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A vanished village. A secret the kids left in the dirt. And the call that drags them back when night finally remembers their names. We’re building a British folk-horror tabletop RPG where memory has teeth, analog ghosts haunt the edges of the map, and fear is not just a feeling—it’s a mechanic you speak aloud before you roll.

Here’s the spine of the design: a lean D20 roll-under system that keeps hands light and hearts pounding, paired with a fear-declaration rule that turns table talk into ritual. Say the worst that could happen. Roll. On a failure, the fiction honors your dread. On a success, you still have to live with what the dark almost made true. Tethers—personal memories from 1989—act as fragile lifelines when the boundary thins at night. Days are for reconnection, rumor, and preparation; nights are when Black Hollow reaches back and recognizes you.

We ground the horror in place and time: North Yorkshire lanes, damp stone, churchyards with sinking ground, and the hum of old electrics. The tone nods to English folklore and post-punk mood—think The Cure’s Disintegration on repeat, the smell of hairspray and rain, and the way a pristine Walkman in a modern kitchen can feel like a message. Influences range from investigative horror to story-forward minimalism, but the goal is singular: make silence at the table heavy again. The past is not finished with you, and the die knows it.

If that mix of memory-driven storytelling, low-crunch mechanics, and slow-burn dread speaks to you, come along. We’re playtesting, sharing materials, and collecting stories from tables brave enough to return to Black Hollow. Subscribe, share with a friend who loves folk horror, and leave a review with the fear you’d declare first—what would you say out loud before you roll?