The wind’s icy breath carried a
mournful tune across the desolate farmland, where the forgotten tombs lay
buried beneath a thick layer of powdery snow. Beyond the church lay a village,
secluded and isolated from the rest of the world.
At
the centre of the village lay a lake that shimmered in the moonlight, its dark
surface reflecting the starry night. The lake’s name was a reminder of the
past, a relic of a time long gone. The Woeful Lake. The Woe.
The
lore of The Woe was shrouded in mystery. It passed down from generation to
generation until it faded into obscurity.
Superstition
ran deep in the countryside and as the rumours about The Woe reached their
peak, the villagers abandoned everything they owned overnight and fled to the
faraway towns in the southern parts of the country.
This
whole thing was messed up in more than one way, not to mention highly
suspicious. The mayor at the time gave strict orders to the locals and the
press to not alert the rest of the country by making headlines out of these
strange events that unfolded one wintry night on the 12th of December 1976.
As
time passed and ran through the sand, the notorious lake was bound to be
forgotten – a systematic and collective amnesia overlooked by the authorities.
My
lifelong friend and colleague, Henry Glasgow, was the one who first told me
about the lake. He and I spent almost a decade working together as security
guards at the Museum of Modern Art.
Henry
was someone I considered a good colleague and an even better friend. He was a
man of few words, but my memories of him were nothing but fond.
I
liked that part of him the most, the quiet part that is, because I was somewhat
of a hermit myself. The two of us could go on working several hours in sheer
silence, and the absence of conversation wouldn’t bother either of us.
When
I asked him where he heard of The Woe, he told me that his maternal
great-grandparents were one of many who fled that fateful night on the 12th of
December.
His
mother, a 10-year-old child back in 1976, recalled fleeing but had no other
recollection of what transpired or why she had to escape in the dead of the
night along with the rest of the villagers.
Over
the years and as the symptoms of her dementia became more noticeable, however,
she recounted her escape and described it as a ‘living hell’. That was the only
thing she would reveal even on her deathbed.
Henry
did his own digging into the mysterious lake after his mother’s passing, but
all traces of that place had been removed from the public archives. It was as
if The Woe didn’t exist. His search for the truth yielded fruitless.
This
all happened when he was in his mid-twenties. Two decades later, as we were
both on duty at night, he revealed that he finally found something.
An
anonymous account had posted a thread on the 6th of October, two days before
our night shift, on the subreddit UnresolvedMysteries about The Woe,
seeking informants.
As
the responses increased, the enigmatic nature of The Woe and the mysteries that
surrounded it reached the international press.
That’s
when Henry got in touch with the original poster and got a glimpse of what
transpired the day his mother fled from her home.
In
the early hours of June 9th, 1976, a pregnant woman in her second trimester
went missing. Her husband woke up to an empty bed and alerted the mayor after
two hours of searching on his own.
While
the initial investigation into the woman’s disappearance ruled out foul play,
the circumstances after her disappearance became a heated topic among the
locals.
No
one had heard or seen the husband search for his missing wife that day; as this
was the countryside, people didn’t sleep past dawn and worked the fields until
noon.
It
wasn’t long until people ran their mouths and the rumours spread like wildfire
about the husband’s possible involvement.
When
an undisclosed farmer recounted seeing the missing woman’s husband near The Woe
the day after she went missing – on his knees and crying – people talked
amongst themselves that he had killed his wife and unborn child, and then
thrown her lifeless body into the lake.
Even
though numerous reports of this nature reached the authorities, however, they
never searched the lake or the surrounding area.
Three
weeks later, the husband was found hanging from a nearby tree adjacent to the
lake. That’s when people began to call it The Woe. But the OP didn’t know
anything about why people evacuated their homes back in 1976 – approximately
six months after the suicide.
My
dear friend was soon caught up in the intricate details of The Woe; it haunted
him. His already skinny frame grew thinner, his cheeks lost colour, and his
entire personality shifted for the worse. Even without witnessing it with my
own eyes, I knew that he wasn’t sleeping anymore.
