The Lights Over Lake Serpent
After witnessing strange lights over a still lake, a man begins to lose time, his memories... and those closest to him. Something is watching—and it’s not done yet.
I wasn’t supposed to be on the boat that night. But something told me I had to be there.
The lake was still. No wind, no noise, not even crickets. I turned off the engine and let the silence swallow me. That’s when the lights came.
Three of them. Hovering just above the water, in a perfect triangle. They didn’t pulse. Didn’t move. Just... watched. I couldn’t explain why, but I felt them watching.
I tried to take a picture, but my phone went black. Every light on the boat died. I reached for the radio, but it crackled and spat static in a rhythm—too regular to be random.
Then I wasn’t on the boat anymore.
I woke up on shore, face-down in the mud, hours later. No footprints. No boat. No lights. Just the bruises on my chest in the shape of three fingers and a triangle.
The sheriff said I must’ve passed out drunk and wandered to shore. But I don’t drink. I never have.
For weeks after, I had dreams. Always the same. Floating in a vast white room, light pouring into my eyes. A voice—not heard, but felt—asking the same question over and over: “Are you ready to remember?”
Last night, I saw the lights again. This time above my house. And this time, when I woke up, my dog was gone. Just a patch of burned grass in the backyard and three fresh bruises on my arm.
The lake was still. No wind, no noise, not even crickets. I turned off the engine and let the silence swallow me. That’s when the lights came.
Three of them. Hovering just above the water, in a perfect triangle. They didn’t pulse. Didn’t move. Just... watched. I couldn’t explain why, but I felt them watching.
I tried to take a picture, but my phone went black. Every light on the boat died. I reached for the radio, but it crackled and spat static in a rhythm—too regular to be random.
Then I wasn’t on the boat anymore.
I woke up on shore, face-down in the mud, hours later. No footprints. No boat. No lights. Just the bruises on my chest in the shape of three fingers and a triangle.
The sheriff said I must’ve passed out drunk and wandered to shore. But I don’t drink. I never have.
For weeks after, I had dreams. Always the same. Floating in a vast white room, light pouring into my eyes. A voice—not heard, but felt—asking the same question over and over: “Are you ready to remember?”
Last night, I saw the lights again. This time above my house. And this time, when I woke up, my dog was gone. Just a patch of burned grass in the backyard and three fresh bruises on my arm.
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