Title: The Hollow
Author: homesweethomicide13
Rating: T for now
Pairing: Eventual Jarda (also some Lief x Jasmine)
Warning: Eventual Yaoi, slight horror, bad language
Disclaimer: I own The Hollow, and any characters that are not in the books
Summary: Jarred Hill, private investigator, is summoned to the quiet, desolate town called The Hollow on an assignment. But the longer he stays there, the more dark secrets he unveils, and someone doesn't want him to leave…

The Hollow

Chapter One: The Hollow

It was autumn – early autumn, when the trees were still turning that rich, golden colour and preparing to shed their leaves, and the sun, though still warm, was beyond the stage of burning exposed skin. It was still stifling hot inside vehicles, however, as Jarred Hill discovered as he sat alone on an old, rattling bus. The sun glared through the cheap plastic windows and scorched him through his sleek, smart black trousers and pale blue dress shirt. He tugged uncomfortably at the collar of his shirt, loosening his tie as he did so. He'd long ago swept his long dark hair up into a ponytail, allowing any cool air to swirl freely around his neck. One hand rested on a smart black case on the seat beside him.

He'd been sat on this rickety bus for three hours now, and it was beginning to become unbearable. There had been others on the bus back when he'd gotten on, but they'd long ago departed at some of the stops along the way. It was just him and the driver now, who didn't speak at all except to complain about the terrible road, which Jarred assumed he did every time he drove along it.

He turned to stare out of the grimy window and sighed. All he could see for miles was open fields and plains, with the odd tree poking out here and there. It had been like this for a while. Where was civilization? It felt like he'd taken a trip into the past – if it weren't for the endless stretch of road and the occasional road sign, Jarred would have believed he was in the past.

He spotted one of those rare road signs and glanced at it hopefully as his eyes caught a familiar word. There was the name of the place he was travelling to – and the sign announced proudly that it was only another two miles away. After spotting this sign, the driver pulled the bus to a halt. Jarred frowned and gripped the handle of his case tightly.

"Here's your stop, lad." The driver barked. Jarred stood up and walked to the front of the bus, ignoring the questionable stains on the floor and stepping around piles of dirt and something he did not want to tread in.

"But it's another two miles, yet." Jarred said to him. Looking at the driver, Jarred assumed he wasn't quite all there in the head. He was balding, probably in his late forties, with a large gut and a rough, scratchy beard. A filthy red cap was balanced on the back of his head, and his white shirt had a great big coffee stain down the front. But it was his eyes that spoke of a mental problem. They were wide and bulging, pupils dilated heavily.

"This is as far as you go, lad." He spoke in a hoarse voice, as though he had a constant sore throat. "T'is as far to The Hollow as I go."

"Then how am I going to go the extra two miles?" Jarred asked irritably. The driver shrugged.

"Walk. I ain't going no further." In the back of his mind, Jarred was wondering why the driver refused to go any further, but he pushed the thought aside as he turned and stepped off the bus. He was actually glad to be off the clattering hulk. Another two miles on that old thing might've killed him. He watched the bus do a three-point turn (which seemed to Jarred more like a fifteen-point-turn), and clatter back the way they'd come. Clutching his case, Jarred turned and looked along the road he had to walk. It was an endless stretch of tarmac, bordered on both sides by open fields. There was no sign of any houses, or people. He could have been the only man on earth right there.

Easing his shoulders under the midday sun, he began to walk. It was easy at first – his legs were well rested from the journey here, and he was eager to get off the road and to find a place where there were other people around him. But after what he guessed was the first mile, his legs were beginning to tire and the sun was starting to get to him. He was sweating now, long streaks of it running off his forehead and down his nose. His case felt heavy in his hand, and he had to swap it over to his other hand often. He regretted wearing the smart trousers and smart shoes now. Then again, he'd believed that he would be taken right into the village he was due to visit.

When he at last saw a large sign ahead, he quickened his pace, and soon found himself staring at an old and worn sign.

