Hollow Wind

In the dead of winter, when the nights are long and the wind pierces like sharpened steel, villagers speak in hushed tones of the Hollow Wind. It drifts silently through snow-covered forests, over frozen rivers, and along desolate streets. The wind seems to carry voices, soft and distant, mimicking loved ones calling for help. Hunters, loggers, and travelers have reported hearing faint cries from the treeline, whispers that tug at the mind and heart. Those who follow it too far are never seen again. The Hollow Wind is patient, waiting for the vulnerable to stray from warmth and safety into the endless cold.

Stories warn that the Hollow Wind is not merely gusts of air but a sentient force. It studies its victims, learning their speech, memories, and fears. When it whispers, it does so in tones the listener cannot resist. Children who linger near forest edges hear the wind calling their names in the voices of lost friends. Hunters report that what sounds like a companion frozen in snow is actually the wind itself, pulling at their thoughts. Those who try to ignore the calls find their curiosity unbearable, their bodies moving against reason, compelled toward the source of the chilling, hollow whispers.

Villagers speak of footprints in the snow, leading into the forest or across frozen lakes. But they always end abruptly, mid-step, as if the earth itself swallowed the person. Animals react strangely when the Hollow Wind approaches: wolves howl at empty air, deer freeze in place, birds drop from trees as if stunned. Doors shake and windows rattle even when storms are absent. Some say the wind can slide into homes, curling around beds, whispering promises of warmth or reassurance. Those who wake to these sounds often find the air colder than it should be, and their thoughts muddled, as though the wind has touched their mind directly.

Travelers who linger too long outside report glimpses of pale figures above the snow. Their eyes are hollow voids, mouths moving soundlessly, faces twisted in sorrow or hunger. Snow drifts around them but never disturb them; footsteps make no mark on the ice. People tell of seeing these figures stretch unnaturally, moving faster than any human could. Attempts to shout or approach are met with disorientation—a spinning of space and time that forces the observer to stumble backward, away from the figures. The Hollow Wind does not strike like a storm or a wolf; its attack is subtle, psychological, stripping warmth and will until the victim drifts into the emptiness.

Those who survive encounters with the Hollow Wind are rarely unchanged. They speak of a lingering cold inside their bones, memories of voices calling that no one else can hear. Some become reclusive, terrified of the forest and the open night. Others speak of dreams where they walk endlessly in snow, following loved ones, never reaching them. Villagers warn travelers to never answer the voices in the wind, to ignore the call even if it seems desperate. Disobeying this warning has consequences, though few survive to tell their story. The Hollow Wind’s power is patience and cunning, luring the lonely and lost into the frozen void with promises no human can resist.

The wind is said to move with a purpose. It drifts through valleys, around ridges, and into towns, choosing its moments. Often, it appears during the dead of night, when moonlight glints off ice and snow. Candles flicker, lanterns sway, and a faint whistling fills the air. Some claim the wind carries more than voices—it holds memories, emotions, and regrets. Listeners report flashes of faces from the past, people they have lost, or moments they wish could return. The Hollow Wind uses these visions to manipulate, drawing individuals further from warmth and safety, leading them into the open snow, where the cold consumes body and spirit alike.

Locals have tried many methods to avoid it. Bonfires on hills, charms made of iron or salt, and bells to break the sound of the wind have been employed. Some succeed, at least temporarily, but the wind is clever. It seems to study each barrier, learning to bypass or mimic it. Those who attempt to trap or confront it often vanish, leaving only bent trees or broken fences as evidence of their efforts. The Hollow Wind is not mortal; it cannot be fought with blades or bullets. It is a force of the winter itself, a predator that hunts through subtlety and patience rather than brute strength.

Explorers who travel the frozen forests tell of strange phenomena: mist rising in perfect columns, snowflakes that drift upward, and winds that circle without source. The Hollow Wind has been known to isolate individuals from groups, separating travelers or hunters with sounds that imitate companions. Footsteps echo where none should exist. Whispers of names, laughter, or cries for help beckon the unwary. Entire parties have vanished, leaving only equipment buried in snow or sled tracks that lead to nowhere. Survivors speak of hours—or perhaps days—passing while only minutes felt real, the wind bending time and space to draw victims into the emptiness.

