Vengeful Waters

John had always been restless at night. As a child, he would lie awake in his bed, listening to the creaks and groans of the old house, and the whispers of the wind outside. But there was something else that kept him up at night, a pull, a strange, inexplicable draw towards the lake outside.

John’s grandfather used to take him to the lake by his cabin when he was just a boy. It was a picturesque place, with crystal-clear waters, surrounded by dense forests and towering mountains. John had spent hours playing in the water, and he had even gone kayaking on a few occasions. But his grandfather had warned him never to go to the lake at night. “There are things in the water,” he had said, “things that you don’t want to meet.”

John had always remembered his grandfather’s warning, but he could not shake off the feeling that there was something special about that lake, something that was calling out to him.

Years passed, and John grew up. He moved away from his hometown, got a job, and started a family. But he never forgot about the lake, and he would often dream about it, about the cool water on his skin, and the peacefulness of the surroundings.

One day, John’s wife surprised him with a camping trip back to the area where he had grown up. They drove for hours through winding roads and dense forests until they reached the campsite. So close to his grandfathers cabin, it was then that John knew he had to go back to the lake, to see it one more time, to feel its waters one more time.

He waited until his wife and children were asleep, then quietly slipped out of the tent, got his kayak, and made his way to the lake. The moon was full, casting a silvery glow on the water, and the stars twinkled like diamonds in the sky.

John felt a strange energy as he approached the lake, as if something were drawing him towards it. He felt his heart beating faster in his chest, and his skin prickled with goosebumps. He tried to shake off the feeling, but it was too strong, and he found himself walking towards the water’s edge. As John paddled his kayak on the calm waters, he felt at peace for the first time in weeks. As he let his mind wander, he heard a loud rumbling, like drums in deep, distant and growing closer. He realized that he had lost track of time and was far from his campsite.

As he looked intently, gazing out at the lake, he remembered his grandfather’s warning, and he suddenly felt a sense of foreboding. He knew he should turn back, that it was foolish to be there at night, but as he began to paddle back the waters began to roughen.

With each swing of his paddle, he felt it, the presence of something dark and malevolent lurking in the water. He could hear whispers on the wind, and he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

John realized that he was in danger, that something was watching him, and he needed to get out of there fast. He paddled faster as he could see the fire from their campsite, violently he was tossed into the water.

As he began to swim to get back to the surface, he felt something wrap around his ankle, and began being pulled down, deeper and deeper, into the dark waters of the lake.

John could see the spirits of the city that lay submerged beneath the water. They were angry, vengeful beings, consumed by a desire to seek revenge on the living. As John struggled to swim to the surface, he felt the weight of their collective fury, it seemed to press down upon him, making it impossible to break free. He kicked and thrashed, his lungs burning for air, but the ghosts only tightened their grip, dragging him deeper into the underwater city. Their wailing cries grew louder, more insistent, the sound was bone-chilling, a mournful howl that penetrated his very soul.

As the spirits continued to pull him down, John felt his strength waning. The cold, dark water pressed in around him, and he could feel himself growing weaker by the second. He tried to fight against the spirits, tried to summon some reserve of strength or willpower, but it was no use. He was spent, drained, and utterly defeated. With a sense of resignation, John allowed himself to sink deeper into the abyss, his body growing numb as he descended into the darkness. He closed his eyes, preparing himself for the inevitable, wondering if anyone would ever find his body in the depths of Lake Kowaliga.

As John felt himself slipping away, he suddenly heard his grandfather’s voice in his mind, clear as a bell.” fight son, Joshua fit the battle of Jericho” He remembered the old spiritual his grandfather had taught him, the one he had always thought was just a harmless meaningless hymn, but now, as he felt the spirits tightening their grip around him, he realized that it was the only weapon he had left. Summoning every bit of energy he had, John began to sing the words of the song, calling out to the spirits in a voice that was both desperate and defiant.

As he sang, he felt the ghosts begin to loosen their grip, but increase their presence, as if they too were connected. The words seemed to echo through the ruins of the sunken city, bouncing off the walls and carrying through the water. John sang louder and louder, feeling a sense of power and purpose that he had never experienced before. It was as if the spirits anger and animosity driven back by the sheer force and desperation of his will, as they began to match his conviction to get to the surface.

And then, with a sudden rush of energy, he was thrusted onto the shore, As John stumbled onto the shore, gasping for breath, and shivering from the cold, he collapsed onto the ground, feeling the sand and rocks beneath him. As he lay there, trying to catch his breath, he looked out at the water and saw a woman walking towards him. She was a beautiful woman, with dark flowing hair and a serene expression on her face. She approached him, her gentle voice calming his racing heart. She began to recite the spiritual once more, her voice like a soothing balm on his troubled mind. He felt a sense of peace wash over him as he listened to her, and he knew that he was safe in her presence.