"Welcome to The Hollow." He read aloud. "At last!" He smiled as he walked on, beneath a large wooden arch that bordered the entrance to the village. There wasn't a single soul in sight, which wiped the smile from Jarred's face. The place seemed deserted. "Oh you have got to be kidding me…" He murmured to himself.

"Who are you talking to?" The sudden voice caused Jarred to jump violently. He swung around and found himself face-to-face with a man about his age. What unnerved him was the fact that he hadn't heard this man approach, nor had he seen him anywhere before now. "Because you're not with anyone." Jarred took a step back and studied the man. Jarred was shorter than him, and although they were of similar build, this man looked stronger. He had shoulder-length black hair that framed a tanned face that could quite easily have been carved by angels, accentuated with two gleaming sapphire orbs settled beneath sleek dark brows, and resting above perfect, high cheekbones. Full, pale salmon lips parted in a smirk, flashing pearly white teeth for a brief second. "Do I interest you?" Jarred snapped out of his trance and busied himself with straightening out his shirt to hide his embarrassment.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting anyone to sneak up behind me." The other man laughed lightly.

"My apologies. It was not my intention to scare you." He held out a hand. "Welcome to The Hollow." Jarred shook his hand cautiously. "It is not often that we get visitors here."

"Well you are a bit out the way, and considering the bus stops two miles from here…" Jarred sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, almost sensing the sunburn he would no doubt receive.

"Oh, how rude of me. Would you like to come inside, out of the sun?" The man was gesturing at what appeared to be a tavern of some sorts, and Jarred shrugged, before nodding and following him inside. It was much cooler inside, and surprisingly empty.

"Where is everyone?" Jarred asked, not able to hold it back any longer.

"We try to stay inside when the sun is high in the sky." The man replied with an easy smile. "I am sure you can understand why. Even in winter, the sun can be unbearable here." He walked behind the bar and pulled two glasses out of a cupboard. "What can I get you?"

"Water. Just water." Jarred said, sitting down at the bar. "Do you own this place then?"

"Yes, I do. It's my family's tavern." He replied, pouring Jarred a glass of water and handing it to him. "Normally my brother would work the day shift but… he's not all… well, right now." He took a drink from his own water and smiled again. "So, what brings you to The Hollow?"

"I was asked to come here." Jarred explained to him. He opened his case and took out a card, which he passed to the man. "I'm a private investigator. I got a phone call last week on a Monday, about nine, asking me if I could come and take a look at the place. The guy said something was going on here." Jarred narrowed his eyes slightly. "Do you know anything about this?" The man's bright eyes had darkened a touch, and any trace of a smile was gone.

"Who called you?" He asked suddenly.

"I am afraid that information is confidential." Jarred stated professionally. Those blue eyes lifted and met his green ones.

"It cannot have been someone from this town, Mr Hill." The man growled.

"And why is that?" Jarred asked, confused.

"Because we do not have phones, here. We shy away from technology, choosing instead to live like our ancestors did. They were much happier without phones and computers, and so are we. That is why it cannot have been a villager that called you. There is nothing out of the ordinary here, I can assure you."

"I have to take a look around the village, Mr… ?"

"Leordo." The man told him. "My name is Barda Leordo."

"Jarred Hill, as you have read." Jarred nodded at the card in Barda's hand. "Whatever you say about technology, Mr Leordo, someone called me, and told me to visit the room in the tower of the house on the hill. If you could direct me to this house, I will be grateful." He closed his case again and finished his water. To his surprise, Barda laughed.

"I am afraid you've been had, Mr Hill." He smiled. "I will show you to the house on the hill, and you can go and look at the room in the tower, but you will find nothing. That house has been empty for twenty years." Barda told him, still smiling.

"Why is that?" Jarred questioned.

"How about I let the house itself answer that one?" This time, the smile was eerie, and a shiver ran up Jarred's spine. He felt as though he were being watched – the trickle of nerves in the base of his spine had sparked up, and was running along the backs of his legs. "If you'd like to follow me, Mr Hill?" Barda walked towards the door they'd come in through, and Jarred stood up, ready to follow.

