April 30, 1930.
The last day of April and I have found most of Cross’ missing. They were gathered in the shelter of a small building, each body in the process of excavation. It seemed as though centuries had passed since each individual vanishing, and perhaps here, in Gods’ Hollow, such a wealth of time has passed by. Who am I to judge in that regard?
I sat down in the building, lit a smoke and cleaned my Colts. An uncomfortable sensation took up residence in the nape of my neck, and I waited for someone, or something, to appear and make some sort of demand upon me.
After a short time, I stood, wandered amongst the remains and gathered up what personal possessions I could find.
There were not many.
The Hollow shuddered beneath my feet several times as I made my way through the skeletons, and I knew, without having to be told, that the Hollow would no longer reveal itself come May.
Once again, the Hollow would keep its secrets.
Burdened with the belongings of the dead, I left the house, retraced my footsteps, and hoped I would make it home before the Hollow closed itself to prying eyes.
The sound of my mother singing hurried me on my way.
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