Lake of Lost Souls (Part 2/2)

Gradually, strange things happened with the water he took from the lake. His crops grew faster, their stalks strong and unbending. His wife’s health improved quickly. She remarked on the pureness of the water, how it seemed to glow even without light. It seemed to give off an air of being alive – always adjusting its temperature to fit their surroundings, being more refreshing than anything she ever felt. While others complained about the troubling weather and food being in higher demand, his family seemed blessed with good luck.

But deep down, the man knew the truth. Every time he came to the lake now, he remembered to thank the girl. He eventually asked if those strange occurrences were her doing. She confirmed it without much emotion.

The man was grateful. But he felt a stirring of guilt as well. Each time he brought up the topic of the ghost’s wishes, or whether she would want justice for herself at all, she gave the same answer: “Like I said, he cannot be caught.”

Inside, however, he’d already resolved to help the girl in some way. The truth was too harsh to accept. If she knew who her killer was, then couldn’t he help her find evidence? Weren’t her remains still in the lake? How could there be a killer stronger than justice and law?

Sometimes he would find her sitting by the rocks, motionless as she observed his work. At other times, she’d appear as a silent, staring figure next to him when he wasn’t paying attention. Occasionally, when the lake’s clearing especially put his mind into a haze, he would even see her in the lake.

She would stand there, the water almost to her elbows. Her eyes followed his movements as he plunged the bucket into the lake. It wasn’t quite curiosity, but it was the most childlike thing she did. Every visit to the lake felt eerie, surreal – her existence sputtering in and out of impossible places.

The girl did not demand much. Only that he kept the lake a secret, because it was her haven; and that he wouldn’t take more water than needed. Nor could he let others do so. Once he found a better option, he would stop and leave her and the lake in peace.

Days passed. The man had no intention of breaking his promise to the girl.

But little did he know, rumors of his fortune had spread, and certain people were waiting for a chance to confront him.

Two months later, misfortune fell. Cold weather returned in a rage of clouds and gloomy downpours. His wife, now close to the day her pregnancy was due, fell ill again. Nothing could save her now but a real doctor.

Not even miraculous water could. The girl herself acknowledged that truth.

“It’s true,” she told him. “Nor can this lake create money. My powers are limited.” She trailed off, gaze drifting skyward. “Maybe even weakening over time. I hope not. I wanted to preserve this haven and stay in it forever.”

His desperation began to grow – until, one day, he was suddenly approached by some of the town’s wealthiest men. He was surprised; a few were direct members of the council. Being businessmen, brains bursting with profitable ideas, they’d heard about his connection with the special lake.

“Please, sell us your lake,” they proposed, “And allow us to use the water we’ve heard so much about. We’ll build new waterways, maybe turn it into a private spring for bathing. In exchange, we’ll pay you more than enough money to care for your wife. Isn’t that a good deal?”

On the surface, both sides would gain. However, the man faltered. He tried to explain the sacredness of the lake, how he could not trade it away.

“It’ll be fine,” one man insisted, giving him a smile. Drawn to his full height, he was tall, boosted by money and authority. “I know our workers used to complain about spirits haunting the place. But you have been safe, haven’t you? We always figured the stories were a lie. Just lead us to the lake, and we’ll call the best doctors for your wife.”

For a long time, he hesitated. He protested and bargained. But in the end, the man had no other choice. To save his wife, he finally agreed. He told himself they were all reputable, esteemed individuals. They could only mean well.

Yet the next day, his guilt burned.

He couldn’t suppress it.

That lake is the girl’s final resting place! His conscience screamed. Are you that thankless? Is there truly no other way?

And what about her remains?

If they were still there, he had to be present. He had to confront her if she appeared. He had to explain to the men if they found any remains.

The next day, on a cloudy and sullen afternoon, he led them to the lake. There, the men dispersed along with their workers like ants, discussing the lake’s worth in terms he couldn’t understand. The true scale of his actions struck him hard. He had broken his promise. That fact would not change.

The meadow was dark as night. The trees’ darkness swallowed every sound.

Where is she? He thought anxiously, searching all around.

Then, everything flickered. Time seemed to freeze. Reality’s fabric splintered, again, as the men around him went still, their voices muted, and he found himself sputtering into that dream-world again, where only he could see her.

Crimson had replaced the blue of the sky; obsidian clouds pressed low above them. He didn’t notice her at first. Then his eyes went to the lake.

The girl was floating on her side, half-submerged in the water. Her visible eye stared, like a fish’s corpse adrift on the surface. Had there been a little more emotion in them – surprise, even – maybe that would’ve been better than the nothingness in her eyes now. Deadened, as if she wasn’t too surprised by this betrayal at all. Lifeless, as if she couldn’t or didn’t intend to fight back.

“No,” He choked out, terror seizing him. She was ashen like a corpse, like the corpse she had been when she was betrayed and discarded twenty years ago. “I’m sorry. I had to, for my wife- they told me-”

One of the men stepped forward. Then he drew back, a yell escaping his throat. The water had started to ripple, turbulent waves forming on the surface. Rising, crashing against each other, even though no wind had blown.

In his eyes, the girl bobbed slightly on the waves. But as she floated there, her eye flickered from one person to another.

“The person who killed me…” She mumbled at last. Her voice rose over the crashing water; the words reverberated in his ears.

“Who?” He begged, his blood running cold. He understood what she meant now. Killers above justice and law. They were all here, dressed in wealth, their skin unmarked by sun or rain.

“It’s one of them, isn’t it?” He pleaded, gesturing to the people around him. Guilt churned within his heart. “Who is it? Which one of them killed you?”

For a moment, she went silent. The water pushed back and forth, covering parts of her and then receding, soaking her dark hair. Finally, her eye returned to him, silent and cold. Then it turned sharp and wide with intensity.

“It would make no difference if you knew,” she said, and the fury in her words could’ve burned his heart raw.

Around him, the men cried out. The lake’s water had turned to blood. He watched, powerlessly, as the blood began to drain. It sloshed and boiled – undulated and thinned.

It lowered, and lowered still. Until the lake’s floor was bare.

There, a little distance from the shore, was a pile of young bones. She had chosen to vanish rather than to stay and be used again.

The man stared helplessly, his heart sinking in grief.

From that day on, he never saw her again.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

While the ending may seem despondent, I hope it doesn't come across as discouraging victims of powerful people from speaking up. That is not my intention at all! Our world is far from ideal, but it is constantly changing, and I strongly believe no truth under the sun can be hidden by lies for long. I know we can work together to make it a better place. <3