"Do you mind if I ask you a few questions after I've inspected the house, Mr Leordo?" Jarred asked, smoothing out the front of his shirt. Barda was holding the door open for him, and as he passed by, he looked Jarred up and down, a move which wasn't lost on the private investigator.

"I'd be glad to answer any questions." He purred smoothly. Jarred felt the heat rise up around the back of his neck at the subtle tone in Barda's voice. A hand descended on his shoulder and a body pressed against his back. "But the answers come with a price."

"Mr Leordo." Jarred said sharply, quickly moving away from him. "I expect you to behave in a specifically professional manner whilst I am investigating your town." The smile on Barda's face did not fade, and he quickly closed the gap between them.

"And just how… deep… will you be investigating?" He murmured. The heat moved from Jarred's neck to his face, and he found he could not pull away from Barda. He was lost the moment he looked into those sapphire eyes, if only he'd known… Then, suddenly, Barda stepped back and tossed his mane of black hair out of his face. "I suppose we should start moving. The house is a touch out the way." And with that, he turned and began walking off. Jarred paused, confused and feeling slightly vulnerable, but quickly jogged to catch up with the strange tavern keeper.

Barda had been right when he said the house was out of the way. They'd walked the entire length of the town before Barda had mentioned they were about halfway there. Jarred had allowed himself to be led down a path through a thick wooded area – no doubt where the town got its name from – and was glad when the trees began to thin out and he was walking beneath the open sky once more. Before him lay a wide stretch of open land, the single dirt path leading up a small hill directly ahead. More trees bordered the hill, though none grew upon the hill itself. Sitting at the very top of the hill was a large, old-fashioned house, at least four or five storeys high, and complete with a rounded tower. Jarred did not need to question it – he knew this was the house he had been asked to inspect.

"There it is, Mr Hill. Hollow Hill Manor." Barda said to him. Jarred studied the house from where he was standing, and sighed inwardly. It was the sort of house you'd expect to read about in books, or see in horror movies. And it certainly looked empty.

"How long did you say it's been empty for?" Jarred asked Barda, hoping that it didn't seem like he was stalling – which is exactly what he was doing.

"Twenty years." Barda replied. "Christy, I must have only been about six years old when the last owners kicked the bucket." Jarred made a mental note of Barda's age, which was only four years his junior.

"They died?" Barda nodded. "How?"

"Nobody knows." A shrug came easily to the tavern-keeper. "All I know is that one day, this unusual storm came knocking on our door and focused upon the Manor, and then a week later, the gardener comes running down into the town yelling and screaming, saying that the owners are dead."

"Would I be able to speak to the gardener?" Jarred inquired. Barda laughed.

"You believe in those psychics, Mr Hill?" He asked suddenly. "You know, the ones that believe in spirits and such?"

"I haven't really given them much thought, why?"

"Cause you'll want to hire one if you want to speak to the gardener." Barda smirked, and once again Jarred felt a shiver run up his spine. "Cause Old Mickey's dead. He killed himself about three days after he came down from the Manor. Most people said it was from the shock and trauma of finding the dead bodies in the house."

"But you don't think so." Jarred stated, closely observing Barda's facial expressions. Another shrug.

"To be honest, I don't know what I think. As I said, I was only a boy when it happened. Could have been anything." He glanced up at the house on the hill once more. "You still want to take a look?" Jarred nodded.

"I have to." He responded. Barda smirked again.

"Then let's go." The climb up to the manor was a quiet one, both men focused on the path ahead, neither looking at the house that was slowly coming closer and closer. It was only when the path finally evened out that Jarred looked up. The house was much more intimidating once you were right beside it – the blank, dark windows stared down upon you like the eyes of some unknown predator, lying in wait for some unsuspecting victim to crawl by. "Spooky, isn't it?" The sound of Barda's voice breaking the silence caused Jarred to jump. He turned around and discovered that Barda had somehow managed to go from being beside him, to being right behind him, without making any noise.

