"The Deep End"

The lake was glassy that morning—too still, too perfect. The kind of eerie calm that makes your skin prickle, even when the sun’s shining bright. No one in Millersfield swam past the dock anymore, not since last summer. But Eliza didn't care about old stories. She never had.

"You coming or not?" she shouted, already chest-deep in the cold water.

Ben stood on the dock, arms crossed, watching the ripples spread from where she splashed. "You’re seriously swimming in that?"

"It’s just a lake," she said, smirking. "You’re not gonna chicken out, are you?"

Ben hesitated. He wasn’t afraid of the water—he grew up on these shores—but something about today felt wrong. The air smelled metallic, and the birds had gone silent. He looked past Eliza, out to the center of the lake—the deep end. Where the blue turned nearly black.

"Don’t go too far," he warned.

But Eliza was already diving under.

She didn’t come back up.

At first, Ben thought she was joking. Typical Eliza—always pushing buttons, always testing limits. He waited ten seconds, then twenty.

“Eliza?” he called, voice breaking through the silence.

Nothing.

Panic hit like a punch. He dove in, slicing through the water, eyes wide open in the murk. No sign of her. Just the cold, pressing darkness below. He surfaced, gasping. "Eliza!" he screamed.

Still nothing.

It took less than an hour for the sheriff’s boat to arrive. The divers searched the lake for two days. They found nothing. No body. No clothes. No signs of struggle. Just... gone.

The town mourned, and whispers spread like smoke.

“She went too far.”

“That lake’s cursed, I swear.”

“There’s something in the deep.”

Ben didn’t believe in curses. But he also didn’t believe someone could vanish without a trace. So when school started again and the lake froze over, he started digging.

Six Months Later

Ben sat cross-legged on his bedroom floor, surrounded by yellowed newspaper clippings and crumpled notes. There were other disappearances—four in the last twenty years. Always teenagers. Always summer. Always the same lake.

The pattern was too perfect.

Late one night, he found a local blog post buried in an archived forum. Written by someone named Caleb J. It read:

"Millersfield Lake isn’t just deep. It’s hollow. In 1993, my brother disappeared there. I dove in after him. What I saw down there wasn’t natural. I barely made it out."

There was an address at the bottom. Just an hour's drive away.

Ben didn’t hesitate.

The Visit

Caleb was in his sixties now. Weathered face, missing teeth, eyes that didn’t blink enough. He didn’t invite Ben inside—just leaned on his porch railing, sipping something strong.

“You saw something,” Ben said.

Caleb nodded slowly. “There’s a current in that lake. But not a normal one. Pulls down, not out. Like the water’s alive. Hungry.”

Ben shivered. “What did it take?”

“My brother. Your girl, too, I guess.”

Caleb took a long pull from his flask, then stared into the trees. “They don’t come back.”

Ben left with a map Caleb drew on an old napkin—an X marked in the deepest part of the lake.

“You wanna join ‘em, be my guest,” Caleb said as Ben walked away.

The Return

By the time the ice melted, Ben had made up his mind. He wasn’t scared anymore. He was determined.

On a foggy spring morning, he returned to the lake alone. He brought scuba gear, a flashlight, and a waterproof camera. No one knew he was there.

He paddled to the X Caleb had drawn, then slipped into the cold water. It closed around him like a fist.

At first, there was nothing. Just water and darkness.

Then the current hit.

It pulled, hard, dragging him down despite the flailing of his arms. He tried to fight it, but it was like getting caught in the hand of a giant. His flashlight flickered—then revealed something that didn’t belong in nature.

An opening in the lakebed. A hole.

He was being sucked into it.

And then—

A face.

Eliza.

Pale, eyes wide, hair floating around her like ink in water. She wasn’t swimming. She was staring. At him.

He reached out. Their fingers almost touched.

Then something else moved.

Behind her, shadows.

Not fish. Not human.

Shapes.

Eliza opened her mouth. Not to scream—but to speak. Bubbles streamed from her lips, but Ben couldn’t hear the words. Just a feeling:

Go back.

He obeyed.

With all his strength, he kicked away from the hole. The current fought him, clawing at his limbs, but he surfaced at last, gasping, coughing, shaking.

Ben didn’t tell anyone what he saw.

But he never swam again.

And when summer came, he posted signs along the dock.

"DANGER – DEEP END – NO SWIMMING"

Not everyone listened.

But he tried.

Because now he understood.

Some people drown.

Others are taken.