The Lake Calls

The weight of the sheriff’s words lingered in the air.

"Once you see them—they see you, too."

Hannah swallowed the lump in her throat. The image of the faceless figure burned behind her eyes. She wanted to believe it was a trick of the camera—distortion, bad lighting, a glitch. But deep down, she knew better.

Something was in that lake the night Claire disappeared. And if it had taken her sister, Hannah would drag it into the light and make it give her back.

She squared her shoulders. "Take me there. Tonight."

Sheriff Grayson’s jaw tightened. "I told you. Not at night."

"Why? Because of The Hollow Ones?" she asked, testing the name on her tongue.

Grayson’s eyes darkened. "That’s not just some legend, Holloway. This town's been dealing with them for over a hundred years." He rubbed a hand over his face. "Every twenty years, someone goes missing. Always near the lake. No bodies. No evidence. Just… gone."

Hannah’s stomach twisted. "And Claire? What about the others?"

"Never found."

The weight of his words settled in her chest.

"Then I don’t have twenty years to wait," she snapped. "If these things are back, I need to know what they want. I need to know if Claire—"

Her voice broke. She swallowed hard. "I need to see for myself."

Grayson studied her for a long moment, then exhaled sharply. "Fine. But we go before the fog rolls in. And if I say we leave, we leave. Got it?"

Hannah nodded. "Got it."

---

The Road to Blackwood Lake

The drive to the lake was suffocatingly quiet. The night pressed in around them, thick with fog that clung to the trees like ghostly fingers.

Hannah sat in the passenger seat of Grayson’s truck, her hands balled into fists. The headlights barely cut through the mist, casting eerie shadows against the trees.

"You know, I thought you’d be different," Grayson muttered.

Hannah glanced at him. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"Thought you’d be smarter than to come back here."

She scoffed. "I didn’t have a choice."

Grayson didn’t argue. He just tightened his grip on the wheel and kept driving.

As they neared the lake, the air grew heavier. Colder. The scent of damp earth and stagnant water filled the truck.

Then she saw it.

The water stretched out like a black void, completely still, as if frozen in time. Mist curled above the surface, swirling unnaturally. The dock, old and rotting, jutted out into the lake like the bones of something long dead.

The trees lining the shore stood tall and skeletal, their bare branches reaching toward the sky. The entire place felt… wrong. Like the world had forgotten it.

Hannah stepped out of the truck, her breath visible in the sudden cold.

"Jesus," she muttered. "It wasn’t like this before."

"It changes at night," Grayson said, shutting his door. He reached into the truck bed and pulled out a shotgun.

Her brows shot up. "You think bullets will stop something that doesn’t have a face?"

Grayson sighed. "No. But they make me feel better."

That wasn’t comforting.

Hannah took a cautious step toward the water. The air buzzed with a strange energy, making the hairs on her arms rise.

She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out Claire’s cracked phone. The screen was dead, but she held it tightly anyway.

"Claire was standing right here," she murmured, staring at the edge of the dock.

Grayson shifted beside her. "Yeah."

She turned to him. "What was she looking at?"

Grayson hesitated, then pointed at the water. "That."

Hannah followed his gaze.

At first, she saw nothing. Just the smooth, unbroken surface of the lake.

Then—

The ripples.

Small. Gentle. As if something was just beneath the surface, watching.

She sucked in a breath. "Did you see that?"

Grayson nodded, his face grim. "Yeah."

A chill slithered down her spine. The water stilled again, silent and waiting.

Then—

A whisper.

Not from the trees. Not from Grayson.

From the lake.

"Hannah."

She froze.

The voice was distant. Familiar.

Her throat tightened. "Claire?"

Grayson grabbed her arm. "Don’t."

She shook him off, stepping closer to the water. "Claire?!"

Silence.

Then, slowly—the lake answered.

The water, once still, began to move. A slow, unnatural ripple fanned out from the center of the lake.

Something was coming up.

A shape rose from the depths, breaking the surface without making a sound.

Hannah’s breath caught.

It was a person.

No—the shape of a person.

Dripping wet. Hollow. Faceless.

She staggered back, her pulse slamming against her ribs.

Grayson cocked the shotgun. "We’re leaving. Now."

But Hannah couldn’t move.

Because the figure in the water was reaching for her.

And then it spoke.

"Help me."

Her blood ran cold.

Because this time, she recognized the voice.

It was Claire.

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