Dark Waters -

The pale hands reached for the edge of the boat. The wood began to crack under the weight of something immense rising from the silt. Elias realized then that the hands weren't separate bodies. They were all part of one thing—a vast, singular consciousness that lived in the dark, gathering the lost to keep its own loneliness at bay.

Fifty years ago, his brother, Thomas, had fallen into these waters. They’d been skipping stones when Thomas slipped. Elias remembered the splash—a heavy, final sound—and then... nothing. No thrashing. No bubbles. Just the lake smoothing itself over like a closing wound. The divers never found a body. They said the lake was bottomless in the center, fed by subterranean rivers that could pull a man down to the roots of the world. Dark Waters

"You stayed top-side too long, Elias," the boy’s voice didn't come from his mouth; it echoed up from the floor of the lake, vibrating through the wood of the boat. "The air is thin. The sun burns. Down here, the water remembers everything." The pale hands reached for the edge of the boat

Deep below, a pale shape drifted. It wasn't a fish or a sunken log. It was a hand—long, translucent fingers splayed against the dark. And then another. Dozens of them, waving slowly like pale anemones in a current that shouldn't exist. They were all part of one thing—a vast,

He didn't jump. He simply leaned forward until the center of gravity gave way.

The splash was heavy and final. The lantern flickered out as it hit the surface, and for a moment, the silver fog swirled into the vacuum Elias left behind. Then, the lake smoothed itself over, polished and black, hiding its secrets once again beneath the dark waters.

"Is it peaceful?" Elias asked, his hand hovering over the water. "It is silent," the voice replied.