😱 “They Called Themselves a Family—But After Nine Generations, Their Blood Was Something Else Entirely” 💀

The story of the Hollowborn begins in 1792, in a valley so remote it was left off most maps.

The original settlers were a small, insular group—trappers, farmers, and hunters who claimed the land near the mist-choked Black River.

For decades, their isolation was their survival.

But then came the rumors of strange creatures in the woods—things with the gait of wolves but the eyes of people, things that stood upright only when they thought no one was watching.

According to fragments of the town’s earliest journal, one man, Elias Corbin, vanished during a winter hunt and returned weeks later, pale and silent, with claw marks that never healed.

His wife bore a child the next year—a child with eyes too bright, too aware.

“It watched me,” wrote the midwife in the margins of her record.

“Not like a baby.

Like something older.

” That child was the first Hollowborn.

As decades passed, the Corbin line grew, and with it, the strangeness.

The family shunned outsiders.

They built their homes deeper in the forest, far from the church bells of town.

Hunters who ventured too close reported sounds that mimicked speech, shapes that shifted in the dark.

Livestock went missing.

And yet, every generation produced children with the same sharp features—the same yellow-tinged eyes that caught even the faintest moonlight.

By the fourth generation, the family was all but legend.

Travelers spoke of them in hushed tones around campfires.

Some claimed to have seen them only at dusk, half-hidden among the trees, their skin so pale it almost glowed.

Others said they smelled of rain and iron, like the earth itself.

“They aren’t evil,” one farmer wrote in an old letter, “just wrong—like something that tried to copy us and missed by an inch.

Then came the scientific age, and curiosity replaced fear.

In 1921, a biologist named Dr.Henry Vale traveled to the Black River valley to document what he believed were genetic anomalies caused by inbreeding.

What he found made him abandon his research within months.

His journals, recovered years later, describe “subjects of unusual physiology” — individuals who could see in near-total darkness, whose reflexes exceeded any known human baseline, and whose blood carried “iridescent plasma filaments” visible under magnification.

“Whatever they are,” he wrote, “their evolution has diverged beyond repair.

” Dr.Vale’s notes end abruptly.

His body was never found.

As the decades rolled on, the Hollowborn legend twisted into local folklore.

Parents warned their children not to wander near the old Corbin property, especially on moonless nights.

Campers claimed to hear voices calling their names from the treeline—voices that sounded eerily familiar.

One local sheriff’s report from 1976 recounts an encounter near the abandoned mill: “The subject was tall, thin, and moved on all fours before standing upright.

When the flashlight hit its face, its eyes reflected like a cat’s.

It smiled before disappearing into the woods.

By the ninth generation, whatever the Corbins had once been was gone.

They had become something else—something both beautiful and terrifying.

Eyewitnesses described them as humanoid, but not human.

Their faces were elongated, symmetrical to an unnatural degree.

Their voices carried a low resonance that vibrated through the chest rather than the ears.

The rare photographs that surfaced—blurry, off-angle—showed silhouettes that seemed to shimmer around the edges, as tho

Some believe they are proof of evolution accelerating in isolation.

Others whisper darker theories—that Elias Corbin’s “encounter” in the forest wasn’t with an animal at all, but with something ancient, something that saw in humanity a chance to rewrite its own extinction.

After nine generations, that rewrite may be complete.

The government officially denies any involvement, yet documents obtained through Freedom of Information requests mention “biological outliers in the Black River region” and “containment measures under observation.

” Locals report drones overhead at night, and occasional low-frequency hums that shake the windows.

“They’re studying them,” says one elderly resident.

“Or trying to keep them from spreading.

”

One thing is certain: no one who has seen a Hollowborn up close has ever forgotten it.

A hunter from 2003 described his encounter while camping near the river: “I thought it was a deer until it stood up.

Its skin was too smooth, like glass.

It tilted its head, watching me.

Its mouth moved, but no sound came out.

Then I heard my own voice, behind me, saying, ‘Run.”He did.

The Hollowborn are rarely seen now.

Satellite images show faint heat signatures in the forest where no structures exist.

Motion sensors placed by cryptozoologists pick up movement too fast for human stride length.

There are whispers of a child born in a nearby town with the same amber eyes, the same uncanny silence.

And so the cycle may not be over.

Nine generations of mixing, of boundaries blurred between human and other—whatever that other was—has created a lineage that no longer fits in either world.

Their blood glows faintly under ultraviolet light.

Their fingerprints fade within hours.

Their bodies heal too fast, their memories stretch too far back.

If you met one, you might not recognize it at first.

But you’d feel it—the instinctive, ancient warning that tells every creature when it’s no longer the hunter.

In the end, maybe they are not monsters at all, but mirrors—reflecting what happens when humanity plays god with its own nature, or when nature decides to correct us.

The Hollowborn still walk the edges of our world, unseen but not gone, proof that once the line between man and beast is crossed, it can never be uncrossed.

And somewhere, deep in the woods of Abilene County, beneath a silver moon, something still howls—not quite animal, not quite human, but forever caught between the two.