If you ever wondered what would happen if The X-Files took a family trip through Silent Hill and stopped for gas in Twin Peaks, Nathan Hendrickson’s The Hollow One has your answer—though that answer may involve being possessed by an ancient entity that looks like it buys its wardrobe exclusively from the “Faceless Horror” section of Spirit Halloween. Released in 2015 under the working title The Darker Path—which, frankly, sounds like a self-help book for demons—the film is a low-budget gem that sneaks up on you with quiet confidence, eerie imagery, and a surprising emotional depth hiding behind all that rust and fog.
A Family That Opens Doors—Literally
The Wades are your classic small-town American family with just enough secrets to ensure they don’t make it past the first act of a horror movie intact. Michael Wade (Tony Doupe) is the kind of father who means well but makes catastrophically bad decisions, like deciding to dig into his wife’s mysterious past using a chunk of mysterious metal that basically screams “Do Not Touch.” Naturally, the thing acts as a gateway for something ancient, something malevolent, something that apparently has no concept of personal space.
When the entity shows up, so does tragedy—because nothing says family bonding like supernatural possession and vehicular manslaughter. Mom Linda (Tonya Skoog) gets fatally flattened, the family falls apart, and the local insurance agent probably retires out of sheer trauma. Two years later, daughters Rachel (Kate Alden) and Anna (Chelsea Farthing) return home, because trauma tourism is the best kind of vacation, only to find their town transformed into a post-apocalyptic wasteland where everyone acts like they’ve been mainlining NyQuil and existential dread.
Welcome to the End of the World, Population: You
There’s something quietly nightmarish about Hendrickson’s vision of small-town collapse. The wide, gray skies and deserted streets feel like a Midwestern version of purgatory—half alive, half rotting, and fully committed to creeping you out. The locals, those few who remain, shuffle around like zombies on Prozac, their eyes vacant and their speech clipped. It’s as if the entire population got trapped between a cosmic horror and a bad case of seasonal affective disorder.
The production design makes brilliant use of desolation. Abandoned houses, flickering lights, and endless cornfields lend the film a sense of authentic rural decay that money can’t buy—mostly because the movie didn’t have much to begin with. Hendrickson, who cut his teeth on game design (F.E.A.R. 2: Project Origin), knows how to build tension through atmosphere rather than jump scares. You’re not so much startled as gradually unnerved, like realizing the reflection in the window isn’t moving quite right.
The Hollow One: The Monster, the Myth, the Guy Who Probably Needs Moisturizer
The title creature, known only as The Hollow One, is a fascinating presence—part Lovecraftian relic, part walking allegory for emotional emptiness. He’s faceless, silent, and entirely unhelpful when it comes to explaining why your life is falling apart. Played by both Simon Hamlin and Dawson Doupé, the creature moves with an uncanny grace, like a mime who’s seen too much. There’s no CGI overkill, no booming exposition, just an enigmatic being whose presence whispers, “You shouldn’t have opened that damn box.”
He’s less a villain and more a concept—the embodiment of grief, loss, and the kind of darkness you invite into your life when curiosity outweighs common sense. Think Hellraiser’s puzzle box, but crafted by a small-town metalsmith who failed shop class. The creature’s minimalism makes it genuinely effective. In a cinematic era obsessed with explaining every origin story down to the villain’s breakfast cereal, The Hollow One dares to leave things, well, hollow.
Acting: When Emotional Damage Meets Actual Damage
Kate Alden, as Rachel, anchors the film with a performance that’s equal parts haunted and relatable. She’s not your typical horror heroine—no shrieking final girl clichés here. Instead, Alden plays Rachel as a woman held together by the duct tape of guilt and stubbornness. Her return to her hometown feels like an act of penance, and her confrontation with the supernatural doubles as an internal reckoning. Chelsea Farthing’s Anna provides the film’s more vulnerable counterpoint, the skeptic whose disbelief crumbles under the weight of the unexplainable.
Tony Doupe’s Michael, meanwhile, nails the “dad who made a terrible cosmic mistake” energy. You can practically see the regret oozing from him like bad cologne. The supporting cast, including Z Nation’s Russell Hodgkinson, lends an authentic small-town weirdness that keeps the tone grounded even as the story spirals into cosmic chaos.
The Look and Feel: Gloom, Doom, and Do-It-Yourself Dread
For a film made on what was likely the catering budget of a Marvel movie, The Hollow One looks surprisingly gorgeous. The cinematography bathes everything in muted tones—grays, browns, and the occasional sickly yellow that screams “radiation poisoning, but make it fashion.” The camera lingers just long enough to make you uncomfortable without tipping into pretentious arthouse territory. Hendrickson knows when to let the silence speak, and when to punctuate it with a sound so subtle it feels like it’s crawling under your skin.
The pacing is deliberate but never dull. The story unfolds like a mystery rather than a monster movie. Instead of cheap thrills, we get a slow build toward existential horror—the realization that what’s happening might not be stoppable, or even understandable. It’s horror for adults, the kind that trusts your imagination to do half the work (and your therapy bills to handle the rest).
The Themes: Grief Is the Real Monster (But the Other One’s Still Pretty Scary)
Beneath its spectral veneer, The Hollow One is a story about grief, regret, and the futility of trying to fix the past. The supernatural horror mirrors the emotional rot within the family—how secrets fester, how guilt consumes, how some doors should never be reopened. It’s less about fighting evil and more about living with what you’ve unleashed.
This thematic heft gives the film unexpected emotional resonance. By the end, you’re not just afraid of the monster—you’re afraid of what it represents. The Hollow One isn’t just some otherworldly being; it’s the embodiment of loss so vast it becomes sentient. In that sense, Hendrickson’s film feels like Pet Sematary directed by a philosopher with a taste for bleak metaphors.
Final Verdict: A Small Film with a Big Void
The Hollow One may not have the name recognition of bigger horror releases, but it earns a spot among the genre’s most intriguing indie efforts. It’s thoughtful without being pretentious, scary without being shrill, and emotional without being mawkish. Hendrickson turns budgetary constraints into creative strengths, crafting a story that lingers long after the credits roll—like a whisper from something ancient just outside your door.
Sure, there are moments where the acting wobbles or the effects show their seams, but that’s part of the charm. This isn’t a film trying to out-scare you—it’s a film trying to unsettle you, to worm its way into the quiet spaces between logic and fear. And it succeeds.
So if you’re in the mood for a horror movie that trades cheap thrills for genuine unease, pour yourself something strong, turn off the lights, and take The Darker Path. Just don’t touch any mysterious metal objects. That’s how this whole mess started.