"It's just a house." Jarred said firmly, though it was more to remind himself than anything else. Determined not to show any fear, he turned and marched up to the front door, Barda in tow. "Is it locked?" He asked absentmindedly. There was no reply from Barda, so Jarred put a hand on the door handle and pushed it down. The door opened easily and without sound, which unnerved Jarred. He would have preferred it to have creaked even a little. The house had been empty for two decades, surely there would be signs of that?

He stepped into the house and looked around. It wasn't well-lit, due to the fact that the only light was coming from the open doorway. A large staircase rose up into the darkness directly ahead, and was lost to sight above the first floor level. Jarred became aware that Barda had not spoken in a while and he turned to face him, and discovered that the tavern-keeper was still standing outside.

"Not coming in?" He called to him. Barda shook his head.

"I'll wait here. I guess growing up with stories of this house tends to come back to you at times like this. You go on ahead, do your investigating. I'll not step foot in that house." Jarred was mildly surprised, but he shrugged it off. Houses that have been empty for twenty years were usually the source of horrific stories passed down through families in towns like this, especially if mysterious, unknown deaths were involved.

"Alright. How do I get to the tower?"

"Take the left-hand door in the living room. You'll find the spiral stairs that will take you to the only room in the tower." Barda explained. Jarred didn't think to question how he knew where to go if he'd never been inside the house before. He walked to one side of the hallway and peered through an archway set into the wall. From the dusty chairs and sofas, he guessed this was the living room. He wandered through it, not really paying attention to details, and found the left-hand door. Opening it, he walked into a rounded room, in which he found the spiral staircase.

It was terribly cold in there, which confused Jarred considering the outside air was warm, as was the rest of the house. Shrugging it off, he began to climb the spiral staircase. He was exhausted by the time he reached the top, and he fell against the wall for a moment while he caught his breath. There was a wooden door beside him, which he guessed led into the single room. Pushing at it, he frowned when it wouldn't open.

"Don't tell me it's locked?" He sighed. He tried the handle again, but to no avail. Frustration kicking in, he pushed at it with his shoulder, before turning and giving it a good kick where the catch was. He smiled when it trembled and swung open. He stepped into the room and discovered a small set of steps that led up to the main floor. The room was incredibly dark – the single window had been boarded shut, and so no light could reach the small, round room. Cursing his luck, Jarred crouched down and fumbled in his case for a torch. Finding one and switching it on, he closed the door and walked up the steps into the room. He shone the torch around him, searching for anything that would give him any idea why he had been called here. There was nothing in the room at all – it was completely empty. Sighing in frustration, he shone the torch over the floor and frowned when the beam caught a patch of what looked like chalk. He crouched onto the floor and touched his fingers to the chalky substance.

The moment his fingertips touched the chalk, an image flashed into his head. It was the tower room, but fully-lit and not so empty. A man and a woman were stood in the center of the room, both of them with their hands on a strange, round object between them. Their heads were tilted back and they were staring at the ceiling in horror, before something rained down upon them and they dropped to the floor, horribly dead. Then the image was gone.

Jarred jerked his hand away from the chalk and shone the torch over the floor around it, searching. It was as he'd predicated. The chalk was part of an outline – the outline of two bodies, sprawled on the floor. This was where the owners had died. He suddenly remembered the image in his head and he turned the torch beam upwards, craning his neck to see the ceiling. What he saw there caused him to leap backwards, forgetting about the steps, and he tumbled down them, cracking his head on the floor. Dark, menacing laughter was the last thing he heard before he blacked out completely.

Author's Note: This is just something I wanted to try and write. It's AU, of course, and is set in Australia (since I found out the town of Broome is actually a town in Australia, I can't get the image of an Australian Barda out of my head). The Lief x Jasmine will come into the story in a few chapters, I promise. I'm also trying to fit in the other main characters, but I pretty much have things sorted so... we'll see. For those of you who like this story and would like to see more, please bear in mind that I have many, many other stories, most of which need finishing (like The Demons of 186), so updates might not be too frequent. Sorry. Please send a review though, they are greatly appreciated. :)