Should
this keep up for another week, I feared that something bad would happen to him.
But he wouldn’t listen to my pleas. Dreading that we’d grow distant, and he’d
stop showing up to work altogether, I kept my thoughts to myself and slowly
watched him become nothing but skin and bones.
Had
I a way to stop him, I would. But I didn’t. The Woe consumed him, sucked his
blood dry, and I let it happen.
While
not as close as we used to be, Henry and I kept working together on the second
floor of our office, overlooking the goodly building three nights a week every
month.
The
night shifts didn’t differ much from the day shifts, except for the lack of
sunlight of course, and that was perfectly fine.
Our
routine tasks were identical, whether during the day or the night, with the
only change being the amount of time we set aside to complete them.
And,
since we were unencumbered by authority figures, we made a habit of breaking
rules just for the kicks during the night shifts. At the end of the day, we
were just humans.
Things
remained like this, in status quo, for a few weeks – until that night.
It
was the 2nd of January 2013. Henry and I spent countless hours staring at the
monitors, our eyes growing tired as we scanned the museum for any signs of
abnormal activity.
Our
patrols varied based on the resources at our disposal and the day of the month;
our main task was to secure the doors and ensure that nothing valuable was
accessible to potential intruders.
The
doors were carefully numbered, with the first digit indicating the level of
importance of the goods inside. The remaining digits provided factual
information, including the floor number and security level.
Although
this job required us to work through the night at least three times a week, we
took turns sleeping to make it more manageable.
Despite
the mundane nature of the tasks and the uncomfortable working hours, however, I
never complained about my pay, knowing that my salary was twice that of my
friends who worked traditional 9-5 office jobs.
Besides,
my previous job as an orderly at a psychiatric ward had me working mostly at
night as well, so I had no problem adjusting to this line of work.
Henry,
on the other hand, took a couple of weeks to adjust to the night shifts. In
hindsight, it dawned on me that he was tight-lipped about his past, including
his previous jobs, before becoming a security guard.
But
it struck me as no more unusual than the fact that I never talked about my
family life either. As I mentioned, we were both comfortably reserved and were
fine with that.
The
air was crispier than usual in our office when Henry returned after patrolling
the building for half an hour or so. I was digging my teeth into a cheese
sandwich, occasionally glancing at the monitors when he sank into the armchair
next to mine and placed his keyring and flashlight on the desk.
I
caught him looking over a few times and asked if he wanted half of the
sandwich, but he shook his head instead of replying. But the manner in which he
moved his body occurred to me as unnatural. He looked like someone who had seen
a ghost. I put my food away.
“You
okay, mate?”
He
stared at me as if he couldn’t discern what I was saying at first. The unfazed
and robotic quality of his voice was impossible to ignore. I could’ve sworn
that his voice sounded different like it was coming from someone else. It was
uncanny, like hearing a familiar tune played on a different instrument.
We
looked at one another for about two seconds I think before he finally answered.
His voice sent a shiver up my spine.
“There’s
something in there.”
“Huh?”
“In
the storage room on the third floor. I saw something in there.”
Alerted,
I faced the monitors and located the third floor. There weren’t any signs of
intrusion visible. Zooming in on the storage room, I noticed that it was
cracked open. As panic set in, I looked at him for a third time.
I
had worked at the museum for over a decade and this was the first time we ever
had an issue with an intruder. Usually, the guys patrolling outside the
building were the first ones to catch them red-handed.
Moreover,
we hadn’t heard the alarm ring, which meant at least one exit door was unlocked
without setting off the alarm. Per protocol, we had to manually shut down the
entire building and call the police at this point.
But
as I asked Henry what he had seen exactly, he told me something I needed a few
seconds to digest.
“I
think you need to go.”
“Go?
Where?” I said. “The storage room?”
He
shook his head. “No, you… need to go. Right now. I- I don’t know how to explain
it, I…”
“What’re
you talking about, man? What the hell did you see? Henry?”
