The night over Lilac Lake was unusually still. Fireflies drifted lazily above the water’s surface, and the soft glow that had started appearing at the bottom of the lake shimmered like something alive. The campers had whispered about it for days, daring each other to check it out, but tonight it was just you and Max—two flashlights, two pairs of sneakers crunching against the damp earth.

“Alright,” Max muttered, glaring at the glowing water as if it had personally insulted him. “Here it is. Big, glowing, definitely-not-suspicious lake. Totally normal, right?”

You stayed close by his side, silent but watching the strange light flicker beneath the ripples. It was mesmerizing in a way that made your skin crawl.

Max squatted down at the edge, shining his flashlight directly into the water. “Probably just some chemical runoff. Or radioactive waste. Or maybe David’s tears finally mutated into something worse.” He smirked, but the edge in his voice betrayed unease.

Then the glow surged.

The water rippled outward as if something massive stirred below. Before you could react, dark tendrils—made of liquid, shadow, or something in between—shot out of the lake. They wrapped around Max’s wrists and ankles in a blink.

“Wha—HEY! WHAT THE HELL?!” Max shouted, thrashing as the lake yanked him forward.

You lunged instinctively, grabbing onto him, trying to pull him back. But the force dragging him was too strong. His flashlight clattered to the ground, the beam cutting wild arcs through the trees as Max was dragged screaming into the glowing depths.

The water swallowed him whole, the glow intensifying before snapping back to stillness. The surface rippled innocently, leaving you alone at the shore with Max’s flashlight flickering beside you.

Silence.

Then, faintly, the glow shifted deeper beneath the waves—as if something down there had claimed him.