Reflections of the Lake

The bus stopped with a jolt.

Ethan Ward stepped down, his notebook tucked under his arm, and looked around.

The lake was bigger than he had imagined — silent, silver, and endless. The mountains behind it looked like sleeping giants.

He had come here to write.

The university had granted him a semester off after his last novel failed miserably. A mind that once created worlds is now empty, he had written in his journal.

But this place — “Mirror Lake” — was rumored to inspire artists. People said that if you looked into its water long enough, you could see what you truly needed to create again.

Ethan wasn’t sure if that meant vision or madness.

🏞️ Arrival

The cottage he had rented was small, almost forgotten. An old woman named Mrs. Hargrove owned it. She met him at the door, her voice soft but eyes strangely sharp.

“You’ll find the lake quiet this time of year,” she said. “It listens more than it speaks.”

Ethan smiled politely. “I just need a bit of quiet to write.”

She nodded slowly. “Just don’t stay by the water after midnight. The reflections lie.”

Ethan laughed it off. “Old superstition, I suppose?”

She didn’t answer. She simply looked past him, toward the glittering lake, as if remembering something she wished she hadn’t.

✍️ The Writer’s Block

For three days, Ethan wrote nothing. He woke early, watched the mist curl over the water, made coffee, and stared at the blank page.

Every time he tried to start a story, he heard whispers of his own failure — critics calling his last book “emotionless,” his agent saying, “You’ve lost your spark.”

On the fourth night, he sat on the pier, notebook in hand, moonlight trembling on the lake.

That’s when he saw it — his reflection, clearer than ever before. But it wasn’t moving like him.

When he tilted his head, the reflection didn’t. It was still — smiling faintly, eyes gleaming silver.

He blinked. The image returned to normal.

He told himself it was exhaustion, nothing more.

But deep inside, something felt wrong.

🌙 The Reflection Speaks

The next night, it happened again.

He went down to the pier at midnight, the old woman’s warning echoing in his mind — Don’t stay after midnight.

The lake was still as glass. He leaned over, staring at his reflection.

And then it spoke.

“You’re wasting time, Ethan,” it whispered. “You came here to write, not to mourn yourself.”

Ethan froze. His breath caught in his throat. “Who… who are you?”

The reflection smiled. “The part of you that still remembers why you write.”

He stumbled back, heart pounding. “I’m dreaming,” he said to himself. “Just a dream.”

“Dreams are just truths we refuse to see,” the reflection murmured. “Come back tomorrow night. I’ll show you what you’ve forgotten.”

The water rippled — and went silent again.

📖 The Stories Return

He didn’t sleep that night.

The next day, words began to flow like rain. He wrote until his hand cramped — stories full of life and darkness and beauty. It felt like something had opened inside him.

When Mrs. Hargrove brought him breakfast, she noticed the change. “You’ve been to the water again, haven’t you?” she asked quietly.

Ethan grinned. “Yes! And it worked. I’m writing again.”

She looked frightened instead of happy. “You must stop. That lake doesn’t give. It takes.”

He frowned. “Takes what?”

“Pieces of you,” she whispered. “It shows what you need, but it feeds on what you are.”

Ethan laughed. “You really believe that?”

But deep down, her words lingered.

🌌 Midnight Bargain

That night, he went again — notebook clutched tight.

The reflection was waiting.

“You see?” it said softly. “You’re writing again.”

“Yes,” Ethan said. “But how? What are you?”

“I’m you,” it replied. “The you who never stopped believing. You buried me when you gave up.”

Ethan knelt by the edge. “Can I keep this forever? This inspiration?”

The reflection’s smile widened. “Of course. But everything has a price.”

Ethan hesitated. “What price?”

The reflection’s hand reached up — impossibly, from beneath the water — and brushed against his. The touch was cold, like moonlight.

“Nothing you’ll miss,” it said.

📚 The Success

Weeks passed. Ethan wrote a masterpiece — a novel that burned with life. The university praised his return, the publisher called it genius, and Mrs. Hargrove stopped coming by altogether.

He should’ve been happy.

But something was wrong.

His reflection in mirrors no longer matched his face. In the lake, it smiled when he didn’t. In the mirror, it blinked seconds too late.

Once, as he shaved, his reflection didn’t move at all — it just watched him, eyes cold and curious.

He smashed the mirror.

But the next night, he heard a voice whisper through his dreams:

“A deal’s a deal, Ethan.”

🕰️ The Vanishing

He tried to leave. Packed his bags. But when he started his car, the road looped back to the same cottage. No matter which way he turned, he always ended up by the lake.

He screamed into the night. “What do you want from me?”

The lake rippled — and his reflection stepped out.

It was him — but not. Paler, sharper, more alive.

“You gave me what I needed,” it said. “Now it’s my turn to live.”

Before Ethan could run, the reflection reached out — and pulled him into the water.

The surface went still.

A moment later, another Ethan climbed out, dripping, smiling faintly. He looked around at the quiet woods, then whispered, “Time to start the next chapter.”

🌒 One Year Later

The new book Reflections of the Lake became a bestseller. Critics called it “unsettlingly real.”

At the signing events, people said the author, Ethan Ward, seemed… different. His eyes too pale, his smile too calm.

Mrs. Hargrove read the book once. Then she locked her doors, drew the curtains, and whispered to no one, “The lake took another one.”

Down by the water, at midnight, a faint outline still shimmered beneath the surface — a man’s face, trapped and screaming silently.