He
didn’t reply. Growing irritated, I decided to take a look at the storage room
myself.
However,
he leapt in front of me with unprecedented speed, blocking me from taking
another step, his darting eyes wild and amok. I tried to shove him aside, but
he was larger in build than me and stood his ground.
Everything
happened so fast. I pushed him away and my friend hit his head on the edge of
the desk and collapsed.
I
checked his pulse before making it out of the office and up the staircase.
While I was supposed to follow protocol, I couldn’t shake the feeling that,
whatever my friend had seen, was nothing but a hallucination.
As
I mentioned before, Henry hadn’t slept properly for many weeks and I couldn’t
just blindly trust his words and disrupt an otherwise calm night.
For
all I cared, the door to the storage room had been unlocked by none other than
Henry himself for whatever reason, and I couldn’t be less interested in knowing
why.
I
pointed the flashlight down the third-floor corridor and scanned the area for
somewhere between a second and a second and a half.
When
I couldn’t hear or see anything out of the ordinary, I resumed my patrol and
continued to the other side of the drafty corridor.
As
I closed in on the cracked storage room, I came to a standstill and looked
around me – ears perked up and listening.
My
wandering eyes followed each crack and hole in the walls until they landed on
the sole security camera in the corner I had just passed to get to the other
side of the corridor.
After
shouting for whoever might be hiding in the storage room to show themselves, I
quickly pulled up a pair of handcuffs just in case and pushed the creaking door
wide open.
My
heart skipped several beasts as I aimed the flashlight all over the place only
to heave a sigh of relief and relax my shoulders.
As
I put my guard down and stepped inside the storage to look around, I noticed
that the entire room was blanketed in dust and hadn’t seen the light of day for
months, if not years.
Stacks
of crates and boxes teetering precariously on top of one another was the first
thing that caught my attention; the dusty shelves were empty and everything lay
on the linoleum floor.
While
most of the artefacts were worthless, a small collection dating back to the
beginning of the modern era held significant historical and intrinsic value and
was worth a few hundred dollars.
Our
boss said that the storage room was locked to ensure that whatever was inside
stayed inside; former employees, our boss warned me on my first ever shift,
tried to steal the defective goods hoping to make a quick buck on the black
market, but was caught in the act and got sacked.
I
was told not to be like ‘those bastards’. I remember having a good laugh about
this with Henry years later, joking about not becoming a bastard and losing the
only job we had for a fleeting thought of getting rich overnight – the same
thought process gamblers possessed. We weren’t bastards, the two of us.
I
exited. The door clicked shut behind me, and I gave it a firm tug to make sure
it was locked and secure.
When
I was halfway down the corridor, ready to return to the office a floor down and
beat some sense into my friend, a sudden noise cut me short. Instinctively, I
turned around and pointed the flashlight at the locked storage room.
My
laboured breath came in short gasps as I tried to find the source of the odd
noise. Then it dawned on me. The noise wasn’t coming from the corridor, it was
coming from the ceiling right above me.
Hesitant,
unsure of what sight would emerge from the darkness, I directed the light
upwards and scanned the ceiling. My heart was in my mouth.
Something
dripped on my forehead, right between my eyebrows, and trickled down the side
of my nose bridge and hit the floor. I grimaced and ran my fingers over my wet
nose; the pungent smell making me gag in place.
I
doubled over and retched as a pool of dark liquid pooled around me in a perfect
circle. A barking cough got hold of me and forced me on four legs. My trembling
hands submerged into the nasty liquid and the pungent smell pervaded the entire
corridor.
I
glanced at the security camera, reaching out to it as if to touch it, only for
the coughing attack to stop abruptly.
I
looked around me, puzzled beyond words, and noticed that everything was back to
normal. My hands were no longer soaked in the nasty liquid, in fact, there was
no liquid to begin with.
Scared
witless, I sprinted to the other side of the corridor, leaving behind my
flashlight and handcuffs, and descended the stairs like a madman.
