The Black Lake: Tales of Melancholic Horror

by Jon Athan

  The Black Lake:

  Tales of Melancholic Horror

  Jon Athan

  Copyright © 2016 Jon Athan

  All Rights Reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  For more information on this book or the author, please visit www.jon-athan.com. General inquiries are welcome.

  Twitter: @Jonny_Athan

  The Stories

  The Black Lake Pt. 1

  Red Rivers on Snowy Hills

  The Unrepentant

  A Lost One

  The Meal of the Day

  Pick The Least Favorite Child

  A Permanent Resident

  The Deranged Caller

  The Loneliest Days

  The Black Lake Pt. 2

  The Black Lake Pt. 1

  The moldering trees howled with the chilly breeze. The decrepit tree branches and sparse bushes groaned with each gust of wind. The crackling autumn leaves sprawled across the floor rustled and whooshed. An orchestra of soothing crepitations reverberated through the barren woodland. An achromatic gloom doused the forest with melancholy – a black-and-white woodland, like a classic silent film.

  As the stiff leaves cracked beneath her grubby bare feet, Sadie Lewis whispered, “I'm so cold. I'm so lonely. The world is... bleak.” As her bottom lip quivered from the nippy weather and accumulating sorrow, Sadie crossed her arms and vigorously rubbed her shoulders. She continued, “Someone, please help me. Someone, please rescue me. Someone, please forgive me.”

  Sadie Lewis stood with a petite figure and stature. She had a naturally timorous posture – feeble like a newborn pup. She wore a plain white dress down to her ankles – a somber garb reflecting her forlorn state. Her long black hair reached down to the center of her back. Her dull brown eyes were brimming with brackish tears. A single blink would cause a wave of sadness, like opening a floodgate after a brutish storm.

  As she slowly traversed the dreary forest, Sadie glanced over her shoulder and whispered, “No one is coming to stop me... No one cares, so why should I? Why should I care about my life when the world has abandoned me?” She grimaced from the emotional pain, scrunching her face like if a knife had been stabbed and twisted in her back. She turned back towards her imminent destination and said, “No one cares for the sad woman. No one ever cares for the hopeless soul.”

  Her plodding steps thudded on the dirt ground as she tottered forward. She constantly swayed to her left and right as she quietly wept, trying to distort her cries with her trembling hand to no avail. The woeful cries echoing through the desolate woodland were enough to send chills down the most unwavering spine.

  Abruptly, Sadie stumbled forward. Her teeth chattered as she gazed into the lake ahead – the Black Lake. The small, secluded body of water was surrounded by withering trees. The water had inexplicably blackened, creating a despairing abyss of nothingness. Dark like crude oil but free-flowing like water.

  Sadie stared into the lake, peering into a distorted reflection of her tormented soul. She trudged towards the edge of the ground as the water majestically rippled towards her. She loudly swallowed the anxiety clogging her throat as she gently shuddered.

  As she stared into the water, Sadie said, “I've come here for one thing and one thing only. I've been treated like nothing for too long. I've tried to endure the pain, but it's too much for me. I can't handle the loneliness. I can't handle the rejection. Depression is a terminal disease. It might go away for a moment, but it will always linger at the back of my mind until it finally strikes. A fatal blow. I don't want it anymore. I'm tired of waiting. I give up. You win... You win.”

  Sadie's eyes swelled with tears and her body trembled. The uncertainty of death was trapped in the deepest and darkest crevices of her brain. The dubiety of her decision to commit suicide was overwhelming. Yet, she couldn't help but feel compelled to move forward – there were no other options.

  Sadie tightly clenched her eyes shut and stretched her skinny arms away from her body. She slowly stepped towards the lake, each step more ponderous than the last. Her breathing intensified as she gradually approached. Abruptly, she opened her eyes, then gasped.

  As her teeth chattered, Sadie whispered, “Hello? Is... Is someone there?”

  From the edge of the ground, her toes wiggling over the water, Sadie could see a body floating face down towards the center of the lake. As the waves crashed beneath her, the body drifted towards Sadie. Sadie fell to her knees as she inspected the figure.

