Watery, Washington – Summer, 1985
Jaakko Koskela pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the bait shop window. The afternoon sun cast the dock in golden light, making the lake shimmer like a dream. A normal summer day in Watery. But something had changed.
"Hey, Jaakko!" Ilmo shouted, pedaling up on his rust-red bike with a banana seat. He skidded to a stop, gravel crunching beneath the tires. "You coming or what? We're gonna miss the best light for filming."
Jaakko tore his gaze away from the lake. "Yeah, yeah. Let's go."
They had their camcorder packed—an old RCA borrowed from Mr. Harlin, the town's half-retired TV repairman—and two flashlights with dying batteries. Their plan? Film their monster movie sequel, Return of the Lake Witch, at the abandoned diner near the forest edge.
Jaakko strapped the camcorder to the back of his bike with a bungee cord. "You're still playing the sheriff, right?"
Ilmo nodded, swinging onto his bike. "Yeah, but I wanna add a twist. What if the sheriff's brother disappeared when they were kids, and he's only now remembering?"
"Like… the lake took him?" Jaakko grinned, pedaling fast. "Creepy. I like it."
They biked down the old access road, dust kicking up behind them. Birds chirped in the tall pines, and the lake glittered nearby, but even in daylight, certain pockets of Watery always felt… off. The diner was one of those places.
The building leaned at an awkward angle, as if trying to whisper a secret. Its windows were boarded up, but Jaakko had found a broken back door weeks ago.
Inside, dust danced in sunbeams. The boys set up the camera. Jaakko adjusted the focus while Ilmo put on his grandpa's old sheriff's hat.
"You ready?" Jaakko asked.
Ilmo took a deep breath and nodded.
"Action!"
He stepped into the frame. "This town's got secrets. My brother vanished here… in 1972. Everyone said he drowned. But I've seen him. In dreams. By the lake. Calling me."
A low creak echoed from the hallway behind them.
They froze.
"Was that—?"
"I thought you closed the door," Ilmo whispered.
"I did."
The camera kept rolling as they crept toward the hall. The back door was shut tight. But on the floor lay a wet footprint. Bare, small. Like a child's.
Ilmo swallowed hard. "We should go."
Jaakko didn't argue.
They didn't stop pedaling until they were back at the docks, the sky now streaked with red and purple.
They never watched the full tape. Jaakko said it got recorded over, but Ilmo always suspected he'd just seen something he didn't want to see again.
That night, Ilmo dreamed of the lake. Of soft voices calling him down into the black water. And a small boy with pale skin and water in his lungs, reaching up.