The Glass Lake Motel

It started with a research paper, or rather, a sleepless night fueled by an article I found on a dusty corner of the internet. The subject was ‘Ephialtes,’ the Greek nightmare, but the modern accounts of sleep paralysis and the suffocating presence were what hooked me. I devoured every forum post, every personal account, until the line between folklore and reality blurred in my mind. I told myself it was just academic curiosity, a way to distract from the mess my love life had become.

A few months later, I met Daniel. He was calm, reliable, the polar opposite of the chaotic men I’d known. He had a quiet smile and a steady job as a mechanic. Our relationship was comfortable, a safe harbor after a storm. My son, Milo, adored him, and for the first time in a long while, I felt a semblance of normalcy. We planned a weekend getaway to Lake Serene, a small resort town known for its tranquil waters and old-school charm, to celebrate our six-month anniversary.

It was a Friday in late September. The leaves were just beginning to turn. I packed my duffel bag with swimsuits and sundresses, kissed Milo goodbye, and drove the two hours to Daniel’s apartment. We loaded his truck and set off, the windows down, the radio playing old rock songs. The sun was setting as we pulled into the gravel lot of the Glass Lake Motel, a two-story L-shaped building with a flickering neon sign. The lake itself was a dark mirror behind it, reflecting the last rays of orange light.

We checked in with a bored-looking teenager who barely glanced up from his phone. Our room was on the second floor, at the end of the hallway. The key was an actual brass key, heavy and old-fashioned, attached to a wooden fob shaped like a fish. As we walked past the other doors, I noticed one at the far end had an odd symbol scratched into the paint—a spiral with a line through it, almost like a stylized eye. Daniel didn’t seem to notice, too busy carrying our bags.

The room was clean but dated, with floral wallpaper and a shag carpet. The bed was a queen with a quilted coverlet. The window looked out over the parking lot and, beyond, the lake. There was a small kitchenette and a bathroom with a clawfoot tub. It was charming, in a retro sort of way. We unpacked, then decided to take a walk along the shore before dinner.

The air was crisp, and the water was so still it looked like polished glass. That’s probably how the motel got its name. We strolled along a narrow path, and I noticed a small dock jutting into the lake. A rowboat was tied to it, bobbing gently. Daniel took my hand, and for a moment, everything was perfect. But as I looked back at the motel, I saw a figure in the window of our room. It was there for just a second, then gone. I told myself it was just the reflection of a tree, but something felt off.

That night, we ordered pizza and watched a movie on the outdated TV. Daniel fell asleep first, his breathing deep and even. I lay awake, the moonlight streaming through the thin curtains. I thought about the stories I’d been reading, the tales of beings who visit in the night, who press upon your chest and drain your energy. I laughed at myself, calling it paranoia, and finally drifted off.

I woke with a start, unable to move. A heavy weight pressed on my chest, and I could hear a low, rhythmic breathing in my ear. My eyes darted around the room, but I saw nothing. The pressure increased, and I felt a strange, cold sensation on my neck, like a whisper of breath. I tried to call out, but my voice was trapped. Then, as suddenly as it began, the weight lifted, and I could move again. I sat up, gasping, my heart pounding. Daniel was still asleep. I shook him, but he only mumbled and turned over. I didn’t sleep the rest of the night.

The next day, we went swimming in the lake. The water was bracing, and I tried to shake off the previous night’s fear. Daniel noticed my distraction and asked if I was okay. I said I just didn’t sleep well, and he accepted that. But as we floated in the water, I noticed something odd. On the lakebed, just below the surface, there was a dark shape that looked like a large ring. It was too regular to be a rock, half-buried in the silt. When I pointed it out, Daniel said it was probably just an old tire, and we moved on.

That evening, we went to a local diner for dinner. The place was almost empty, just a few locals at the counter. A waitress with a red beehive took our order. As she set down our plates, she looked at me with a strange intensity and said, ‘You be careful out there. The lake has a memory.’ I gave a nervous laugh and asked what she meant, but she just walked away.

Back at the motel, I felt a growing unease. I decided to take a shower, hoping to wash away the day’s oddness. The water was hot, and steam filled the bathroom. As I stood under the spray, I heard a faint sound—like a humming, or a distant song. It seemed to come from the walls. I turned off the water, and the sound stopped. I wrapped myself in a towel and stepped out, my skin prickling. On the mirror, in the condensation, there was a word written: ‘MINE’. I stared at it, heart racing, then wiped it away with my hand. When I came out, Daniel was reading a book on the bed. I didn’t mention it.

That night, I was determined to stay awake. I lay in the dark, listening to the hum of the old air conditioner. Daniel’s breathing was steady beside me. Hours passed. I must have dozed off, because suddenly I was in a dream. I was underwater, in the lake, and the ring was below me, glowing with a pale light. I swam down toward it, and as I got closer, I saw that it was a gateway, a circle of stone. Beyond it, there was a face—pale, with hollow eyes and a mouth open in a silent scream. I tried to swim back, but something held my ankle. I woke with a gasp, tangled in the sheets, the room pitch black. A figure was standing at the foot of the bed. It was a woman, tall and gaunt, her hair dripping wet. She didn’t move, just stared at me. Then she pointed at the window, and I saw a flash of lightning, and she was gone.

I was trembling, my breath coming in short gasps. I reached for Daniel, but he wasn’t there. The bed was empty. Panic seized me. I called his name, but there was no answer. I threw on clothes and ran out into the hallway. All the doors were closed, but I heard a sound from the room at the end—the one with the symbol. I walked toward it, my bare feet cold on the linoleum. The door was ajar. I pushed it open, and inside, I found Daniel, standing by the window, staring out at the lake. He was naked, his skin pale, and his eyes were blank. I called his name again, and he turned slowly. His mouth opened, and a voice that was not his came out, low and guttural: ‘She comes for the one with the child.’

I screamed, and the sound seemed to break the spell. Daniel blinked, his eyes focusing. He looked at me, confused, then down at himself, and a look of horror crossed his face. He grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around himself. ‘What are you doing?’ I cried. ‘I don’t know,’ he stammered. ‘I was dreaming, and I thought I heard you calling… I followed the voice.’

We didn’t sleep after that. We sat in the car until dawn, the engine running, the heater on high. When the sun rose, we went back to the room, packed our bags, and drove away without a word to the front desk. As we passed the lake, I saw the ring again, now visible in the morning light, and I realized it was not a tire, but a stone circle, ancient and woven with weeds. And standing on the dock was the figure of the woman, watching us leave. I knew then that she was a succubus, or something like it, and that she had attached herself to the lake, to the motel, and possibly to me, because I had invited her with my curiosity.

Months later, I still think about that weekend. The way the air felt thick, the way the motel seemed to watch us. Daniel and I broke up soon after, and I moved to a new town. But sometimes, late at night, I feel a weight on my chest, and I smell the scent of lake water, and I hear a whisper in my ear: ‘I remember you.’ I never researched the paranormal again. Some doors are better left closed.