Chapter 2: Whispers Beneath Maple Hollow

I dug in my heels, stubborn as ever. Folks whispered that I was in denial, but I didn’t care. Until I saw her, until I knew for sure, I couldn’t let go. Not yet.

Maple Hollow is famous for its freshwater fish; every family keeps a pond, including us.

Our backyard pond is small, ringed with river stones and cattails. Every spring, we stock it with fingerlings from the hatchery. Lila Mae loved to sit by the water, tossing breadcrumbs and watching the fish dart around. It was our little ritual—just us, just for a moment, the world quiet.

No matter how sad I was, I still fed the fry every morning, and every afternoon I waited by the lake where Lila Mae drowned.

It became my routine—feed the fish, walk to the lake, sit on the old dock, and watch the water. Sometimes I’d see a ripple, or a flash of silver beneath the surface, and hope would flare in my chest. But it always faded, leaving me emptier than before.

Neighbors all said I’d lost my mind with grief. They whispered as I walked by, saying I was haunting the lake.

They whispered as I passed, voices low and pitying. Some brought casseroles, others just shook their heads. I heard them say I was out there chasing ghosts. Maybe I was. I didn’t care anymore.

Just when I was about to accept that Lila Mae was gone—she came back.

It was dusk, the sky streaked pink and gold. I was sitting on the porch, lost in my own head, when I heard footsteps crunching on the gravel. I looked up, and there she was—my Lila Mae, hair plastered to her cheeks, eyes wide and empty. For a second, I thought I was seeing things, but then she called my name and I knew it was real.

She was still wearing the clothes from that day, her belly swollen so big her shirt barely covered it. My heart nearly stopped.

Her jeans were soaked, shirt stretched tight as a drum. The skin on her belly was so taut and bruised, dark veins snaking underneath. She looked like she’d swallowed a basketball. I felt sick, dizzy, terrified.

"Lila Mae!"

I screamed her name, my voice cracking. The neighbors spilled out of their houses, mouths open, nobody daring to come close. I ran to her, arms out, half afraid to touch her, half afraid not to. My heart was pounding out of my chest. Was this real? Was she really here?

Everyone made way for me. I rushed to hug her, cupped her face, and checked her all over, frantic.

She was ice cold, her skin clammy. I pressed my hands to her cheeks, brushed the wet hair from her forehead, searching for any sign of fever, of life. She just stared at me, unblinking, silent.

Her belly was purplish, with dark, winding veins running under her skin like tangled roots. I stared, horrified.

The veins looked wrong—too dark, too thick, twisting beneath her skin. I felt a wave of nausea, but forced myself to keep it together.

Panic surged in my chest. I yanked off my coat and wrapped her up, blocking everyone’s view, desperate to protect her.

I bundled her tight, shielding her from the neighbors’ prying eyes. I could feel their stares, heavy and judging, but I didn’t care. My only thought was to get her inside, away from all of this.

Back home, I pinched my arm hard, desperate to wake up if this was a dream.

The pain was sharp and real. I half expected to wake up in bed, but I was wide awake, shaking. Lila Mae was here, and nothing made sense.

It hurt—a lot. Lila Mae really was back. I couldn’t believe it.

For the first time in weeks, I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe things would go back to normal. Maybe this was my second chance. But the look in her eyes told me otherwise.

"Lila Mae, where have you been these past two weeks? What happened to your belly?"

My voice shook. I needed answers. Was she sick? Had someone hurt her? My mind spun with panic, every possibility worse than the last.

I was desperate to know what happened. Was she sick with something awful? Or was this something else, something I couldn’t name?

I knelt beside her, hands trembling. I checked her temperature, her pulse, anything I could think of. She just stared at me, lips pressed tight. The silence between us was heavier than the fog that rolls in off the lake.

Lila Mae sat on a chair, but her arms and legs were so thin and her belly so huge she had to stand, gripping the doorframe for support.

She looked so small, so breakable. The chair dwarfed her, her feet barely brushing the floor. She clung to the doorframe, knuckles white, like she was afraid she’d float away.

Her pale, childish face was blank, empty as the sky before a storm.

Her eyes were flat, her mouth a straight line. She didn’t look at me, didn’t look at anything. It was like she was somewhere far away.

