Deep, deep in the woods, out past The Well of Wants, there lies a lake.For those who know of it, the lake is a sanctuary. A haven. A prison. A curse. The lake is the truth. For this lake has a secret. Those who stare into its murky depths will see a vision of their future.
Let me provide an example. A man comes to the lake. He is confused, lost in the maze of life. He feels his marriage is falling apart, his spouse is growing emotionally distant. He comes to the lake for guidance. The lake provides it. It shows him a future. Not the future, but a future. It shows the man arriving home early from work one day, walking into their bedroom, and seeing his spouse sleeping with another man. It shows the breakup, the divorce, the man spiraling into loneliness and despair. But it also shows the man eventually recovering and moving on with his life. The man leaves the lake shaken, but reassured. He has seen the future and the truth the lake provides, and he is ready to face it. I know this because I asked him what he saw in the depths of the lake, and what he was going to do next. He told me this, and that although the lake’s vision had deeply disturbed him, it had also confirmed something he had suspected for a long time. He leaves the lake ready to face his future.
He was one of the lucky ones.
A bit about myself. I came to the lake many, many years ago. Not to see my future, but to hear about the fates of others. Every person that comes to the lake, I ask them what brought them here, what they see, and what they plan to do next. I have made it my mission to understand what drives people to this place, and what the effects of them seeing their future are. But in all my time here, I have made one promise to myself. I will never look into this lake myself. For this lake is cursed.
I want you, the reader, to imagine something for me. You, I’m sure, are curious about what lies in store for your future, as everyone is. Imagine you come to this lake ready to find out what glories and adventures await your surely magnificent future.
Now imagine the lake shows you a future you don’t like. What would you do then? I know what you would do, if you were to truly see a future full of tragedy and disappointment. I have seen it many, many times.
There is but one plant within a hundred feet of this lake. A solitary oak tree, resting right on the bank of the lake. This tree drinks from the waters of the lake, and thus takes on its properties. Everyday, the tree takes on a different appearance from a random day in its millennia long lifespan. Sometimes it is but a sapling, sometimes it is tall, ancient and gnarled, some days it is not there at all. On those days where it is a great and ancient tree, its branches hang with corpses. The corpses of those who have come to the lake, and did not like what they saw.
I spoke to a newlywed man a few months back. He stood on one of the branches, a noose around his neck. I asked him what he saw in the lake.
“My new wife is sick. Cancer grows in her even now as we speak. By the time doctors catch it, it will be too late. She will die, weak and in agony. And I will be left alone, to waste away my life drinking and in despair. I can’t live through that. I just can’t do that. I’m sorry, my love.”
He jumped.
Later I reflected on the great irony of his vision. He had been blessed. By visiting the lake, he had seen the cancer slowly growing in his wife much earlier than he would have otherwise. He could have used that knowledge to save her. But instead he jumped, likely believing that what he saw in the lake was unchangeable. I suppose I could have pointed this out to him. But I make an effort not to interfere in others affairs.
There are a lot of people like him, people who come to the lake believing that the future they see in the lake is unchangeable. That is preposterous. If you were to come to this lake, see your future and then do the exact opposite of what was shown of course your future would change. To suggest otherwise is irrational. But I do suspect the majority of people who come here are irrational. So many bleak but changeable futures, wasted at the end of a noose.
As time has passed, I have noticed three general groups of people who come to this lake. The first are the motivated. They come to the lake, stare briefly into its depths, just long enough to see what they need, and then they leave. Based on my interviews, they have a mix of positive and negative visions, but all of them leave with the desire and motivation to either live out their future or change it. As I called them earlier, these are the lucky ones. The second group consists of those like the newlywed I discussed. Their visions are filled with horrors and tragedies, some unavoidable, others very much so. It doesn’t matter to them. They hang themselves anyway.
Then there is the third group. The ones that come to the lake and never leave. Whatever they see reflected back at them entrances them to the point that they spend the rest of their lives staring into that lake. They become frail and weak, eventually dying of thirst or starvation, their skeletons littering the lakeshore. Even in death their empty eye sockets continue to peer down into the depths. Whether they see anything in death, I do not know. I never interview these people. I already know what it is they see. Themself, staring into the cursed lake.
Perhaps now you are beginning to understand the nature of this lake. It is not malevolent, it is not evil, it is truthful. What those who seek its truth do with that knowledge is up to them. I personally chose to avoid ever learning the truth.
Three more stories. The first is of the only person I ever spoke to who was completely happy with what he saw in the lake.
I found him like all the others, standing in the tree. A noose around his neck. I asked him what he saw.
“Everything I could have ever dreamed. My every wish, my every desire, everything I ever wanted was waiting for me in my future. And now that I’ve seen it, I have nothing left to hope or dream or want. Everything I ever wanted in life I got, and now I have nothing left to hang on to and live for.”
He jumped.
There was a man once, who drank from the lake. I saw him everyday there for a week. He would come, stare into the lake for hours, then leave. And every morning he would be back. He asked me once. “This lake, it shows me the future when I stare into the water. If I drink it, will I carry my vision with me?” I did not answer. He was foolish, but I make an effort not to interfere in other’s affairs.
On the seventh day, he drank. He saw the tree change its form everyday he came to that lake, he should have known what was coming. Now he is indeed just like that tree. Everyday, just as the sun rises, he takes a new form from some point in his lifespan. Sometimes as a newborn baby, crying for a mother that will never come. Sometimes a corpse, joining all the others on the shore of the lake. But most often as a boy or a man. What exact point in his life he happens to take the form of is irrelevant. He is always screaming.
The third is about the day the tree fell. By this point in its lifespan, it was long since dead, barren, gnarled, and dry. Rotten to the core. But it was not the rot that felled the tree. It was the hundreds of corpses dangling from its branches. The tree fell, its remains and those of all died hanging from it plunging into the depths of the lake.
I must confess to you, the reader, that I have lied to you. Twice. The first is about the number of stories. I have one more. The other is about my policy of never looking into the lake. I did, once. I saw myself, standing at the edge of the lake, talking to a person. To you, to each and every reader of this story. Some of you I was talking to as you left the lake, your motivation and goals of life now reformed. Some of you I talked to as nooses were tied around your neck. But without fail, I talked to each and everyone of you.
You now know of this lake. I know that one day, you will all make it here. The promise of knowing your future will be irresistible, even despite everything I have told you. What you do with that knowledge will be up to you. But when you do get here, I will be waiting for you. And so will the lake.