Dead Season

It was ice fishing season, but no one went near the lake. It was solid ice, thick and safe to walk on. Yet, beneath it lay a creature only spoken of in whispers among those who lived nearby.

Year after year, anyone who dared to cross the ice disappeared. Some had attempted to fish in packs. Safety in numbers, after all. It made no difference. No screams were heard, no bodies found. All that remained was an empty boat that floated to shore the next morning.

Fishing in the summer was safe. Something about the cold drew the creature in. Winter became a dead season. Those who lived there stayed indoors, afraid to go near the water. As white snow blanketed the village, red blood filled its peoples’ dreams.


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