The Lake That Whispered Emma

The lake was perfectly still—no ripples, no insects, no sound. At midnight,

Emma noticed her reflection didn’t blink when she did. She stepped closer. The reflection smiled.

From beneath the black water, pale hands pressed upward, stretching the surface

like skin. The lake whispered her name in her own voice. By morning,

the lake rippled gently again. And on the shore lay Emma’s shoes, neatly placed,

still dry.