"Mom, call the doctor."

Her voice was flat, emotionless, like a stranger’s. The words hung in the air, strange and wrong. My hands fumbled for the phone, shaking so badly I could barely dial.

I sank to the floor, unable to process it all, my mind spinning.

My knees buckled, and I slid to the linoleum, clutching my chest. The world spun. I wanted to scream, to run, but I couldn’t move. I was stuck.

After saying this, Lila Mae never spoke again. The silence in the house grew colder, heavier.

She sat there, silent as a stone. No matter what I said or did, she wouldn’t answer. The house grew quieter, like it was holding its breath.

I didn’t know what to do, so I called my sister for help. "Marlene, should I take Lila Mae to the hospital in Duluth?"

I called Marlene, panic in my voice. Duluth was hours away, and I didn’t know if we could make it, or if anyone there would even know what to do. My mind raced with worry.

My sister stared at Lila Mae’s belly, dazed, her eyes wide with fear. She reached out, squeezing my hand in support.

She pressed her lips together, eyes locked on the swollen skin. I could see the fear and uncertainty in her face. She’d always been the strong one, but now she looked as lost as I felt. She squeezed my hand, grounding me for just a moment.

She said, "Call Grandma Elsie."

The words caught me off guard. Grandma Elsie wasn’t family by blood, but she was the oldest woman in town, the one everyone went to when things got weird. If anyone could help, it was her.

Grandma Elsie was a seventy-year-old woman, known around town for handling the strange and supernatural.

She lived in the oldest house on Maple Lane, its porch sagging, windows full of dusty jars and wind chimes. People said she could cure warts, talk to ghosts, and see the future in tea leaves. I’d never believed much in any of it, but right then, I was desperate for anything.

Her hair was already white, her steps slow and careful. My sister had married the town council president, Tom. She usually kept her emotions to herself, but she was always respectful to Grandma Elsie.

Tom was the kind of man who kept his opinions to himself, but even he listened when Grandma Elsie spoke. Marlene led the way, her voice barely above a whisper. The air in Grandma Elsie’s kitchen smelled like herbs and vinegar, sharp and earthy.

Grandma Elsie had already heard about Lila Mae’s disappearance and her return with a swollen belly. Her eyes flickered with a mix of pity and fear.

She looked at Lila Mae with something like dread. She muttered under her breath, a prayer or a curse—I couldn’t tell. Her hands trembled as she reached out to touch Lila Mae’s belly.

She used her wrinkled hands to feel Lila Mae’s belly, while Lila Mae just stared ahead, calm, like she was watching someone else’s story unfold.

Her fingers were cold and dry, moving in slow circles. Lila Mae didn’t flinch, didn’t react at all. It was like she wasn’t even there, just a shell of the girl I knew.

Grandma Elsie squinted. "Your daughter’s been poisoned by a lake spirit. The spirit used her belly to breed its spawn."

Her voice was low, almost a whisper. The words made my skin crawl. I wanted to laugh, to tell her she was crazy, but something in her eyes stopped me. She looked at Lila Mae like she’d seen this before, and it scared me more than anything.

But then Grandma Elsie locked eyes with Lila Mae and shuddered. For a split second, real fear flickered across her face.

For a moment, the two of them just stared at each other. Then Grandma Elsie pulled her hand back, rubbing her fingers together as if trying to shake off something cold and sticky.

She stopped herself and waved my sister over, her movements sharp and tense.

Marlene stepped forward, face set with determination. Grandma Elsie whispered something in her ear, too soft for me to catch. I felt a knot of dread form in my stomach.

My sister gave me a reassuring look, squeezing my shoulder, her eyes saying, "Trust me."

It was a look I’d seen a thousand times, ever since we were kids. I tried to draw strength from it, but my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

After the two left, Lila Mae acted like I wasn’t even there. She lay down to rest, curling up around her belly.

She curled up on the bed, arms wrapped around her swollen stomach. I watched from the doorway, afraid to get too close. She closed her eyes, breathing slow and shallow, looking impossibly small.

On the bed, only that one spot was raised by the blanket—an unnatural, lumpy mountain.

The lump under the blanket looked wrong, a mountain rising in the middle of the bed. I could see her chest rising and falling, but nothing else moved. The sight sent chills down my spine.

