As he reached the center of the lake, the air grew unnaturally still. The water began to vibrate—a low, rhythmic hum that Elias felt in his teeth. He lowered the lantern over the side. The light struggled against the murk, illuminating only a few feet of the swirling, ink-like depths. Then, he saw it.
"You stayed top-side too long, Elias," the boy’s voice didn't come from his mouth; it echoed up from the floor of the lake, vibrating through the wood of the boat. "The air is thin. The sun burns. Down here, the water remembers everything."
The water began to rise. Not a wave, but a slow, bulging swell right beneath the boat. From the blackness, a face emerged. It was Thomas, or at least the memory of him, preserved in the cold, lightless pressure of the deep. His eyes were wide, glowing with a soft, bioluminescent amber, and his hair drifted around his head like smoke. He didn't look drowned. He looked... transformed. Dark Waters
The fog didn't just sit on Blackwood Lake; it breathed. It was a thick, cold lungful of silver that swallowed the hemlocks and turned the water into a sheet of polished obsidian.
Fifty years ago, his brother, Thomas, had fallen into these waters. They’d been skipping stones when Thomas slipped. Elias remembered the splash—a heavy, final sound—and then... nothing. No thrashing. No bubbles. Just the lake smoothing itself over like a closing wound. The divers never found a body. They said the lake was bottomless in the center, fed by subterranean rivers that could pull a man down to the roots of the world. As he reached the center of the lake,
"Is it peaceful?" Elias asked, his hand hovering over the water. "It is silent," the voice replied.
Tonight, Elias wasn't skipping stones. He had a lantern, a heavy iron chain, and a desperate, foolish hope. The light struggled against the murk, illuminating only
He dipped his oars into the water, careful not to break the surface with a splash. In Blackwood, noise was an invitation.