The lake looked still—too still. As if it were holding its breath.
Mira stepped out of the car, gravel crunching beneath her boots. A bitter wind blew in from the water, stirring the hem of her coat and biting at her neck. The sky hung low and gray, pressing the trees into eerie silhouettes. Black Hollow Lake stretched before her—vast, silent, and dark as ink.
Her parents had avoided talking about this place. After her grandmother died two weeks ago, they told her she didn't have to go back. But something had pulled Mira here—maybe curiosity, maybe a memory that refused to stay buried.
The house stood where she remembered it: tucked between tall pine trees, with a crooked porch and peeling blue paint. The shutters hung slightly loose, like the place had been holding itself together just long enough for her return.
She took the key from her pocket and stepped inside. Dust hung in the air. The floorboards creaked beneath her weight. Everything felt too still, as if the house had been waiting.
The scent of lavender lingered faintly—her grandmother's favorite. It wrapped around Mira like a distant hug, familiar but hollow. The furniture sat exactly as it had ten years ago. A clock on the wall ticked, but the hands didn't move.
In the hallway, she passed an old photo frame: her six-year-old self grinning on the dock, her grandmother beside her, one hand resting gently on Mira's shoulder. Behind them, the lake shimmered.
She remembered the warmth of that summer—the sweet lemonade, the quiet hum of dragonflies… and the night she woke up crying, her grandmother standing by the window, staring at the water.
Mira had never asked what she'd seen.
Now she wished she had.
She climbed the stairs slowly. The guest room upstairs would be hers now. It was small but clean, with a narrow bed and a window that looked out toward the lake.
Unpacking could wait.
Night fell quickly. The woods outside blurred into shadow. Fog crept along the surface of the lake, soft and thick like smoke. Mira made tea and sat on the porch, watching the moon rise.
And that's when she heard it.
A whisper.
She turned sharply. Nothing. Just wind moving through the trees.
Then again—closer.
*"Mira…"*
Her breath caught. It wasn't just the wind.
She stood, scanning the shoreline. "Hello?" Her voice cracked the silence like glass.
No reply.
But the whisper had come from the lake.
She stepped off the porch and walked slowly toward the dock, each footstep echoing. Water lapped gently at the wood. Moonlight danced on the surface, and for a moment… she thought she saw something—no, someone—standing at the far end of the dock.
But when she blinked, it was gone.
Her chest tightened. A chill ran up her spine.
Then, just behind her, a voice—low, male, quiet: "You shouldn't be here at night."
She spun around.
A boy stood at the edge of the trees. Tall, dressed in black, with dark hair falling into his eyes.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"Name's Jin," he said calmly. "I live in town."
Mira didn't relax. "You're just out here in the woods?"
"I saw your lights from the road. Thought I'd check if someone moved in. Most people avoid this place."
She narrowed her eyes. "Why?"
He looked past her, toward the lake. His voice dropped. "Because the lake remembers."
Mira stared at him. "What does that mean?"
Jin's jaw tightened. "Don't listen when it whispers."
And just like that, he turned and vanished into the trees.
Mira stood alone, heart pounding, the wind brushing against her like fingers.
Somewhere behind her, the lake sighed—and the whispers began again.
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