Lure of the Still Water

The lake had always been there, nestled in the quiet countryside where the wind barely stirred, where the trees stood still as though listening. It was deep, darker than it should have been, even in the light of day.

His father had died here. Disappeared, really. His mother had heard a whistling sound one night, and in the morning, he was gone. No trace. No splash. No struggle. Just… gone.

Now, the son had returned home, drowning in his own quiet sorrow. The house, once his childhood refuge, felt hollow without his father’s presence. His mother hardly spoke. She merely sat by the window, watching the water. Waiting.

One evening, as the sun bled into the sky, he walked to the lake, the way he had as a child, when the world still held magic. That’s when he saw her.

A woman, half-submerged in the water, her dark hair fanning out like ink. She was beautiful, impossibly so, with luminous skin and eyes that held the night itself. She smiled at him, and he forgot everything—his grief, his pain, the weight of existence.

She did not speak. She only beckoned.

He stepped into the water. It was cold, but her touch was warm. She pulled him close, and they kissed. It was soft at first, then deep, desperate. He hadn’t felt this alive in years.

That night, he told his mother. She didn’t believe him. Or maybe she didn’t want to.

Yet, he kept returning. And each time, he felt lighter, freer. The sadness that had gripped him for so long faded, replaced by something intoxicating. Love? Escape? He wasn’t sure. He only knew that he wanted her, needed her.

On his last night at home, he went to see her one final time. The moon was full, silver light spilling across the water. She was waiting. He waded in, wrapped his arms around her, and they kissed beneath the stars.

Then, the whistling began.

Low at first, drifting through the trees, curling around them like a breath of wind. The sound sent a chill through him, but he ignored it. Her lips were soft. Her body pressed against his, keeping him close.

Then, something changed.

A wetness dripped down his mouth. Not water. Something thicker.

He tried to pull away, but she held him.

Something sharp grazed his lips.

Pain bloomed.

His mother looked out the window. She saw him there, waist-deep in the lake, the woman’s arms wound around him. The whistling grew louder. Her hands trembled. Tears welled in her eyes.

Inside, she covered her ears.

His screams tore through the night.

The woman’s skin split, revealing something monstrous beneath. Rows of jagged teeth. Black, bottomless eyes. Clawed fingers digging into his flesh.

The whistling mixed with his cries as she devoured him, ripping flesh from bone under the silver moon.

His mother did not move.

She had done the same when his father had died.

By dawn, the lake was still once more. The woman was gone, vanished into the depths.

The house remained. The mother remained. And the water, dark and endless, waited.