  The floating body appeared to have a head of long, sopping black hair. The ominous figure donned a black dress. The body was unidentifiable from its current location. A sudden stench of death wafted through the bleak woodland, pummeling any neighboring nostrils with an atrocious miasma. Sadie pinched her nose and scrunched her face as she whimpered.

  Sadie furrowed her brow and murmured, “Is she... Is she still alive? No, she... she can't be.” She weaved and bobbed her head for a better view. Sadie cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, “Miss, are you okay?! Is this... Is this some sort of prank?”

  The body continued to float in the lake. Sadie scanned her immediate surroundings as she hopelessly searched for a detached branch, but to no avail. A forest of dying tees, but not a single loosened branch in sight. She grabbed a filthy rock form the ground, then heaved the pebble towards the floating body. The water plopped a meter away from her head. The person in the lake did not respond.

  Sadie whispered, “She must have killed herself. Someone else couldn't handle the pain.” She swallowed the lump in her throat like swallowing a can of tuna, then said, “It's okay. Don't worry, miss, I'll... I'll still do it. Your death won't stop me. I'll join you. We can die together.”

  ***

  Sadie staggered to her feet as she gazed at the eerily gloomy figure in the lake. She protruded her arms away from her body as she stood at the edge of the ground. She nervously bit her bottom lip as she stared into the unusually daunting lake. The inky water suddenly became forbidding, like a black hole waiting to swallow her soul. The doubt swept through her timid figure once again.

  As her left foot hovered over the water, a man's hoarse voice reverberated from over her shoulder: “Suicide. Accident. Murder. It could be any of the above, don't you think? It would be quite foolish to jump to conclusions at a time like this. Quite foolish, indeed.”

  Sadie firmly planted her foot on the ground as she contemplated the man's words. Her stomach turned with apprehension as frightful thoughts stampeded through her fracturing mind: I'm not alone. Who is this man? The man's voice was capable of momentarily stopping her suicide.

  Sadie slowly turned towards the voice, then inspected her uninvited guest. The senescent man stood a towering six-four with a lanky figure. He had gnarled wrinkles on his face – the cavernous creases drooped on his countenance. Thin white hair protruded from beneath his black bowler hat. He donned a black suit with a blue tie and polished black dress shoes.

  Sadie clenched her jaw, then nervously stuttered, “Wh–Who... Who are you? Wha–What do you want from me?”

  The man looked down to his gleaming shoes and said, “Well, you can call me 'Todd.' Just 'Todd.' What's your name, little lady?”

  Sadie gazed into the man's vibrant blue eyes and responded, “It's not 'little lady.' My name is... My name is none of your business. What the hell do you want from me? What are you doing here?”

  “There's no need for the attitude, little la
dy. No need for any hostility. I'm not a friend or foe. I'm passing by. I figured a young woman like yourself, under these peculiar circumstances, could use some company.”

  Sadie shook her head and said, “You... You're wrong. I don't need your company now. It's too late. Come back in ten minutes with the police if you'd like or... or just go home. Mind your own business, mister. I don't think we'll need any assistance from you.”

  Todd doddered forward, sluggishly limping as he approached the ominous lake. He sniffled as he leaned on a feeble tree trunk. The tree groaned from his weight. Todd gazed at the floating body as it slowly meandered towards the duo, sailing at a snail's pace.

  Todd rubbed his forehead with his spindly fingers and said, “Such a sad sight, don't you think? Regardless of the circumstances, death is always a sad sight to behold. Suicide, accident, or murder. It doesn't really matter, does it? At the end of the day, it's still death.”

  Sadie scowled at the man and asked, “What do you want from me? Huh? Did someone send you to stop me? If they did, I don't care and I don't...”

  Todd chuckled as he waved his arms in repudiation. He said, “No one sent me here for you, little lady. I like to wander this forest every now and then. It's something of a... a hobby, I suppose. It's something I do.” Sadie looked down at her torso, like if she were utterly disappointed. Todd asked, “You wanted someone to stop you, didn't you? You wanted someone to carry you away from the madness and misery, correct?”

