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The Bell in Black Hollow

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Prompt

Every August, we visited my uncle’s house in a forgotten valley called Black Hollow. No one lived there anymore. Just trees, fog, and an old wooden chapel at the edge of the forest. The chapel had a bell. And my uncle gave us one rule: **“Never ring it.”** I was twelve. My cousin Eli was eleven. Of course, we rang it. It echoed across the hills like thunder underwater. The sound seemed wrong. Slower than normal. Like it was dragging something through time. That night, I woke up cold. Not just chilly — **freezing.** My breath came out in clouds. Then I heard it. **The bell.** But we hadn’t touched it. It rang once… twice… then stopped. I looked out the window toward the chapel. Something stood beneath the bell. Not a person. Not quite. It was tall. Thin. Its skin hung like wet cloth. No face. Just a mouth — wide open, stretching all the way down its chest. It turned slowly toward me. And smiled. I slammed the curtains shut and hid under the blankets, shaking. By morning, the frost was gone. The sun was warm. The trees looked normal again. But the bell was broken. Split clean down the middle. Uncle never asked if we rang it. He just looked at us for a long time and said: **“Now it knows your names.”** ---

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