The Hollowing - chapter one by N. D. Hansen-Hill

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They'd attempted to fool them with a facade of light and air, low partitions and heat pumps.
But here, every time he looked up, there were bars...
He was letting himself get sidetracked. Putting off the inevitable. Shawn wove his way between ancient desks and toppled chairs. When they'd closed the Mill, they'd left it all to rot, and walked away. Only mice had walked here since.
And real estate agents.
Shawn wondered whether Arn had ever been inside, or whether he'd bought it on the advice of his money man.
The stairs were a dark hole in the distance. For just a moment, Shawn froze, as gooseflesh did its devil dance along his skin. Déjà vu...
The Hollowing. Like his dreams. The hole, where everything caved in beneath his feet.
Stupid. Childish. A kid's name for a night-time fear.
Fool.
"Coward." Merv's favourite word. What did a man do with a son who was afraid of everything?
Abuse him. Tear him apart to build him over. Build other people's security on his bones.
If Merv could see me now...
He'd finally feel he had a son worth respecting. No wisdom—just treading the balance between balls and brawn.
Shawn suspected Merv had hated him till the day he died. He hadn't thought of the man in years, and Shawn didn't know why he was now.
Because I haven't been this afraid since Merv...
But, he'd survived that, and he'd survive this. Shawn tightened his jaw and headed for the Hollowing in the distance.
***
It was a massive room. These were the windows he'd seen from below, and the place was filled with moonlight. There was no movement, no sound. Could the light have been a reflection from the building next door? Some stray radiant echo he'd failed to see?
He took a step, then peered at the dust impressions from his work books. There were no similar disturbances marring the dust layer, but he forced himself to prowl the room just in case. There were no other exits—only the stairs.
Fire trap...
He couldn't explain what had happened, but he'd done his job. Checked out a disturbance. Now, he could scribble his report.
Relieved, he made one last tour, then headed for the door.
And stopped, mid-reach.
Open the door.
But he couldn't. His arm was rigid, his fingers clenched.
And he couldn't make himself touch the knob.
Safe. Stay where you're safe...
There was something waiting for him on the stairs. His impression of darkness—of The Hollowing—hadn't been exaggerated. He stood there, shaking, and listened. Beyond the wooden partition, the thick silence was giving way.
Breaking down the barriers...
Little whispers, small thuds, soft rustling cascades of movement.
Rats. Only rats.
Thuds and thunks. Rattles and clatters. And then, a sound Shawn couldn't attribute to anything else: the squeak and echo of a heavy tread on wood.
Someone was ascending the stairs.
Shawn was holding his breath, so he could listen. He didn't even realise it until his heart started throbbing in his ears. He stood there stiffly, and listened to it coming.
The door's unlocked. An invitation, if ever there was one...
The knob was ice-cold beneath his fingers.