Will Carlton watched the last rays of the sun drown into the waters of Lake Manitoc with a growing feeling of dread.

  He dreaded these waters that had taken his sister’s life, but he also dreaded the future, with all its uncertainties, and he dreaded his house right now.

  It was weird, really. He used to feel so comfortable in his home, but ever since the accident, this had changed.

  He couldn’t quite articulate what it was. It felt wrong to stay inside those walls, like that wasn’t where he should be.

  There was a strange feeling of being watched whenever he entered the house, and it was driving him crazy.

  Strangely, he only felt at peace when he approached the lake. It gave him a sense of belonging. These waters, he thought, were calling for him, inviting him to go into them, asking him to… come and play?

  Huh?

  He woke up to find himself at the edge of the wooden platform; one more step and he would fall into the lake.

  Will retrieved his foot as thick drops of sweat flowed down his back, and goosebumps crawled through his skin.

  “What is happening?” His heart raced in his chest, beating so hard that he feared it might burst.

  “What is this?” Was he going crazy? Did he fall asleep for a moment?

  “Somnambulism?” A word appeared in his mind.

  “Yes, I must have fallen asleep, and I have somnambulism.” His rational mind worked on overdrive and presented him with a plausible explanation.

  CREAK!

  He heard a loud sound coming from the wood below, so he looked down at the water. It seemed angry with him, like he had rejected a heartfelt invitation from a friend.

  From the water he saw, no, he thought he saw a face forming. It looked like a child’s face.

  Peter? Who is Peter?

  Strange thoughts appeared in his mind. He took a step back, but the waters responded; they moved around, even without wind.

  He heard the platform creak once again under the onslaught, and he felt a premonition that it might fall apart if this continued for longer, so he ran to his house, slamming the door behind him after getting through.

  Then he waited, expecting the sound of the platform falling apart, but that moment never came. Looking through the window, he saw a perfectly still lake, as if everything he saw had been a trick of his imagination.

  Maybe it was.

  Will felt his grasp on reality slipping by, and just like that, the feeling of being watched returned.

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  “Where’s Dad?” At this moment, he remembered his father was also here.

  ***

  “Dad?” He found Bill Carlton in the same place he had left him hours before, sprawled in his chair, exuding a morbid energy, his eyes vaguely turned toward the TV.

  Bill didn’t seem to hear him, and were it not for the subtle movements of his torso, Will would believe the man died.

  Please react.

  He felt alone and afraid. The responsibility for another’s well-being still felt heavy and awkward to him.

  Sophie would be better suited for this, he thought. He missed his sister, even if their relationship wasn’t always the best.

  He missed his know-it-all I’m-better-than-you little sister who would know how to comfort their father.

  “You should really eat something.” Again, silence, and it had been this way since Sophie died the week before.

  “I will make you some dinner, ok?” Finally, Will turned away, defeated.

  He wondered for a second if his father would also be this destroyed if he had been the one who died.

  ***

  The kitchen was just like he had left it, a mess.

  A couple of flies buzzed around the leftovers from lunch, which he had forgotten to clean.

  He couldn’t even muster annoyance at their presence; they were, he figured, witnesses to his own incompetence.

  Can’t you even handle a kitchen?

  He felt hot tears forming in his eyes, but held them back; he didn’t need to cry, he just needed to conquer this kitchen.

  He went to the sink and began to wash the dishes.

  He scrubbed the plates and the cutlery clean, using soap with reckless abandon, and since he didn’t find the waste basket, he let the leftover go down the drain.

  In half an hour, the sink was spotlessly clean, and he allowed himself a small, proud smile.

  He then took a fish and began to prepare dinner. He was still concerned about his father, so he would make the best recipe he knew.

  GURGLE!

  But just as he cut the fish, he heard something.

  It sounded like someone choking on water, desperately gasping for air.

  “Dad?” Will automatically, though his father was dying, and rushed to the bedroom.

  But Bill Carlton was still the same, sad, but alive.

  Where did this sound come from?

  The TV?

  Will returned to the kitchen only to find the sink filled to the brim with dark water.

  “Shit!” He approached the sink and looked at the water filling it. Did he clog the pipe? How should he unclog it now?

  He shouldn’t have thrown the food down the drain. Now it was clogged.

  Or was it, really? Maybe it’s just plugged.

  Will pulled his sleeve up to his shoulder and then sank his arm into the sink.

  The plug is not in the drain, so it really is clogged.

  He then put his hand against the drain and began applying pressure to it, as if he were trying to revive someone whose heart had stopped.

  The water overflowed as he put his weight on the movement, but the drain showed no change; whatever was stuck there refused to move.

  Guess I will need to gather some tools to solve this.

  Will stopped his movements and decided on how to solve the problem.

  He turned around, searching for a rag to dry his hands, but then he felt something grab his hand and pull it hard.

  He resisted, but then it pulled harder.

  And suddenly his head was inside the water.

  He struggled, but it was useless.