The first time Ethan saw Vivian, she was standing by the lake, her pale blue dress billowing in the autumn wind. The air carried the scent of decaying leaves, and the sky was painted in hues of burnt orange and deep purple. He had never seen anyone so ethereal, so hauntingly beautiful.
Ethan had moved to Black Hollow, a quiet town nestled between thick forests and an ever-misty lake, for a fresh start. A city journalist seeking solitude, he had purchased an old cabin near the water’s edge, hoping to finish his novel. But from the first night, strange things happened—whispers in the wind, creaking floorboards when no one was there, and the feeling of being watched.
Vivian appeared the next evening, just as the fog rolled over the lake. She smiled at him, a melancholic yet inviting expression, and introduced herself. Something about her felt… distant. Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper, as if it belonged to another world.
“I used to live here,” she said, gazing at the lake. “A long time ago.”
Ethan was captivated. He wanted to know everything about her—where she came from, why she walked alone by the water, and why his heart pounded whenever she was near.
As the weeks passed, their meetings became routine. Vivian was always there at twilight, and they would talk for hours. She knew everything about the town—its history, its secrets. And though she rarely spoke of herself, Ethan could sense sorrow lingering behind her eyes.
One evening, he reached out and took her hand. It was cold, like marble, but he didn’t pull away. A shock of electricity passed between them, and for the first time, a flicker of fear crossed Vivian’s face.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, pulling away. “You should leave Black Hollow.”
Ethan frowned. “Why?”
“Because I’m not the only one who lingers here.”
That night, his cabin felt colder than usual. The whispers in the wind turned into voices—mournful wails that seeped through the walls. Shadows moved where there should have been none. Something knocked against his window, and when he looked out, he saw nothing but the black expanse of the lake.
Determined to uncover the truth, Ethan researched the town’s history. What he found sent shivers down his spine. Decades ago, a young woman named Vivian Caldwell had drowned in Black Hollow Lake. Some said it was an accident. Others whispered of a jealous lover who had dragged her under. Her body was never found, and legends spoke of her restless spirit wandering the shoreline, searching for something—or someone.
Ethan’s blood ran cold. The woman he had been meeting every night… she had been dead for nearly fifty years.
Yet, he couldn’t stay away.
The next evening, he confronted Vivian. “You’re a ghost,” he said, his voice trembling.
She looked down, sadness etched in her delicate features. “I know.”
“Why me?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I only know that when I saw you, something changed. I feel… more alive.”
Ethan should have run. He should have packed his things and left Black Hollow forever. But love, even in its most terrifying form, is not so easily abandoned.
Their nights together became stolen moments between worlds. He no longer feared the whispers or the shadows—only the inevitable truth that their love could never be. But Vivian was right. She wasn’t the only presence in Black Hollow.
One night, as they stood by the lake, a chilling laughter echoed from the trees. The air grew thick, heavy with malice. A figure emerged from the darkness—a tall, spectral man with hollow eyes and a twisted grin.
“She’s mine,” the figure rasped. “She will always be mine.”
Vivian clutched Ethan’s arm. “Run,” she pleaded.
But Ethan wouldn’t leave her. Instead, he stood his ground. “She’s not yours,” he said, his voice steady. “She’s free.”
The spirit’s grin widened, revealing jagged teeth. The wind howled, and the ground beneath them trembled. Shadows slithered like serpents, wrapping around Vivian, pulling her away from him. She screamed, reaching for Ethan, her fingers barely brushing his before she was yanked into the darkness.
And then—silence.
Ethan fell to his knees, the weight of loss crushing him. He had fought for love, but love had been stolen from him by the very forces that bound Vivian to the lake.
Days turned to weeks. The town remained the same, but Ethan was forever changed. Every evening, he returned to the shore, hoping, praying. But Vivian never came back.
Until one night.
A whisper in the wind. A faint touch on his cheek. And then, a voice—soft, barely above a whisper.
“Ethan.”
He turned, and there she was, standing by the water, her pale blue dress billowing in the night breeze.
But this time, she wasn’t alone. Ethan stepped closer, his heart pounding. The air was thick with the scent of decay, and from the depths of the lake, hollow eyes watched.
He should have run.
But love, even in its most terrifying form, is not so easily abandoned.
Comments
Post a Comment