  Sadie absently gazed at the floor and shook her head as she responded, “No... I... No, I just wanted... I don't know what I wanted. I guess I wanted to die in peace.”

  Todd nodded and asked, “Like her?”

  Sadie turned towards the floating body in the lake. A deceased woman surrounded by an impenetrable darkness – surrounded by the unnatural waters of dolor. Her body was drenched by anguish and suffering. Her soul was trapped in eternal loneliness. She was the focal point in a portrait of sorrow.

  Sadie nodded and responded, “Yeah, just like her.”

  Todd coughed to clear his throat and said, “You know, this lake wasn't always like this. This lake turned black because of people like her. This lake has been stained by the countless deaths it has delivered. Suicides, accidents, and murders. It used to sparkle with the sun, but the sun seems to have vanished behind the clouds. It feels like I haven't seen the beautiful sun in ages. The world becomes gloomier as people become sadder...”

  Sadie staggered to her buttocks and gazed into the lake. She asked, “Why are you telling me this? What do you really want from me, mister?”

  “I told you: call me 'Todd.' I suppose I don't want anything from you. Well, in fact, I would like you to listen. I'll get to my business when I'm done, but I'd like to tell you some stories. Some stories that reflect this very lake's resonating sorrow. Would you do me the favor and lend me your ears? It won't be long, little lady.”

  Sadie glanced at Todd with narrowed eyes – her eyes glimmered with blatant curiosity. Todd leaned back on the tree trunk, then slowly slid down to his buttocks. He inhaled deeply, then turned towards the blackened lake. In a movement of acceptance, Sadie followed suit – she gazed at the rippling black waters.

  Sadie asked, “What kind of stories do you want to tell me, Todd? What do you mean by 'they reflect this lake?' I don't understand...”

  Todd nodded and answered, “I want to tell you tales of intense melancholia. I want to tell you tragic and horrific stories. These are stories I've heard from people like yourself and stories I've actually experienced in one way or another. Please believe that. Listen carefully, little lady. I'm not here to stop you because I can't stop you. But, sometimes we need a break. This is my break. Will you listen to my stories? Can you lend me your ears?”

  Sadie responded, “Okay. Sure, I'll listen.”

  Todd demanded, “Promise me you will not stop listening until the very end. Keep me company. Wait with me until this body reaches our shore, so I can fish her out and give her the peace she deserves. Promise me.” Sadie sighed, then nodded. Todd smiled and said, “Good, good... The first story is about a struggling novelist with a deep-rooted problem...”

  Red Rivers on Snowy Hills

  “Do not tell me what to do, Dorothy. I know what's good for me, I know what I'm doing,” Arthur Wick barked as he jabbed his index finger towards his beloved wife, Dorothy. The hardwood floorboards rattled as Arthur stomped and shouted, “I don't need you to nag me every five minutes! I never asked you to come here! I didn't ask for any of this!”

  Dorothy sniffled as she crossed her arms and inspected her distraught husband. She could see the fury burning in his sharp brown eyes. His vexed scowl echoed the anger swelling in the windows to his soul. Fumes practically spewed from his rosy ears like a cartoon. Arthur was the epitome of anger and frustration.

  Dorothy shuffled in her insulated loft jacket as she rolled her eyes. She tied her silky brunette hair in a neat ponytail as she struggled to plan her next move. One wrong word could cause Arthur to erupt like a volcanic explosion. Yet, a correct response could cause the same reaction – a lose-lose situation.

  Dorothy inhaled deeply, then said in a dawdling pace, “Listen, I came here for...”

  “For what?” Arthur asked. “What is it? Why'd you decide to tag along? Huh? Are you going to write my book? Is that it? You're going to sit down in front of my computer and do my work? Is that why came along?”

  Dorothy sighed as she slowly shook her head. With alcohol running through his veins and anger embedded in his DNA, Arthur was peerless in nonsensical arguments. Dorothy continued to examine her overwrought husband, gliding her eyes from head-to-toe.

