The small, forgotten town of Hollowbrook was a place where nothing ever happened—until the laughing started. At first, it was subtle, almost dismissible, like a distant chuckle carried on the wind. No one thought much of it; after all, Hollowbrook was known for its eerie quietness. But as the days wore on, the laughter became impossible to ignore.
It always began around midnight. A soft, high-pitched giggle, so faint it felt like it was coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. People would wake up, confused, wondering if they had dreamed it. But when they’d step outside, the air would be thick with the sound—an unsettling, childlike laugh echoing down empty streets, growing louder by the hour.
At first, the townspeople tried to rationalize it. Maybe it was kids playing pranks or an animal making strange noises in the woods. But when the laughter started coming from inside their homes, bouncing off the walls, they began to fear something much darker.
Sam had lived in Hollowbrook his whole life and had never believed in the town’s legends. As a mechanic, he worked long hours in the day and spent most evenings in his garage, tinkering with old cars. The first night he heard the laughter, he was alone, his hands covered in grease, the faint hum of his radio the only noise in the shop. The giggling started softly, so low he thought it was a commercial on the radio.
He turned the volume down and listened.
It was unmistakable now—a child’s laugh, distant but clear, coming from just outside the garage. Sam wiped his hands on his coveralls and stepped out into the cool night air. The street was empty, lit only by the flickering lamppost at the corner. The laughter, though faint, sounded as though it was coming from everywhere, swirling around him.
“Who’s there?” he called out, but his voice was swallowed by the growing sound.
The laughter continued.
Unease settled into Sam’s gut as he returned to his garage and locked the door behind him. Over the next few nights, the laughter grew louder, and Sam’s unease turned into dread. No matter where he was—in his home, his garage, or walking down the street—the laughter followed him. It wasn’t just him, either. Everyone in town spoke of it now, whispered conversations over fences, at the grocery store, in the town hall. Hollowbrook had become a town consumed by fear, haunted by an unseen, laughing presence.
Then, the smiles began.
It started with people waking up to find strange smiles carved into random objects—their kitchen tables, their bedroom mirrors, even the wooden fences around their homes. The marks were crude but unmistakable: wide, jagged grins slashed into surfaces as though someone had dragged a knife through them. No one saw who was doing it, but everyone knew it wasn’t just a prank.
A week later, the first person vanished.
Grace Elwood, a retired schoolteacher, was the first to go missing. She had been known for her evening walks around the town square, but one night, she simply didn’t come home. Search parties scoured the town and the surrounding woods for days, but there was no trace of her. The only thing they found was her front door, left ajar, and a crudely carved smile gouged into the wooden floor just inside.
After that, the laughter grew unbearable. It was louder, more insistent, echoing through every room, every corner of the town, until it seemed as though the very air was vibrating with it. No one could sleep. Some tried to leave Hollowbrook, but their cars wouldn’t start, their phones lost signal. It was as if the town itself refused to let them go.
And then, one by one, more people vanished.
Each disappearance followed the same pattern. The laughter would intensify near midnight, and by morning, someone would be gone, their house left with the same grinning mark gouged into wood or stone. Hollowbrook became a ghost town, its residents barricading themselves inside their homes at night, but the laughter always found them. It seeped through walls, through locked doors, through every crack and crevice.
Sam knew he had to do something. The police were powerless, the town council clueless, and the fear was suffocating. Every night, the laughter seemed to creep closer to his house, louder, more mocking. It wasn’t just a sound anymore—it felt like it was inside his head, twisting his thoughts, turning his fear into something darker.
One night, as the clock ticked toward midnight, Sam couldn’t take it anymore. Armed with a flashlight and a baseball bat, he decided to follow the sound. He wasn’t sure where it was coming from—no one ever was—but he had to try. The streets were deserted as he stepped outside, the air heavy with the familiar giggling. He walked slowly, the laughter seeming to guide him, twisting and curling around the trees and houses.
It led him to the old playground on the outskirts of town, a place that had been abandoned for years. The swings creaked in the wind, their chains rusted and broken. The laughter was louder now, almost deafening, and as Sam approached, his heart raced. His flashlight flickered, casting long shadows over the crumbling equipment.
Then he saw it.
Sitting on the merry-go-round was a figure. At first, it looked like a child, small and hunched, its back turned to him. The laughter was coming from it—high-pitched and constant. Sam’s grip tightened on the bat as he approached cautiously, the sound of the laughter making his skin crawl.
“Who are you?” Sam demanded, his voice shaking despite himself.
The figure didn’t move, didn’t turn. It just kept laughing.
Closer now, Sam realized something was terribly wrong. The figure’s shoulders shook with the laughter, but its body was unnaturally still, rigid. Slowly, Sam walked around the merry-go-round, his flashlight trembling in his hand.
When he saw its face, he staggered back in horror.
The figure wasn’t a child. It wasn’t even human. Its face was smooth, featureless, except for a wide, grotesque smile carved deep into its flesh. Hollow eyes stared out from the darkness, and the laughter—oh, the laughter—came from its unmoving mouth, echoing as though it were coming from somewhere deep inside.
Sam stumbled backward, his heart pounding in his chest as the figure slowly stood. Its head tilted, the smile stretching impossibly wider. The laughter grew louder, surrounding him, filling his ears, his mind, until it felt like he was drowning in it.
Before Sam could react, the figure lunged at him with impossible speed, its hollow eyes fixed on his. The last thing he heard before everything went black was the sound of his own terrified scream, swallowed by the endless, echoing laughter.
By morning, Sam was gone.
The townspeople found his front door wide open, a jagged smile carved into the wooden floor.
And the laughter? It never stopped.