When Mara and Daniel move into their new home, the backyard contains a small, perfectly rounded hill.
At first, it's only an inconvenience. A strange landscaping flaw. A curiosity.
Then the ground beneath it breathes.
What begins as a subtle disturbance becomes something far more unsettling-not a haunting, not a buried secret, but a boundary. A seam in the earth marking a line no one remembers drawing.
As the mound changes, Mara begins to feel the depth beneath the land in ways she cannot explain. The hill isn't trying to break free. It isn't rising in violence. It is thinning the illusion that the surface is solid and separate from what lies below.
And once that boundary dissolves, the world does not collapse.
It settles.
The Hill That Breathes is a quiet, unsettling novel about scale, memory, and the fragile comfort of believing we stand above the world instead of within it. For readers who love slow-burn horror, existential unease, and stories where the ground itself becomes a character.