“Where is Cookie?” she asked him, her eyes searching his face.

“I don’t know, I don’t know anyone named Cookie” John replied, his voice still shaky.

“Where are you from, and what are you doing here?” she asked him.

“I’m from the city, and I came here to camp,” John answered.

The ghost woman nodded with tears in her eyes. “This lake is vengeful come the night,” she said.

John felt a chill run down his spine as he realized the horror he had witnessed in the depths of the lake. He finally understood why the lake was so vengeful and angry, and the weight of the knowledge nearly crushed him.

“Who are you? “When did this happen?” he asked the ghost lady, his voice barely above a whisper.

The woman looked at him with a sad expression and said, “It happened in the dead of night, many years ago.

Suddenly his daughter’s voice breaks the dead air with a loud “DAD!”

John turned to see Uri, his daughter running down to the shore. “Dad!” she shouted, looking relieved to see him safe hugging him tightly. Then within in seconds, Uri turned to the woman, and hugged her just as tightly. The women leaned into her ear and whispered.

The woman then turned to John and touched his face in the sweetest way. “You have nothing to fear, child,” she said softly to him ”. She paused for a moment, and then spoke again. “Tell Cookie that ‘the cost of liberty is less than the price of repression,’” she said. “He will understand.”

John looked at her, confused. “I don’t know who Cookie is,” he said.

The woman smiled sadly. “Go to the man without whom none would be,” she said.

He looked at his daughter, who was still hugging the woman, and his heart swelled and a wave of confusion just rush over him. He stood to watch as the woman turned to walk back to the town, which was now sitting hauntingly on top of the lake.

As the woman walked toward the lake, Uri began to sing,

“Joshua fit the battle of Jericho.

Jericho, Jericho

Joshua fit the battle of Jericho.

And the walls come tumblin’ down”

John watched in awe as other spirits rose from the water and hummed in unison with Uri’s singing, creating a haunting yet beautiful harmony that echoed through the night.

As the woman, now at the at the entrance of the town turned around and with 2 fingers pointed to John and Uri, and he felt his knees weaken. She sang like a spell over him her voice rang over the rest in what was the most gorgeous resounding voice.

“Up to the walls of Jericho”

” Sword drawn in his hand”

“Go blow them horns, cried Joshua”

“‘Cause the battle is in my hands”

Hallelujah

John and his daughter stood there in awe, watching as the town sank back into the lake. They were left with a feeling of peace and understanding, knowing that they had witnessed something beyond this world.

The next day, John drove to his grandfather’s nearby home and told him about his encounter with the lake and the lady. As he mentioned the name “Cookie,” his grandfather’s eyes widened, and tears welled up in his eyes. The old man got up and retrieved a tattered old book that he had been keeping for when he died. The book was a scrapbook filled with old photographs and mementos.

In the photo, sat his grandfather on the lap of a beautiful dark woman with short hair, who had a warm smile on her face. John’s heart skipped a beat when he realized it was the same woman he had seen in the lake. He looked at his grandfather in amazement, who nodded knowingly.

“That’s your great- great-grandmother, Amina” his grandfather said, his voice filled with emotion. “She was the only one who ever called me that. She passed away in that damn lake before you were born, but I always kept this scrapbook for you, so you could know our lost family in some way.”

She told me to tell you that “the cost of liberty”, John began

"is less then the price of repression” his grandfather finished. “I didn’t understand what she meant then, but I do now” the grandfather said.

They sat in silence, realizing the significance of the message and the connection between John and his great great-grandmother. John felt a sense of closure and gratitude for the encounter with the lake, knowing that she had brought him a missing piece of his family history.

John stared at the photograph, feeling a deep sense of connection to the woman he had seen. He couldn’t believe that she was his own flesh and blood, and that she had been watching over him all this time.

Years passed, and John grew old, and he retired from his job and moved back to his grandfather’s cabin, he spent his days fishing in the lake and telling stories to his grandchildren.

One night, as he sat by the fire, with all 8 of his grandchildren they watched as the water began to move and thrust, he nodded to the children and they began whispering ” Joshua fit the battle of Jericho, Jericho Jericho” and the feeling of that ancient powerful energy began coursing through his veins and his grandchildren hearts. And he knew that, no matter what lay ahead, they would be ready to face it, armed with the knowledge and power that he had gained from the spirits of the lake.