The Lady of the Reservoir

In the autumn of that year, the reservoir behind the old mill had become a graveyard of drowned trees, their skeletal arms reaching up from the black water. Leo and his two friends, Marcus and Tessa, had come to fish for the monstrous catfish that were said to lurk in those depths. The night was moonless, and the only light came from their headlamps, which carved weak circles in the oppressive dark. Leo thought he saw something moving near the water’s edge—a pale figure, half-submerged, watching. But when he swung his beam over, there was nothing. He told himself it was a trick of the light, a reflection of a dead branch. He didn’t mention it to the others. They fished in silence, the only sounds the lap of water and the occasional creak of the old wooden dock. As they packed up at dawn, Leo felt a cold hand brush his back, but when he spun around, no one was there. He kept his mouth shut, feeling foolish. They drove back to the city, and Leo tried to put the unease behind him.

That night, Leo lay in his small apartment, the hum of the fridge the only intrusion on the quiet. As he drifted toward sleep, a weight settled on his chest—heavy, cold, and unmistakably human. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. It pressed down on him, and he felt something lean close to his ear, but no sound came. After an eternal minute, it lifted, and he gasped air, drenched in sweat. He told himself it was sleep paralysis, a trick of his exhausted mind. But the next night, it happened again. And the next. Every night, the same crushing weight, the same silent presence. He began to dread the darkness, sleeping with all the lights on, but it didn’t help. The weight came for him regardless.

After a week of sleepless torment, Leo finally told his mother, who was visiting from out of town. She recognized the signs immediately—the cold, the pressure, the feeling of being watched. She brought in a shaman from the old country, a wizened man with milky eyes and a staff of carved bone. The shaman performed a ritual in Leo’s bedroom, burning herbs and chanting in a language that made the air thick. After it was over, the shaman sat with Leo and his mother, his face grave. He spoke in a low, whispery voice: ‘There is a woman who has claimed you, a spirit of the water. She is not a ghost as you know it—she is a serpent lady, beautiful and terrible. She has fallen in love with you and will not release you. She has told me she intends to take you to her domain beneath the reservoir, and there you will stay forever.’ The shaman shook his head. ‘There is no power that can make her leave. She is older than this land, older than the trees, older than the stones. She will leave only when she chooses.’ He pointed at Leo’s mother. ‘She also forbids any marriage for this boy. He is hers alone.’

Leo’s mother broke down in tears, but Leo felt a strange resignation settle over him. He stopped fighting. He began to feel the presence not as an enemy, but as a constant companion. He saw her in his dreams—a woman with hair as dark as the reservoir, eyes like stagnant pools, and a mouth that smiled with too many teeth. She never spoke, but her intention was clear. One night, as the cold weight returned, Leo didn’t struggle. He let it press him down, and he felt her lips on his forehead, soft as dead leaves. He heard a voice, faint as the wind through reeds: ‘Come with me.’

He didn’t tell his mother, but he packed a bag and drove back to the reservoir. It was a clear night, and the water was like glass. He walked to the edge of the old dock, feeling the cold air on his skin. The woman was waiting for him, standing on the water, her bare feet just touching the surface. She held out her hand. Leo took it. The water closed over his head without a splash. His mother called the police, but they found nothing—just his abandoned car and his fishing pole, still on the dock. The shaman said she had taken him, and that he was happy now. But sometimes, on quiet nights, locals say they see a man and a woman sitting on the dock, their legs dangling over the water, and the man’s eyes have a distant look, like he’s somewhere else. The Lady of the Reservoir has her keeper, and the reservoir holds its secrets.