Children’s tales in the villages describe the Hollow Wind as a warning. Those who wander too far from home on winter nights may be claimed. Parents tell their young to stay close to fires and never follow voices into the snow. Some describe the wind as playful, mischievous even, mimicking the tones of a sibling or friend. But these tricks are deadly: the moment curiosity triumphs over caution, the victim drifts toward the forest edge, the wind folding around them, erasing warmth, and dragging them into the cold. Every December, the villagers speak of recent disappearances, each a grim reminder of winter’s hidden predator.

Many who encounter the Hollow Wind describe an unbearable feeling of isolation. It is not merely physical; it attacks the mind. Thoughts blur, memories twist, and the sensation of being watched never fades. The wind can whisper secrets, play on guilt or desire, and summon emotions that trap individuals in a mental maze. Sleep offers no refuge; dreams are haunted by echoing voices calling from snowdrifts and frozen rivers. Travelers report waking mid-step in strange places, hours from their path, or wandering endlessly in white, unable to find landmarks. The Hollow Wind does not need to strike directly—its psychological hold is its weapon, and those who feel it are already at its mercy.

Some legends claim the wind has favorites. It lingers longer near those who have recently lost someone, or who carry unresolved guilt. It whispers intimately, using knowledge that cannot be explained, personal details that terrify even the strongest. Villagers speak of parents hearing cries they thought were from their children, only to discover the family safe inside. Those who respond to the sound never return, leaving only their echoes behind. It is as if the wind absorbs the attention and energy of its victims before consuming them. The Hollow Wind’s cruelty is subtle, merciless, and patient, its purpose always fulfilled without haste.

Survivors of the Hollow Wind warn that the forest itself can turn against you. Snowdrifts shift to hide safe paths, trees bend to block sightlines, and the ground gives way to thin ice or hidden crevasses. The wind seems to rearrange reality, guiding footsteps toward danger. Even familiar landmarks can appear wrong, as if twisted by a malicious force. Some report glimpsing figures ahead, only for them to vanish the moment they approach. The Hollow Wind’s intelligence is terrifying; it adapts, learns, and exploits weaknesses. Travelers who believe themselves cautious often find themselves manipulated, forced into peril by a wind that is as clever as it is relentless.

Legends describe faint tracks that lead away from homes in the dead of night. Animals are the first to sense the presence: dogs growl at empty corners, cats hiss at invisible threats, and livestock trembles without cause. These signs are often dismissed until a person disappears. The Hollow Wind does not hunt indiscriminately; it studies patterns, habits, and routines. It can even follow people into their homes, curling around them while they sleep. Families wake to strange drafts, icy touches, and the feeling of being observed. The wind’s cold is not merely a temperature—it is a presence, conscious and purposeful, reshaping the space it inhabits.

Those who survive report a permanent change. Their senses are heightened; they hear faint noises in the distance, feel cold when none exists, and see movement at the edge of their vision. Some become obsessed with the wind, returning to forests to “understand” it, though they never do. Others cannot sleep during winter months, haunted by the memory of hollow eyes in the snow. Villagers grow quiet in December, locking doors and avoiding forests, wary of any unusual call. The Hollow Wind is patient, waiting for new victims each year, feeding on the lonely, the curious, and the foolish who underestimate winter’s quiet menace.

Elders claim the Hollow Wind existed long before humans settled the region. Ancient markers, carvings, and stories speak of disappearances during long nights, of travelers lost to invisible predators. Shamans and hunters would leave offerings at forest edges, hoping to appease the wind or distract it. Rituals involved bells, fire, and salt to protect against its influence. Though modern towns have lost these traditions, whispers suggest that even the smallest act of disrespect—disturbing snow, killing an animal, or ignoring warnings—can attract its attention. The wind is not random; it records, observes, and reacts, punishing the careless and rewarding patience with mere survival.

As winter deepens, the Hollow Wind becomes ever more active. Its presence is subtle yet undeniable, a reminder that the world is not entirely safe in snow and ice. The wind carries with it the stories of those who vanished, echoes of names and faces that no longer exist. Each year, it returns, unchanged and eternal, to claim, to manipulate, and to test human resolve. Those who survive do so by obeying warnings, respecting the frozen wilderness, and resisting the haunting calls. For in the Hollow Wind, there is no mercy, only the cold, the silence, and the endless patience of a predator older than the snow itself.