The Serpent of Mirror Lake
May 11, 2025
The mist hung thick over Mirror Lake, wrapping the dense forest in silence and shadow. Only the rhythmic creak of old wood echoed across the water as Rowan paddled his canoe toward the heart of the lake.
“I told you we shouldn’t come,” muttered Cal, his younger brother, huddled in the front with a flashlight and a half-eaten protein bar. “People say the lake’s cursed.”
Rowan grinned and let his paddle slice through the water. “People say a lot of things. But curses don’t pay thirty grand.”
Cal scowled. “You really think we’ll find it? The Serpent?”
Rowan’s smile faded slightly. “I think something’s out there. And if it’s real, the photos will be worth more than gold.”
Two weeks earlier, Rowan had stumbled upon a tattered journal in the attic of a long-abandoned ranger station. Its pages were filled with drawings, accounts of twisted trees, broken canoes, and glowing eyes beneath the water. One page had been torn—except for the words “She rises when the mirror breaks.”
Now, with Cal reluctantly in tow, Rowan was determined to see if the legends were true.
They reached a rocky outcrop in the center of the lake just as the moon slipped behind thick clouds. Rowan scanned the surface—still, black, perfect. He raised his camera.
Snap.
A sudden tremor vibrated through the canoe.
Cal shot upright. “What was that?”
Rowan paused. Another tremor—this time, stronger.
Then came the sound.
A low, guttural rumble that rose from the depths, like a beast clearing its throat after centuries of sleep.
The water exploded.
A monstrous shape surged from the lake, scales glistening like wet obsidian, eyes glowing a sickly gold. A forked tongue flicked from its elongated snout, and spines ran the length of its massive, coiled body.
Rowan dropped his paddle. “Oh my god.”
“The Serpent!” Cal shrieked, fumbling for the flashlight. He pointed it at the beast, only for the beam to flicker and die.
The canoe rocked violently as the serpent coiled around them, its massive tail brushing the water with deadly grace. Rowan fumbled with his camera.
Snap. Snap.
The beast reared back, as if blinded by the flashes.
“We need to go!” Cal shouted.
“Wait!” Rowan hissed. “It’s not attacking.”
The serpent’s golden eyes locked onto Rowan, unblinking. He could feel something—an intelligence behind them, ancient and cold.
The mist thickened, and a voice—not spoken aloud, but felt—echoed through their minds.
“You seek truth… but truth comes at a price.”
Cal clutched his head. “Make it stop!”
Rowan stared at the serpent. “What do you want?”
“Balance. I was guardian of this lake. Once revered, now forgotten. The mirror is broken.”
“What mirror?” Rowan asked, heart pounding.
The serpent turned slowly, revealing a shattered monolith rising from beneath the lake, half-drowned in moss and algae. Carvings ran along its surface, depicting humans and beasts in harmony.
Rowan leaned closer. “Is that… a gate?”
The serpent nodded—slow, solemn.
“They opened it long ago. Let ruin slip through. I held it shut… until they stopped remembering. The bindings weakened. Now, others come.”
Suddenly, Cal pointed. “Look!”
Another boat emerged from the fog—a motorboat, loud and reckless. Three men stood inside, all with rifles slung over their shoulders and greed in their eyes.
Rowan swore. “Poachers. Or worse.”
The serpent hissed and began to slide silently back beneath the surface.
“No, wait!” Rowan said. “You need our help.”
“Help… or another betrayal?”
“We’ll prove it,” Rowan said quickly. “Let us speak for you. Show them you’re not a monster.”
Cal grabbed his brother’s arm. “You’re insane! That thing could crush us.”
Rowan turned to him. “We either run and let them shoot it… or we stand and change the story.”
The motorboat drew closer. One of the men shouted, “You two okay?”
Rowan waved. “We’re good! Just doing some night photography!”
The leader frowned. “You seen anything out here? Something big?”
Rowan shook his head. “Nope. Just loons and fog.”
The man narrowed his eyes. “Funny. Our sonar pinged something huge. Not natural.”
Rowan kept his voice steady. “You’re mistaken.”
“Is that so?” The man raised his rifle slightly.
Then the serpent rose again—this time directly behind the boat.
The poachers turned. One screamed.
But the beast didn’t attack. It hovered, regal and silent, staring down at the men.
“What the hell is that?” one whispered.
“Shoot it!” barked the leader.
The serpent recoiled, but didn’t flee. Rowan stepped up in his canoe.
“Stop! Don’t shoot!”
The poacher raised his rifle anyway.
A blinding light burst from the serpent’s eyes, and the water beneath the motorboat exploded. The boat capsized, flinging the men into the lake.
Silence.
Then the serpent turned to Rowan.
“Mercy given. As was once shown to me. You have honored the pact.”
The monolith behind it pulsed with light—just once—and then the serpent coiled around it like a protective embrace, slowly sinking beneath the waves.
The mist began to clear. The lake’s surface grew still.
Rowan exhaled. “Did… did that just happen?”
Cal didn’t answer. He was staring into the water, wide-eyed.
They paddled back to shore in silence.
The next day, headlines blared “Three Men Rescued After Mysterious Lake Incident”, with no clear explanation. Rowan’s photos—stunning, undeniable—were offered millions by tabloids and scientific journals alike.
But he never sold them.
Instead, he published them anonymously, alongside the scanned pages of the old journal and a note:
“Some truths are not meant to be owned, only remembered.”
And so, Mirror Lake became legend again—not as a place of terror, but of reverence.
Where once a serpent was feared, now it was guarded.
And somewhere, beneath the glassy surface, the ancient guardian slept—watchful, waiting, and no longer alone.