The Haunting of Black Hollow Lake

Black Hollow Lake was notorious for its stillness. The water, a deep and almost unnatural black, mirrored the dense woods that surrounded it, creating an eerie atmosphere that kept most locals at a distance. Legends had long swirled about the lake, with stories of disappearances and ghostly sightings that sent shivers down the spines of those who dared to speak of them.

Megan had heard the stories growing up, but she never paid them much mind. She was a skeptic, always more interested in the facts than in ghost tales. So when she inherited her late uncle’s cabin on the edge of Black Hollow Lake, she saw it as an opportunity to escape the hustle and bustle of city life. A peaceful retreat where she could finally work on her novel.

The cabin was quaint, nestled among tall pines, with a view of the lake that was both breathtaking and unsettling. The water was as dark as she’d heard, but Megan found it oddly beautiful. She spent her first few days exploring the woods, taking in the crisp autumn air, and settling into a routine. But it wasn’t long before she started noticing the strangeness.

It began with the whispers. At first, Megan thought it was the wind, rustling through the trees, but the sounds were too deliberate, too distinct. They were soft, barely more than a murmur, and seemed to rise up from the lake itself. No matter where she was in the cabin, the whispers were always there, just on the edge of hearing, like someone was speaking to her from far away.

Megan tried to ignore them, attributing them to the isolation and her overactive imagination. But the feeling of being watched soon followed. No matter where she went, she couldn’t shake the sensation that eyes were on her, unseen but ever-present. The worst part was when she was by the lake—she could feel it the most there, as if something beneath the water was observing her every move.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Megan sat by the lake with her notebook. The water was calm, too calm, and the air was thick with an unnatural silence. As she scribbled down ideas for her story, she noticed ripples on the lake’s surface, spreading out from the center as if something was disturbing the water.

She watched, expecting a fish or perhaps a fallen branch, but nothing broke the surface. The ripples grew, moving closer to the shore, and that’s when she saw it—a dark shape slowly rising from the depths, barely visible in the dim light.

Megan froze, her breath catching in her throat. The shape grew clearer, taking the form of a figure, its features obscured by the dark water but unmistakably human. It stood just beneath the surface, unmoving, staring up at her with hollow eyes that seemed to glow faintly in the dusk.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she scrambled to her feet, dropping her notebook. She stumbled back toward the cabin, not daring to look away from the figure. It didn’t follow her, but the whispers returned, louder this time, insistent, as if the lake itself was trying to communicate with her.

Shaken, Megan locked herself inside the cabin, closing all the curtains and turning on every light. She tried to rationalize what she’d seen—perhaps it was a log or a trick of the light, nothing more. But deep down, she knew something was wrong with Black Hollow Lake.

That night, she barely slept. The whispers were relentless, echoing in her mind even when she covered her ears. They seemed to form words, a language she couldn’t understand but could feel in her bones. The sensation of being watched intensified, the air in the cabin growing colder, heavier, as if something was pressing down on her.

Around midnight, Megan heard the floorboards creak. She sat up in bed, her pulse racing. The creaking grew louder, closer, moving through the cabin as if someone—or something—was walking through the rooms. She grabbed her phone, the screen lighting up the darkness, but when she tried to call for help, there was no signal.

Suddenly, the creaking stopped right outside her bedroom door. Megan held her breath, her eyes locked on the door handle, which began to turn slowly, deliberately, as if someone was about to enter.

Panic surged through her. She grabbed the bedside lamp, ready to defend herself, but the door creaked open on its own, revealing an empty hallway. The whispers flooded the room, deafening now, and she could feel the presence of something cold and malevolent, something that had risen from the lake.

Without thinking, Megan bolted from the cabin, not caring where she was running. She could hear the whispers following her, echoing through the trees, urging her to come back, to return to the lake. She ran until she reached her car, throwing herself inside and speeding away down the dirt road.

The next morning, the police found her car abandoned just outside the town, the door still open. There was no sign of Megan, only her notebook lying on the passenger seat, soaked through as if it had been submerged in water.

The cabin remains vacant to this day, a silent sentinel overlooking the dark waters of Black Hollow Lake. The locals still speak of it in hushed tones, warning anyone who dares to visit that the lake never forgets, and those who disturb its secrets may find themselves lost in its depths, their voices joining the eternal whispers of the drowned.