Page 1 of Wolf Dad Energy

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CARYS

OCTOBER 19 ~ 12 DAYS UNTIL HALLOWEEN

The internet believes I have all the answers.

Every morning, strangers pour their lives into my inbox with the confidence of parishioners entering a confessional. They tell me about cheating spouses, manipulative parents, impossible bosses, impossible children, impossible lives. They hand me every ugly truth they cannot admit to the people sitting across their own dinner tables, then wait for me to somehow transform their chaos into something useful.

It's unclear when I became the woman people trusted more than their own families.

Maybe because it is easier to confess to someone who isn't real.

At least, not completely.

To most of the world, I am Hollow Truths. No face. No interviews. No glossy magazine profiles featuring my morning routine or my favorite coffee order or the inspirational story behind my success.

Just a sharply worded advice column syndicated across lifestyle sites, a newsletter with nearly three million subscribers, and social media accounts that somehow turned brutal honesty into a recognizable brand.

The anonymity keeps people focused on the advice instead of the person giving it.It also keeps them from asking awkward questions about my own life.

Questions I have no intention of answering.

I settle deeper into the chair in my home office, one socked foot tucked beneath me while three monitors illuminate the otherwise dim room.

Outside my window, October has painted Sleepy Hollow in shades of amber and rust.The maple trees surrounding my cottage have begun their annual transformation, dropping golden leaves across the yard and burying the crooked stone walkway that leads from the driveway to the porch.

The house looks like something that wandered out of a storybook and got tired of waiting for someone to notice. White clapboard siding weathered by decades of storms. Dark green shutters. A wraparound porch with a swing that creaks whenever the wind moves through it.

Window boxes overflowing with plants that somehow refuse to die, despite my repeated neglect.

I still haven't figured out what half of them are.

Everly claims at least three are medicinal. The other two, according to her, are "probably just dramatic." That sounds like something a plant would be if it lived in Sleepy Hollow.

The cottage sits at the edge of town where the last houses give way to woods. It was built sometime in the late 1800s, although no one seems able to agree on the exact year. The historical society says one thing. The county records say another. The elderly woman who sold it to me insisted the house was "older than paperwork." I assumed she was joking. Mostly.

When I first saw the cottage, I thought it was charming. The second time I saw it, I thought it was suspiciously cheap. The third time, after hearing three separate locals politely explain that "some places have memories," I decided people in Sleepy Hollow were either incredibly superstitious or incredibly committed to keeping property values low.

Either way, I bought it.

The truth is simpler than any ghost story. I needed a place where nobody knew me. Nobody knew Hollow Truths. Nobody knew the woman behind the advice. Nobody knew the girl who disappeared 15 years ago and came back pretending she hadn't.

The cottage gave me privacy. It gave me distance. It gave me a locked attic, a fireplace that works only when it feels like cooperating, and a neighbor across the road who leaves homemade pies on my porch while pretending she doesn't.

In other words, it gave me exactly what I needed. A place to hide.

My scheduling dashboard finishes uploading tomorrow's content calendar with a cheerful ping. Twenty-seven posts. Eight newsletters. Five short-form videos. Three podcast clips. One long-form advice column.

Enough material to keep millions of people convinced someone understands human behavior.

I sip my now-lukewarm coffee and open today's featured submission.

Subject: I Left My Fiancé Three Weeks Before Our Wedding.

Original.

The woman explains that she discovered her fiancé secretly maintaining contact with his ex for over a year. Nothing physical. Just emotional dependence. Hidden messages. Daily phone calls.