  Arthur stood five-eleven with a lean figure. The stubble on his chiseled jawline seamlessly connected with the buzz cut hair on his dome. Most of his short hair was veiled by his black beanie. He donned a thick black parka coat with a fleece-lined snorkel hood above a gray button-up shirt. His navy jeans clung onto his slim legs and his black boots were sooty.

  Dorothy waved her arms and said, “Listen, I came here to keep you company. That's all. I'm not here to write your book, I'm not here to bother you. I'm just trying to take care of you. This... this isn't right, okay? You can't just expect me to be okay with you leaving to a cabin in the woods for weeks to write a book. It's cliché, Arthur, and it doesn't always work that way.”

  “Well, it works for me. It always has and it always will. It's foolproof. That's all that matters. Get that through your thick skull and accept it.”

  “It doesn't seem like it...” Dorothy whispered as she glanced down at her black knee-high boots and her dark skinny jeans.

  Arthur glowered as he slowly stepped forward. He asked, “What did you just say to me?” Dorothy opened her mouth to speak, but struggled to conjure an excuse for her impertinent verbal jab. With rage shimmering across his visible skin, Arthur yelled, “I am trying to write! There are a few roadblocks here and there, but I always get past them! You are not helping, Dorothy! I don't need you to ask me to take a damn break every 10 minutes. I don't want tea, I don't want coffee, I want to write!”

  Dorothy shook her head and rebutted, “I'm only trying to take care of you, Arthur. You can't sit in front of that monitor all day, you can't read the same words and sentences for hours without a break. You–you need... I don't know, you need some time to think about everything. You need time to process your work.”

  Arthur mockingly puckered his lips and nodded, then said, “That's excellent advice, Dorothy. Really, I never thought about taking that splendid approach. Remind me, how many books have you written in your robust career? How many awards have you won? Huh? Answer me.”

  Dorothy shook her head and sighed with indignation. The blatant contempt was insulting and painful, like simultaneously being spit on and stabbed by a loved one. Her mind wandered between potential responses. Another wrong word, another spiteful response – she knew this very well. Yet, Dorothy felt compelled to challenge Arthur's poisonous
tirade.

  Dorothy huffed, then responded, “You know damn well what the problem is, Arthur. You need to stop drinking, then maybe you'll be able to finish your damn book! You drink whiskey like water for crying out loud!”

  “You've got to be kidding me...” Arthur murmured as he glared at Dorothy in disbelief. He shook his head and gritted his teeth as he said, “You really must be stupider than I thought. I should... I should...”

  Suddenly, Arthur raised his right arm – cocking his limb back into the air over his left shoulder. The backhanded slap was prepared to strike – all systems go for launch! Dorothy gazed into Arthur's piercing eyes with incredulity. The simple raise of the hand was enough to pummel her heart with fear and disappointment.

  Dorothy's eyes swelled with tears as she grimaced and asked, “You... You want to hit me? Over this? You're really thinking about hitting me right now?” Arthur's breathing intensified as he glanced at his trembling hand. Tears streamed down Dorothy's blushed cheeks with every blink as she said, “You go ahead and write your damn book. I'll be gone tomorrow morning. I won't be home, either.”

  Arthur's arm wavered as he continued to hold his hand over his shoulder. He watched as Dorothy strutted down the hall, swinging her hips like a model on a catwalk. He swallowed loudly, then lowered his arm. Only one thought ran through his mind: what the hell have I done?

  Arthur stood towards the center of the living room and glanced around his surroundings. Behind him, the sound of the scorching flames in the fireplace crackled through the living room. Directly to the right of the murky chimney, Arthur's workplace, consisting of a hardwood desk and a desktop computer, hugged the wall in the corner near a window.

  There was a black three-seat sofa and a glass coffee table directly across the crepitating fireplace. The walls in the living room were cluttered with bookcases brimming with voluminous textbooks and moldering novels – the books had been worn down by age and neglect.