The Hollow Below is one of my newest stories — and one that has been hiding somewhere within my past for far longer than I initially realised.
Sometimes an idea for a story arrives suddenly. A conversation. A place. A memory you have not thought about for years. Sometimes, however, the story has been waiting quietly beneath the surface. Much like the thing beneath Ashby Hollow.
The inspiration began while I was visiting the Torquay area with my partner. As we talked about the things I love to write about — death, history, folklore, grief, hauntings and the things that refuse to stay buried — he suggested that perhaps I should draw upon some of my own education. And he was right.
I often speak fondly about my time studying at Gupton-Jones Funeral Service College. One professor who had a profound impact upon me was Professor Dr Campbell. We bonded over Native American Studies and the importance of a truly well-rounded education. I still remember entering her classroom and hearing her say:
Forget what you think you have learned from your history books. History is often written by those who had the power to tell the story.
That idea has remained with me. Who tells history? Who decides what is remembered? And what happens to the stories that people choose to forget? Those questions became part of the foundation for The Hollow Below.
The Story Beneath the Story
The Hollow Below follows Mara Bell, a newly qualified mortuary scientist who takes a position at Vale & Daughters, an old funeral home in the Somerset village of Ashby Hollow. Mara is already carrying grief of her own — she is still mourning the death of her younger brother, Jonah.
When an impossible three-branched mark is discovered on the body of Evelyn Reed, Mara begins to uncover something buried within the history of Ashby Hollow. Through Evelyn's ledger, Darius's culvert maps, family letters and forgotten county records, she discovers that three labourers died during drainage works beneath the village in 1889. Their deaths were never truly forgotten. But perhaps the truth behind them was.
But Where Does the Haunting Come From?
We often imagine hauntings as something evil. A ghost. A demon. A curse. Something that wants blood, death or revenge. But what if the haunting comes from something else? What if it comes from being forgotten?
Throughout The Hollow Below, Mara initially believes that the presence beneath Ashby Hollow demands sacrifice. The entity even begins impersonating Jonah's voice, exploiting Mara's grief and her desperate desire to believe that perhaps death is not the end. But as Mara descends beneath the village, she discovers something unexpected. The entity never truly wanted death. It wanted acknowledgement. It wanted memory.
The Things We Refuse to Remember
History is filled with stories that have been rewritten, softened, ignored or completely erased. Communities remember the versions of themselves that make them comfortable while burying the parts they would rather forget. The dead are not always the ones haunting us. Sometimes it is the past. Sometimes it is grief. Sometimes it is truth. And sometimes the haunting comes from the simple fact that something happened — and nobody wanted to remember it.
A New Pact
Mara eventually rejects the old cycle of sacrifice. Instead of offering another death, she offers something much more difficult: honesty. She acknowledges Jonah's death. She acknowledges her grief. And she refuses to allow herself to be manipulated by the memory of someone she loved. The entity accepts a new pact — each year, a living witness will return beneath Ashby Hollow and speak plainly about what lies there. No secrets. No forgotten histories. No pretending.
To remember someone is not the same as refusing to let them go.
And Perhaps That Is the Real Haunting
Years later, Mara notices what may be the three-branched mark appearing on her own body. She cannot determine whether it is truly there — or whether it is simply a shadow. But perhaps she no longer needs to know. She will keep showing up. She will remember. She will speak the truth. And she will refuse to look away.
Perhaps that is where The Hollow Below truly began. Not in Ashby Hollow. Not beneath the funeral home. Not with the dead. But years ago, sitting in a classroom and being challenged to question the stories I had been taught. To ask who wrote them. Who benefited from them. And whose voices were left beneath the surface.
Because sometimes the most frightening thing is not what is hiding in the darkness. Sometimes the darkness is simply where we put the things we do not want to remember.