My sister came back, frowning. "Grandma Elsie says something’s not right about Lila Mae. She smells like the dead."

She closed the door behind her, voice low. "Elsie says it’s not just sickness. It’s something… older. Something wrong."

Seeing I didn’t get it, she added, "And it’s the smell of someone who’s been dead for years."

I recoiled, her words sending a fresh wave of panic through me. The thought of my daughter smelling like a corpse made me want to throw up.

"Maggie, has anything been odd about Lila Mae since she got back?"

I racked my brain, searching for anything strange. I thought about her silence, the way she looked at me without really seeing me. Then it hit me—a memory, so sharp it made me gasp.

I thought hard, and suddenly, a detail slammed into my mind, making me break out in a cold sweat.

It was the way she’d spoken to me, the words she’d used. Something was off, but I hadn’t noticed at first.

"Marlene, when Lila Mae came back, she only said one thing—she called me ‘mother.’"

The word sounded foreign in her mouth, stiff and formal. Lila Mae had always called me "Mom," sometimes "Mama" when she wanted something. Never "mother."

She used to call me ‘mom.’ Even around here, nobody says ‘mother’ unless it’s for prayers or funerals.

Even the oldest folks in Maple Hollow use "mom" and "dad." "Mother" is what you say at a funeral, not around the kitchen table.

My sister told me to calm down; she was always the brave one. She squeezed my hand, voice steady.

"We’ll figure this out," she said. I wanted to believe her, but the fear in my chest wouldn’t let go.

"Mom."

The girl appeared behind us, her voice cold and flat. "I’m about to give birth."

Her voice was hollow, sending chills down my spine. I spun around, heart in my throat, and saw blood already pooling at her feet.

Turning around, Lila Mae’s legs were already soaked in blood. It was everywhere—on her jeans, on the floor, the smell sharp and metallic.

The blood trickled down, soaking into the floorboards. The smell hit me first—iron and salt and something briny. My stomach lurched.

Between her feet, a fish tangled up with lake weeds flopped around, slick and gasping for air.

It writhed and gasped, weeds clinging to its scales. I stumbled back, the room spinning.

The fish was palm-sized, with a human face on the front and fins sprouting from its back.

Its mouth opened and closed, silent and desperate. The face was twisted, almost familiar. I felt my stomach turn.

Five tiny yellow eyes bunched together in rows, layers of brownish fish scales giving off that same sharp, raw stench.

The eyes blinked in unison, staring up at me. The smell was overpowering, making my eyes water and my skin crawl.

I didn’t even have time to scream before I fainted from fright. The world went black, and the last thing I saw was Lila Mae’s blank face and that writhing creature at her feet.

Lila Mae’s case was so strange, my sister didn’t even dare call the doctor. She called Grandma Elsie again.

When I came to, the house was quiet except for the soft hum of voices coming from Lila Mae’s room. Marlene had locked the doors, drawn the curtains, and called Elsie. No one else was allowed inside. The silence was heavy, every second stretching out.

Grandma Elsie stayed in the room all night. I lay on the couch, listening to the creak of floorboards and the low hum of Elsie’s prayers. The hours crawled by, each one heavier than the last, my nerves stretched thin.

After I woke up, I tried to go in, but my sister stopped me, blocking the doorway. "Some things are better left unseen," she whispered, her face pale and drawn. I tried to push past her, but she held firm, desperation in her eyes. "Please, Maggie, just trust me."

Normally, you’d hear a woman’s cries or the doctor’s anxious voice during childbirth, but the house was silent—no screams, no footsteps, no voices. Only the steady drip of water somewhere in the distance. The silence was so deep it made my skin crawl.

But the room was eerily quiet. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath. I pressed my ear to the door, but heard nothing—no cries, no laughter, nothing at all. The quiet was worse than any scream.

Not until the moon disappeared behind the trees did Grandma Elsie come out. She looked even older, her back hunched, her face drawn and tired.

She shuffled into the hallway, leaning heavily on her cane. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her skin ashen. She didn’t say a word, just motioned for me to follow.

"Go look. They’re all safe."

Her voice was thin, barely above a whisper, sounding so tired it made my heart ache. She nodded toward the bedroom, and I forced myself to move, legs trembling.