The road to Merrow Lake was narrower than Maya remembered. Tall pines leaned over the gravel path like sentinels, their shadows stretching long in the late afternoon light. Her car windows were rolled down, and the cool air smelled of pine needles, wet earth, and something faintly metallic—like rain yet to come. The kind of scent that tugged on half-buried memories.
It had been ten years.
Ten years since she had left this place behind. Since that night—the night her younger brother, Aidan, had vanished into the still, black water of the lake behind their family's cottage. Officially, it was called an "accidental drowning," but Maya had never fully believed that. Not even when she was fifteen. Especially not now.
As she rounded the bend, the cottage came into view. Weathered wood siding, dark green shutters, and the sagging porch swing her father had never fixed. It looked smaller somehow—haunted by time and dust. She parked beside the old oak tree and stepped out, gravel crunching underfoot.
The door creaked open with a familiar resistance, like the house was still deciding whether to welcome her or not. Inside, the air was thick with silence, and the faint must of forgotten things. Sheets covered the furniture like shrouds. Cobwebs hung like lace from the rafters.
She stood in the center of the living room and closed her eyes. This was the same place where she and Aidan used to build blanket forts, chase fireflies, and whisper ghost stories by flashlight. But the silence now felt heavier. Like the house itself was holding its breath.
She made her way upstairs to her old bedroom. Everything was where she had left it—the faded posters, the desk cluttered with dusty trinkets, the cracked mirror that once reflected a younger, happier version of herself.
She sat on the bed, her eyes drawn to the window overlooking the lake.
There it was—still and glistening under the pale sun. Unchanged. Untouched. But not forgotten.
A sudden gust of wind blew across the water, rippling its surface. For a split second, Maya thought she saw something—a flicker of movement just beneath the surface. A shimmer. A shadow.
Then, just as quickly, it was gone.
That night, she stood on the porch with a blanket around her shoulders, watching the moon rise. Its reflection danced on the lake like a silver ghost. And in the quiet, she heard something she hadn't heard in years.
A voice. Soft. Familiar.
"Maya…"
She froze. Her breath caught in her throat.
"Maya…"
It came from the lake.
She turned her gaze toward the water, eyes wide.
Was she imagining it?
Or was Aidan still out there?
Somewhere beneath the surface—waiting.