Gwen, desperate to feel something, kills someone. But she quickly learns that one kill is never enough. Can Gwen stop before she turns on her own family?
It was just an experiment. Simply kill one person to see what it felt like. See if it filled the void within her. It didn't. Nor did it the next time. Or the next. Gwen is an ordinary person. Wife to Amanda. Mother to Grace and Alexandra. Suddenly she is no longer ordinary as she finds herself battling her urges and demons before she hurts those close to her. But is it already too late?
Hollow, on Wattpad, also includes the exclusive bonus book, A Child Called Wendy!
"The creative imaginary of words. Its almost like your a Jack the Ripper. I'm thinking how does he know in such creative detail how a person dies. I'm just going to chalk it up as creative ability. There are people who find Stephen King unsettling because his mind is such a beautiful terror :-) but luckily you have great rapport with your readers. Congratulations on an excellent start to this book."
"Thank you! It was amazing!"
"Your writing is just amazing!"
"Very poetic. It reminds me of Edgar A. Poe, albeit less cryptic and more clear-cut. No pun intended."
I walked away feeling what I can only describe as dejected. No, that's not quite right. Not just dejected. Disappointed. A little bored, maybe.
Why do we do things? Because we must? Because we can? Because, if you ask any teenager, 'I don't know?' Or, just because? I crossed the road because, unlike the hedgehog who wanted to see his flat mate, I needed to. I ate the milk chocolate Hob-Nob biscuit because I wanted to. I killed her just because.
No, there's always a reason, isn't there? 'Just because' doesn't cut it. It's a cop out. Maybe the reason is something elusive. Something you can't put into words, but it's still there. So, I slid the knife across her throat, because I wanted to know if I could. If I'd like it or if I'd be disgusted and horrified. I'd taken a life. I'd been covered in blood. She'd farted in fright just before she fell.
I expected her death to be graceful. She would slide to the floor as her soul hissed at me, drifting to the hereafter but wishing it could linger within its body to protect it from anything else I might inflict upon her. I hadn't planned on doing anything to the woman either before or after I killed her. I am not a rapist and nor am I a necrophiliac. I'm not deranged or a monster, just curious. Grace had abandoned her, though. She farted, gurgled and dropped.