Chapter 3

The morning air clung to Dr. Eleanor Voss like a damp shroud as she unlocked the door to her dental practice. The neon sign above her office—*Voss Family Dentistry, Est. 1972*—flickered erratically, casting a sickly green glow over the cracked pavement of Main Street. She hadn’t slept well, not after Mrs. Hargrove’s appointment yesterday. That smile. That *perfect* smile. It wasn’t just the symmetry of the teeth or the unnatural gleam; it was the way it stretched too wide, as if the corners of her mouth had been tugged by invisible strings. And then there were the others—Mr. Tate, young Jenny Carver, even old man Pritchard. All of them, in the span of a week, sporting the same impossible grin. All of them mentioning, almost in passing, a visit to that roadside attraction just off Route 17: *The Smiling Hollow.*

Eleanor shook off the thought as she stepped inside, the familiar scent of antiseptic and mint greeting her. She had a full schedule today, and dwelling on conspiracies wouldn’t help. But the unease gnawed at her, a splinter under the skin. She flipped on the lights, the hum of the fluorescents filling the empty waiting room, and settled behind the front desk to review her appointments. Her assistant, Marla, wouldn’t be in for another hour, leaving Eleanor alone with her thoughts—and the silence that seemed to press against the walls.

The first patient of the day was Caleb Dunn, a wiry man in his late thirties who worked at the lumber mill. Eleanor had known him since they were kids; they’d shared sticky popsicles at the county fair and traded secrets under the bleachers. But when Caleb shuffled into the exam room, his head bowed, she felt a prickle of dread. He hadn’t been in for a check-up in over a year, and the way he avoided her gaze made her stomach twist.

“Morning, Caleb,” she said, forcing a smile as she gestured to the chair. “Been a while. How’ve you been?”

He mumbled something unintelligible as he sat, his hands fidgeting in his lap. When he finally looked up, Eleanor’s breath caught. There it was. That smile. Teeth like polished ivory, too straight, too even, framed by lips that seemed to curve beyond their natural limits. It was a mirror of the others, an uncanny replica that made her skin crawl.

“Looks like you’ve been taking good care of your teeth,” she said, her voice tighter than she intended. She busied herself with her tools, avoiding his gaze. “Any issues? Pain, sensitivity?”

“Nah, doc,” Caleb replied, his voice oddly hollow, as if it echoed from somewhere deeper than his chest. “Everything’s just… perfect now. Ever since I stopped by the Hollow.”

Her hand paused mid-air, the dental mirror trembling slightly. “The Smiling Hollow? That old roadside stop?”

He nodded, his grin unwavering. “Yeah. You should go, Ellie. It changes you. Makes everything… better.”

She forced herself to continue the exam, probing his gums and inspecting the enamel that gleamed like glass under the overhead light. No cavities, no plaque, not a single imperfection. It was as if his mouth had been sculpted by something other than nature. Her mind raced as she worked, replaying the stories she’d heard about the Hollow. It was a kitschy tourist trap, a crumbling barn painted with cartoonish faces, its sign promising “The Happiest Place Off Route 17!” Most locals laughed it off as a relic of a bygone era, a place where teenagers snuck off to drink cheap beer. But now, with Caleb’s words ringing in her ears, it felt like something darker.

After Caleb left, Eleanor couldn’t shake the image of his smile. She needed answers. When Marla arrived, her usual chatter filling the office with warmth, Eleanor hesitated before broaching the subject. Marla was younger, barely twenty-five, with a penchant for gossip and a sharp intuition. If anyone had heard whispers about the Hollow, it would be her.

“Marla,” Eleanor began, leaning against the desk as the younger woman sorted files, “you ever hear anything… weird about that old roadside place off 17? The Smiling Hollow?”

Marla’s fingers stilled, her hazel eyes flicking up to meet Eleanor’s. “Weird how? Like, haunted weird, or just creepy weird?”

“I don’t know. Just… something’s off. Too many patients coming in with these perfect smiles, and they all mention that place. It’s starting to freak me out.”

Marla bit her lip, glancing toward the window as if expecting to see someone watching. “I’ve heard things,” she admitted, lowering her voice. “People say it’s not just a barn. There’s a story—probably nonsense—but they say there’s something inside. A mirror, or a room, or… I don’t know, something that *takes* from you. And in return, it gives you that smile. But it’s not free. There’s always a price.”

Eleanor felt a chill slither down her spine. “A price? Like what?”

Marla shrugged, her usual brightness dimmed. “No one says. Or maybe they don’t remember. But I’ve seen folks who’ve been there, Ellie. They’re different. Not just the smile. It’s like… something’s missing. Like they left a piece of themselves behind.”

The rest of the day passed in a blur, each patient’s face blurring into the next, their smiles haunting her every time she closed her eyes. By the time she locked up for the evening, the sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the town in shades of bruised violet. Eleanor knew she couldn’t ignore this any longer. If there was something at the Smiling Hollow, something affecting her patients—her friends—she had to see it for herself.

She drove with the radio off, the silence of the car amplifying the thud of her heartbeat. Route 17 stretched before her, a ribbon of asphalt flanked by skeletal trees that clawed at the sky. When the faded sign for the Hollow loomed into view, its painted grins leering in the headlights, she almost turned back. But the memory of Caleb’s hollow voice pushed her forward.

The barn itself was a hulking shadow, its wood warped and gray, the painted faces on its walls peeling like flayed skin. A single light flickered above the entrance, casting long, jagged shadows across the gravel lot. Eleanor’s boots crunched as she stepped out, her breath fogging in the crisp night air. The air here felt heavier, thick with the scent of decay and something sweeter, cloying, like overripe fruit.

The door creaked open at her touch, revealing a cavernous interior lit by strings of bare bulbs. Dusty shelves lined the walls, cluttered with cheap souvenirs and faded photographs of smiling families. At the far end, a narrow hallway beckoned, its walls plastered with more painted grins, each one wider than the last. Her pulse quickened as she stepped forward, the floorboards groaning beneath her weight.

At the end of the hallway, a curtain of heavy velvet hung like a wound in the dim light. Beyond it, she could hear a faint hum, almost a whisper, coaxing her closer. Her hand trembled as she reached for the fabric, the texture cold and damp against her skin. Whatever lay on the other side, she knew it held the answers she sought—and perhaps something far worse.

As she pulled the curtain aside, a gust of frigid air washed over her, carrying with it the sound of laughter, soft and endless, echoing from a place she couldn’t see. And in that moment, Eleanor Voss knew she had crossed a threshold from which there might be no return.