The ChillX Zone

Following two consecutive nights of unexplained phenomena in Michigan and Wisconsin, the mystery spreads to Ohio—where the lights over Hollow Creek seem to be sending a message.

October 15, 2025

On the heels of the Pine Ridge hum and the Lake Michigan lights, a small Ohio town becomes the stage for the third and most unsettling incident yet.

The Lights That Blinked Back

At 9:47 p.m. last night, residents of Hollow Creek, Ohio, reported a strange flickering glow rising from behind the old grain silos near the creek bed. The light pulsed three times, paused, then repeated in a pattern witnesses described as “deliberate.”

One local teen recorded it on his phone—three amber bursts in perfect sequence—before the video file became corrupted halfway through. The device refused to save or delete the clip for several hours.

The Witnesses

“I thought it was just lightning,” said Angela Rhodes, a teacher who lives on the edge of town. “But it wasn’t random. It was talking. Three blinks, then silence. Three more. I felt it in my chest.”

Farmers on the ridge claim their livestock grew restless minutes before the lights began. One described his cattle “circling the pen like they were waiting for something.”

Electrical Blackout at 9:50

At exactly 9:50 p.m., the town’s grid went dark for two minutes. Streetlights, porch bulbs, and even battery-powered flashlights flickered out. Only the glowing silos remained visible, illuminated from within as if lit by their own current.

When power returned, radio frequencies between 105 and 108 MHz produced a steady clicking tone—three clicks, pause, three more. By morning, the signal was gone.

Theories and Fear

Authorities blamed an equipment surge at a nearby substation, though no fault was found. Amateur radio enthusiasts are calling it “the Hollow Sequence,” linking it to the Lake Michigan event on the 13th and the Pine Ridge hum on the 14th.

Others whisper of a chain—something counting upward through the days, moving eastward each night.

The Fifteenth Mark

Standing by the silent silos at dawn, I found faint scorch rings in the grass—three overlapping circles, each no wider than a dinner plate. No footprints. No tire marks.

Whatever these lights were, they left no damage, only a pattern. If this continues, tomorrow’s date might bring the next chapter. Until then, the town waits under gray skies, half hoping the sequence stops—and half hoping it doesn’t.