, Aberdeen pleaded with her father to stop, but he wouldn’t listen. Only when she started grabbing at his pantleg - even though she was a blur in his vision, Hosea could tell it was her from the pale blue color of her dress - did he stop. Obadiah barked foul slurs at her, and Hosea heard the distinctive crack of a revolver butt against her head.

Adrenaline came on again, and he scrambled to his feet. Rushing at Obadiah, he made a grab for the whip and took hold. However, his efforts resulted in the barrel of Obadiah’s Remington being pointed between his eyes.

“You ruined her, you mud sucking bastard,” the older man said as the hammer of his gun clicked into place. “How am I supposed to marry her off when you’ve ruined her virginal nature, huh? Think about that before I blow your worthless skull apart.”

Hosea swallowed hard, but kept silent. He stared up at Obadiah, into those icy blue eyes of his. Hate was reflected in those eyes. The Devil’s hate. He could tell from the look of them that Obadiah wanted to see him squirm, but he wouldn’t give the son of a bitch the satisfaction. Closing his eyes, Hosea readied himself for what was to come. He decided to make his last prayer for Aberdeen, a silent plea that she wouldn’t be made to suffer long under the cruel hands of her vain parents.

The shot rang out. The black horse whinnied. Obadiah cried out in surprise, and for the briefest moment, Hosea stood there, confused. What happened?

A glance told him everything. Obadiah was on the ground, pulled off his horse by Aberdeen. The girl had turned and ran as her father rolled onto his front. Hosea heard him curse her, saw him stand with his revolver firmly gripped. He was ready to aim it at his daughter, to shoot her through the back he already bloodied with his whip. Hosea wasn’t a violent man by nature. He didn’t care to fight unless he had to, but he’d be damned if he’d let that whoreson kill his own daughter for desiring to be free.

Hosea smacked Obadiah’s horse on the rump. The animal whinnied again and bolted. Obadiah watched as it ran, cursing it as a stupid animal. He must’ve seen Hosea out of the corner of his eye, because he turned toward the young man with shock in his eyes.

The whip cracked. The end of it didn’t connect with the vain cuss, but Hosea swung it hard enough to knock the gun from his hand. Obadiah scrambled for the weapon, but Hosea whipped at him again, then caught him in the nose with the heel of his boot. With lash after lash he drove he Obadiah Dalton back, catching him on the rump, the thighs, and the small of his back as he crawled away. After four lashes, Hosea was able to pick up the Remington.

Wincing as he stood, Obadiah held his hands out in front of him. Where once there had been anger, now desperation filled his features. “Now hold on, son,” he stammered. “Let’s not be hasty about this.”

“Shut up!” Hosea barked, pulling back the hammer as he leveled the gun at the man who would’ve murdered him.

Pathetic sort that he was, Obadiah’s courage and pride both were quick to leave him now that he stood on the receiving end of the barrel. He begged and pleaded as Hosea came closer, even started to weep and blubber, like some mewling babe. Deep inside, there was a part of Hosea that wanted to pull the trigger and end the life of that skeevy cuss. It would’ve saved everyone a lot of problems, but ultimately, it wasn’t in his nature.

“Don’t do it, Hosea!” Aberdeen called out. She was leaning against one of the nearby trees. Her cheeks, stained with ash and dirt, showed clearly the tracks of her tears. “Please don’t kill him!”

“I won’t,” he replied, strangely calm for all that happened. “Much as he deserves it, his life ain’t mine to take.”

Aberdeen breathed a sigh of relief, and Obadiah blubbered out profuse thanks. Neither expected to hear the revolver go off.

“What did you do?!” Aberdeen shouted as her father fell to the ground.

Obadiah writhed there, all the venom back in his words as he clutched his knee and rolled about in pain.

“Won’t kill you, Obadiah, but I can’t trust you, neither.” Hosea slipped Obadiah’s revolver into his belt, then looked to Aberdeen with an apologetic shake of the head. “I’m sorry. He’d shoot us both dead if I gave him the chance. At least this way he can’t follow us.”

“Where are we going?” Aberdeen asked meekly.

Hosea held out his hand to her. “Home, if you’ll let me take you,” he said. “I’m sure my Pa would let you stay with us if you wanted. Need to talk to him about getting the marshal out here to deal with this.” He nodded down at Obadiah.

Aberdeen eyed her father with uncertainty. Her blue eyes, bright as the summer sky, shifted back and forth between Hosea and Obadiah. Yet each time they met with Hosea’s, they lingered there a little bit longer, until she finally nodded and took his hand.

“You son of a bitch!” Obadiah howled. “That’s my daughter! She’s mine, damn you!”

“What’s going to happen to him?” Aberdeen asked as they left him behind.

“Marshal will probably slap him in cuffs, send him off to the prison in the next county,” Hosea answered.

Aberdeen tightened her grip on his hand, then slipped her other arm around his. “What’s going to happen to me?” she asked meekly.

Hosea pressed a kiss into the crown of her golden-haired head. “Whatever you want,” he said. “How’s that sound?”

She smiled, bright and beautiful despite the dirt that smeared her face and the lashes across both of their backs. “Wonderful, as long as its with you,” she said.

“Aberdeen, I’m not going nowhere.”

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