When
I returned to the office and locked the door behind me, Henry was no longer
where I had left him.
Dripping
with cold sweat, I sank into my designated seat and let my throbbing head rest
on the headrest. For a brief moment, I shut my eyes and drowned out all other
noises besides my own irregular and shallow breathing.
Only
when my heart calmed down did I become eerily aware of Henry’s prolonged
absence.
I
drew up my walkie-talkie and asked where the hell he was, but there was no
response, only the sound of static came through.
Thinking
he was playing games with me and utterly exhausted, I told him to fuck off and
put the walkie-talkie away for a good hour and a half.
As
the clock kept ticking and we were nearing the end of our shift, I decided to
go look for my friend, whom I assumed had dozed off in the restroom next to the
office.
It
wouldn’t be the first time he had done this since he became obsessed with The
Woe, and I figured I’d let him sleep for as long as I possibly could.
The
stench of standing water hit me as soon as I opened the restroom door.
Convinced something terrible had happened, I stormed in and twisted off the
running taps one after the other.
All
three of the sinks were overflowed with water, not to mention the drenched
tiles that made the floor slippery.
Frowning
– flabbergasted more than anything – I caught a glimpse of myself in the
wall-length mirror before quickly turning my attention to the toilet cubicles
behind me.
My
heart sank. Water flowed from under the door of the last cubicle.
I
could feel the panic rising as I tried to unlock the cubicle, but it remained
firmly shut. I resorted to lung at it repeatedly, convinced my friend was
somehow trapped inside, when it unlocked with a sudden rush of air, causing me
to stumble backwards.
“Henry!”
I
was left in shock at the spectacle that lay before my eyes. It was him. His
body, drenched and twisted, slumped towards me, while his head remained buried
in the overflowing toilet bowl.
I
yanked his head out and dragged him out of the cubicle by his feet. My uniform
clung to my skin, heavy and waterlogged, as I made it to the doorway.
Despite
my fervent attempts to revive him, Henry remained unresponsive, his body still
and lifeless. He had no pulse. I had come too late.
Realising
the gravity of the situation, I peered out into the corridor and gritted my
teeth. My phone was locked in my drawer.
I
pulled out my walkie-talkie and, despite the panicked state I was in, got in
touch with the guards outside, briefed them on what happened and urged them to
call the police and an ambulance.
I
couldn’t keep the tears in as I held my friend’s cold body close, instinctively
trying to keep him warm until help came.
Was
this the reason he tried to make me leave? So he could kill himself? But why?
Why would he do something like this all of a sudden?
Henry
was an eccentric character, all right, but his demeanour never hinted at any
suicidal tendencies. Not to mention it was an odd choice of method for someone
of his calibre to end his life; drowning wasn’t only excruciatingly painful but
also difficult to accomplish on your own.
His
brain would’ve done anything to make sure his face stayed above the water –
unless, of course, he didn’t try to take his life – somebody else did.
No
matter how I hard tried to rearrange the pieces in my mind, the puzzle pieces
just wouldn’t come together.
Sure,
his obsession with The Woe was over the top and borderline destructive, but the
Henry I knew wouldn’t let death anywhere near him until he unravelled the
mystery that shrouded the mysterious lake.
His
untimely demise left me in a state of shock and denial. Even as they loaded
Henry into the ambulance, my senses felt dulled and distant, like I was
watching everything through a fog.
My
head was reeling, and a splitting headache overwhelmed me.
I
called our boss afterwards, told him what had happened and asked if I could
clock out an hour earlier that night.
On
my way out of the office, my eyes landed on the ajar restroom door and a chill
shiver ran up my spine. Unsettled, I decided to close the door when I thought I
saw something move right past me.
Then
I heard it. Running water. As soon as I stepped into the restroom and looked
around, the noise ceased and faded away. I twisted the tap and watched the
water rise in the sink before twisting it off.
