Beneath the Black Lake

They say the lake was once a village.

Long before the waters rose, before the dam was built and the river redirected, a small hamlet lay nestled in a valley of pines. It had cobbled paths, stone cottages, a crooked church tower, and a single clock that struck every hour, even when the village went quiet.

Then came the flood.

The government had its reasons—progress, energy, irrigation. Promises were made. Families were relocated. But no one ever talked about what happened after. About the sounds people heard echoing from the dam at night. About the dreams of drowning. About the things that surfaced, briefly, in the early morning fog before slipping back down beneath the black water.

The place is called Black Lake now. No one remembers the village’s name.

And no one dares swim there.

When Sara arrived at the cabin her uncle left her, the lake stretched before her like a slab of polished obsidian. It was beautiful in a quiet, haunted sort of way, and exactly what she needed—a break from city noise and memory. After her mother’s death, she’d withdrawn from everything. Friends. Work. Even herself.

The cabin, old and creaking, was just on the edge of the lake. From the front porch, she could watch the water shimmer under the moonlight, utterly still, utterly black. The first few nights passed uneventfully—coffee, books, wine, sleep.

On the fourth night, she heard the bell.

A distant clang, like an old church bell struck once. Then silence. She sat up in bed, heart tapping. Maybe wind. Or an animal.

She heard it again the next night. Two chimes. Louder. Closer.

Sara didn’t believe in ghosts. But there was something deeply unsettling about the sound. It was hollow, underwater. As if struck deep below the surface. That’s when she remembered what her mother used to say, when she was little and they visited this place.

“Don’t go near the lake after dark. The dead remember.”

Sara had laughed it off then. But now, those words crawled back into her mind.

On the sixth night, she had the dream.

She stood on the edge of the lake, fog rising around her knees, the surface like glass. And beneath it—houses. Roofs. Stone walls. A tilted bell tower. She watched the bell sway, though there was no wind, and from it rang the same chime she’d been hearing. Then, something moved below. A shape. No—a shadow. It rose slowly, deliberately, toward the surface.

She woke with a start, her lungs tight as if she’d been holding her breath. Morning light poured in, but the chill didn’t leave.

Later that day, she walked down to the dock. The water didn’t move, didn’t ripple. It was like looking into tar. And in that stillness, she saw something odd: a glimmer. Like metal.

She returned that night with a flashlight. Sat at the edge, knees drawn in, staring into the water. At first, nothing. Then she saw it—just for a moment—a shape beneath the surface. A roof. A cross. A face.

Sara stumbled back, the flashlight slipping from her grip and vanishing into the black.

The bell rang. Once. Louder than ever.

She ran back to the cabin and locked every door.

The next day, she tried to leave.

Her car wouldn’t start. The battery, dead. Her phone, inexplicably drained. She thought of walking to the nearest gas station, miles down the trail—but a heavy rain began to fall, and fog rolled in fast, cloaking the world in wet gray silence.

That night, she heard more than the bell.

Voices.

They whispered beneath her floorboards, echoing from the fireplace, murmuring through the drain in the bathroom sink.

“We remember.”

The mirror above the sink fogged over without steam. Words slowly appeared, written as if by an invisible hand:

JOIN US.

She backed away, her breath catching in her throat.

Then, footsteps on the roof.

Not animals. Too slow. Too deliberate.

She fled to the basement, the only place that felt solid, away from the lake. But the voices followed. Grew louder. The air grew colder. And then, from the shadows of the old stone cellar, a figure stepped forward.

A girl. No older than ten. Dripping wet, skin pale as ice, hair tangled with weeds.

Sara couldn’t move.

“You live in our home,” the girl said. “You took what was buried.”

Sara shook her head. “I didn’t take anything.”

The girl’s eyes glowed faintly blue. “You dreamed of us. That’s enough.”

Then the floor groaned, and water burst through the cracks

They found the cabin days later, after the fog cleared. Empty. No sign of Sara. Her car, phone, and belongings untouched. The basement flooded, strangely, despite no storm damage or broken pipes.

Locals said it was the lake.

Said you shouldn’t go too close.

Especially at night.

Sometimes, when the mist rolls in and the moon is full, you can still hear it—the bell. Striking slowly. And if you listen closely, you’ll hear a voice calling from beneath the black lake.

Begging you to come closer.

Begging you to join them.

Because beneath the black lake…

The surface hides more than water.