Ghosts
The Light on the Lake
The lake light rose up, and the woman with it. My grandmother's medallion was the only thing between us.
The night shift at Meridian Logistics was supposed to be easy. Eight hours of monitors, microwave dinners, and nothing much happening. That's what the brochure said, anyway. Ethan didn't mind it—the pay was decent, the work was mindless, and nobody breathing down your neck about productivity.
Until the night Marcus and I decided to walk the grounds.
The lake behind the warehouse wasn't part of the property officially. It was just there—an old flooded gravel pit the city had never bothered to fill in, ringed by dead trees and warning signs nobody read. But on hot nights, the air coming off the water felt like air conditioning, and that's where we went.
There was an island. A small rise of mud and weeds maybe thirty meters from the shore. Marcus pointed at it with his flashlight and said he heard someone say there was an old well there, left over from the gravel operation. I said I wanted to see it.
"We shouldn't," Marcus said. But I was already waist-deep before he finished the sentence.
The water was colder than it should have been. I made it to the island and stood in the dead grass, looking at the old well shaft—collapsed, mostly, just a ring of stones and darkness. Marcus stayed on shore, flashlight pointed at my back like a warning.
That's when I saw the light.
It came from the center of the lake. Not a reflection. Not a boat. A light—greenish, sickly, moving under the surface like something swimming. It got closer. The water around it rippled without wind.
And then it stopped.
At the edge of the island, maybe ten feet from where I stood, the lake started to glow. The light rose up through the black water, and I saw her.
She wasn't human anymore. The face was there—sort of—the angles and features you could recognize as a woman. But the skin was wrong. Grey and bloated, like something that had been in water too long. Her mouth opened and the light came out, but the light was dark, somehow. Green-black. And her teeth—
I didn't run. I should have. But my legs wouldn't move. She was rising, coming out of the lake, her dress trailing water and something else. Something that smelled like rot and stagnant pond.
"Please," I said. I don't know why. Maybe because I had nothing else.
She reached for me. Her fingers were long and wet and cold, and the light around her pulsed like a heartbeat, and I thought—this is it. This is how it ends.
But something happened.
The medallion my grandmother gave me—the old brass one she'd worn since she was a girl in Guangdong, the one I'd worn every day since her funeral three years prior—got hot. Not burning. Just hot. Like holding it near a flame, but the flame was coming from inside the metal itself.
A pulse. Then another. And then the light erupted.
The girl in the lake screamed—a sound like air escaping a pipe—and the light shattered. The green went white, then transparent, then nothing at all. The lake went still. Just black water and moonlight and the distant sound of traffic.
Marcus was on the shore, yelling at me to get out. I didn't remember moving, but I was on shore, soaked, shaking, looking back at the island.
"What happened?" Marcus said. "Your necklace—it's glowing."
I looked down. The medallion was dark. Just tarnished brass, warm from my skin. Nothing special.
But something had happened.
I went back to the monitoring station and sat in front of the screens until sunrise. I didn't touch the water again. I didn't go to the island again. And I never mentioned that night to anyone at work.
Some things, I decided, weren't worth explaining.
And some lakes don't want visitors.
Until the night Marcus and I decided to walk the grounds.
The lake behind the warehouse wasn't part of the property officially. It was just there—an old flooded gravel pit the city had never bothered to fill in, ringed by dead trees and warning signs nobody read. But on hot nights, the air coming off the water felt like air conditioning, and that's where we went.
There was an island. A small rise of mud and weeds maybe thirty meters from the shore. Marcus pointed at it with his flashlight and said he heard someone say there was an old well there, left over from the gravel operation. I said I wanted to see it.
"We shouldn't," Marcus said. But I was already waist-deep before he finished the sentence.
The water was colder than it should have been. I made it to the island and stood in the dead grass, looking at the old well shaft—collapsed, mostly, just a ring of stones and darkness. Marcus stayed on shore, flashlight pointed at my back like a warning.
That's when I saw the light.
It came from the center of the lake. Not a reflection. Not a boat. A light—greenish, sickly, moving under the surface like something swimming. It got closer. The water around it rippled without wind.
And then it stopped.
At the edge of the island, maybe ten feet from where I stood, the lake started to glow. The light rose up through the black water, and I saw her.
She wasn't human anymore. The face was there—sort of—the angles and features you could recognize as a woman. But the skin was wrong. Grey and bloated, like something that had been in water too long. Her mouth opened and the light came out, but the light was dark, somehow. Green-black. And her teeth—
I didn't run. I should have. But my legs wouldn't move. She was rising, coming out of the lake, her dress trailing water and something else. Something that smelled like rot and stagnant pond.
"Please," I said. I don't know why. Maybe because I had nothing else.
She reached for me. Her fingers were long and wet and cold, and the light around her pulsed like a heartbeat, and I thought—this is it. This is how it ends.
But something happened.
The medallion my grandmother gave me—the old brass one she'd worn since she was a girl in Guangdong, the one I'd worn every day since her funeral three years prior—got hot. Not burning. Just hot. Like holding it near a flame, but the flame was coming from inside the metal itself.
A pulse. Then another. And then the light erupted.
The girl in the lake screamed—a sound like air escaping a pipe—and the light shattered. The green went white, then transparent, then nothing at all. The lake went still. Just black water and moonlight and the distant sound of traffic.
Marcus was on the shore, yelling at me to get out. I didn't remember moving, but I was on shore, soaked, shaking, looking back at the island.
"What happened?" Marcus said. "Your necklace—it's glowing."
I looked down. The medallion was dark. Just tarnished brass, warm from my skin. Nothing special.
But something had happened.
I went back to the monitoring station and sat in front of the screens until sunrise. I didn't touch the water again. I didn't go to the island again. And I never mentioned that night to anyone at work.
Some things, I decided, weren't worth explaining.
And some lakes don't want visitors.