The Wishing Lake

There was no sound. No wind, no birds, and the surface of the lake was utterly still. In so many pictures, Ashley had seen this lake sparkle under green trees in the warm sunlight. Of course it would be grey today. The sky was overcast, and the clouds stooped low, their wings saturating the treetops. Fog misted up at the reaches of the lake. The far bank was dark with black trees. She had stuttered down the steep bank, skidding through mud and catching herself on branches to get as close to the surface of the lake as she could—the Wishing Lake.

The lake was tucked off a footworn hiking trail in a little valley of the Oregon Cascades. The place was off the map until a local legend had spread to tourists and flurried to fame on the internet over the past year. Marriages long lost to divorce were resurrected, infertile wombs conceived new life, and businesses were saved from the brink of bankruptcy. One girl with cancer had stepped into the water and made her wish, and by her next appointment the cancer was completely in remission. Ashley saw all their faces beaming in post after post. Whether the magic was true or not didn’t seem to matter. People were hungry for a better tomorrow, and this was a place of new beginnings.

So Ashley was here. Ten years is a long time lost. Ten long years pursuing her dream, with every minor success succeeded by major setback. Ten years of trudging through adulthood, stumbling to find her way. Ten years of soul-crushing work and watching her dreams wash away like waking up. Ten years with... him. Gone. She had never given up on her dreams, but they seemed to have given up on her. And so did he.

When she first planned this trip, there was so much she would have wished for. But now that she was here she wasn’t sure. There was no one thing that could make it all right again. She could wish for him back, but what would that change between them? She could wish for success, but she had gotten her hopes up so many times before. She’d rather spare herself than crash and burn again. Ten years. It was as though everything in life had led her to this point—every squall to this moment of stillness, and yet she couldn’t see how to move forward from it. She at least had hoped to find perspective.

All that came was silence.

She skipped a rock into the lake. It bounced once and plunked into silky depth. Silly coincidences, that’s all. There was no magic here. And if there was any magic in the world, it was set aside for others.

The fog heaved up with clenching claws. The thick air laid heavy on her shoulders; every breath was a force of will. The scent of pine mingled with the stench of mud.

He wasn’t coming back. Her dreams would never come true. She was washed up, used up, and time was against her. The only things waiting for her back home were the ever-present trenches. There was no escape from this torture. She wished it would all just end.

Some yards out, the water stirred and startled her. Its silver surface swirled and creased, then stopped. The sudden sound had broken through like thunder to her ears. Again the water swept, to and fro, rippling closer and closer to her spot on the bank. She crept back from the edge. It wasn’t a small fish, whatever it was. The lake itself seemed to be rising before her.

She started and tripped and clambered up the side of the bank. With every step, her foot slid in the mud. The stirring water rose louder. She couldn’t find a solid place to plant her steps. She grabbed a root by her shoulder and pulled herself up. Her foot slipped again, and she face-planted the mud. Her body slid back down to the water’s edge. The lake roared behind her.

She wiped her plastered brow and turned around to glimpse a slender grey form fold out of the water. Sunken black eyes stared back at her. She couldn’t move or hope or pray. The lake swelled around her legs. The form lurched and fell on her. She screamed. There was no sound.