Through
the mirror, I observed the last cubicle where I found my friend’s lifeless body
just hours before and wheezed. Whatever happened here, I’d probably never know.
I
left the museum two hours later and had a chat with one of the guards on duty,
just going through what I already told the police, and then hit the road a
quarter to 4 am.
As
I hit the gas and turned around the corner, I glanced at the museum through the
rearview mirror and felt my blood curdle. I never thought a day would come and
I would dread the sight of a mere building made of bricks.
I
had another night shift the day after and I knew already that I was going to
call in sick.
Henry’s
passing, albeit we didn’t know one another outside of the workplace, had a
great impact on my psyche. It was like a memento mori, a reminder of the
inevitability of death and the frailty of human life.
The
thought of this happening to me was an unescapable outcome, especially since
Henry’s last words to me kept ringing in my ears all the way home.
Why
did he tell me to go home? If I didn’t go to the storage room that night, would
I be the one who perished so untimely?
Upon
returning to my apartment, the weight of everything that happened finally hit
me, and I wept like a child. My body convulsed, and the absurdity of this whole
situation with Henry haunted my thoughts.
Lia,
my fiancé, woke up as I entered our bedroom and sat straight up as soon as she
noticed my bloodshot eyes.
Without
saying a word, I collapsed into her arms. The scent of her shampoo enclosed me
from all sides and calmed me down. I kissed her delicate hand as we locked eyes
and she asked me what happened.
Although
I told the police, my boss, and the guards what happened already, I couldn’t
bring myself to tell her the demise of my friend, and even if I came up with a
lie, I knew she wouldn’t buy it.
“Robert,”
she said with her sweet voice that could break a grown man into tears, “what is
it?”
“I
don’t know where to begin…”
“Begin
at the beginning, then. Why are you like this? Did something happen?”
I
hesitated. “The guy I worked with, you know the one I talked to you about? He’s
dead. He- he died, Lia.”
“How?
It’s okay, babe…”
I
shook my head. “I don’t know. I don’t wanna know. But I don’t think he’s… That
he, that he did that to himself. Lia. I don’t even know why I’m like this or
why—”
“Babe,
what happened to him?”
Once
again, I hesitated. I couldn’t bring myself to say the truth.
“He
drowned. In the toilet bowl. I- I found him, he—I thought I could save him, but
he… He had no pulse. He was already dead, Lia, it was too late. If only I
could—he wasn’t that type of person that’d take his own life…”
“You
couldn’t have predicted he’d do that. No one could,” she said. “Sometimes, even
those we think we know the best do something we’d never expect of them. Just
like this one.”
I
pulled away from her and shook my head.
“Not
Henry. I- I knew that guy, Lia! Sure, he was acting out of character lately and
all that, but, babe, I knew him! He… he wouldn’t do that.”
“Robert,
I know you were fond of him, but…”
“He
told me to go home, Lia. Before he did that to himself. He wanted me to go
home.”
“I’m
sure he wanted to spare you from—”
“No,”
I said. “The way he told me that… It sounded like he was trying to protect me.”
My
fiancé frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Listen,
I know how this sounds, but when I went upstairs to check the storage room,
just hours before he did this to himself, I saw something. I- I don’t know what
it was, but it wasn’t a hallucination, it was…”
“Robert!”
She gently held my pallid face with her hands. “You sure you okay?”
I
clammed up and couldn’t continue. She wouldn’t believe it. Even I had a
hard time believing myself, so why would she, a budding scientist with a
PhD in biomedicine?
“I-
I think I need to get some fresh air.”
“Robert?
Robert, I didn’t mean to—”
I
broke off in the doorway, my back turned to her.
“No,
it’s okay, babe. I know you didn’t mean it like that. I just… need some time
for myself.”
As
I was about to close the door, she said something that cut me short for a brief
second. I didn’t reply.
I grabbed my jacket and spent the rest of the night in the park near our apartment and didn’t return until I knew she was no longer at home.
Read Night Watch - Part II.