Chapter 2: The Curse Lake

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The news of the highway ghost spread like wildfire among the Dunkers. They swore never to drive that road again. But the curse of the Middle Highway wasn’t meant to stay contained.

Because just twenty miles away, hidden behind an old bridge and forgotten trees, another horror was waiting.

The Lake.

It had no name on maps. Locals only whispered about it: “Don’t go near the water after dark. The lake keeps what it takes.”

But teenagers never listen to warnings.

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One boy did.

His name was Rohan. Seventeen, quiet, with large eyes that held more pain than any boy his age should ever carry. His friends at school called him “different,” though no one dared to say the word out loud. He liked boys, not girls, and that was enough to turn his small town into a cage.

At home, life was worse. His stepfather—a heavy man with bitter eyes and hands too quick to strike—made his days unbearable. The bruises on Rohan’s arms weren’t from sports. The silence he carried wasn’t from shyness.

One evening, while the town slept, Rohan walked to the lake. His footsteps echoed across the gravel path, his breath shivering in the cold. Something in the water seemed to call him. Ripples shimmered even though no wind touched the surface.

“Come closer,” a voice seemed to whisper.

And he did.

The next morning, Rohan’s body was found at the edge of the lake, pale and lifeless, his lips tinged blue, as though the water had kissed him goodbye.

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The police came quickly. Reporters crowded with cameras. The official statement was simple:

“Cause of death—drowning. Case under suspicion due to history of abuse.”

Neighbors pointed their fingers at the stepfather. Everyone knew. Everyone had heard the screams through the walls, the slamming doors, the boy’s desperate cries muffled at night.

But when asked where he was during the time of death, the stepfather only smirked.

“Probably where he belongs,” he muttered coldly. “At the bottom of the lake.”

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Sameer, one of the Dunkers, couldn’t ignore the story. He felt something connect—the ghost on the highway, the boy by the lake. It was all too close, too strange.

That night, unable to sleep, he searched online. Articles, old rumors, forgotten blogs. They all whispered the same thing:

The lake was cursed.

Years ago, it had been the site of another tragedy. A young man, thrown into the water by his own family for loving another man. His body had never been found. Since then, every boy or girl who carried the weight of a secret heart—who loved differently, who suffered silently—was drawn to the lake.

And the lake never let them leave.

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Two nights after Rohan’s death, Dev insisted they all drive to the lake.

“We’ve already seen a ghost,” he said, forcing a laugh. “Why not see a cursed lake too? Maybe the spirits will make us famous.”

But Arjun was restless, and Sameer was trembling before they even left the house.

The road to the lake twisted like a snake, lined with fog so thick the headlights seemed useless. When they reached, silence blanketed the place. The water shone like black glass, unmoving, unnatural.

Then they saw him.

A figure at the far edge of the lake.

Rohan.

His clothes were wet, clinging to his fragile frame. His face was pale, his eyes two hollow pools of grief.

“Help me,” he whispered. His voice echoed unnaturally, carrying across the still water.

Sameer’s heart stopped. “That’s the boy… that’s him,” he muttered.

But before they could move closer, Rohan’s figure twisted. His head turned unnaturally, his jaw stretching, and his voice deepened into a chorus of screams:

“JOIN ME!”

The surface of the lake rippled violently. Faces appeared beneath the water—boys, girls, men, all drowned, their arms stretching upward, begging, accusing.

The Dunkers stumbled back, screaming. Arjun dropped his keys. Dev cursed under his breath. Sameer fell to his knees, tears mixing with the mist, because he understood. He understood what Rohan had been through.

The lake wanted more.

The curse wasn’t just about water.

It was about pain.

It was about the ones no one protected.

It was about boys like Sameer.

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Behind them, a laugh echoed—the unmistakable cruel laugh of Rohan’s stepfather. But when they turned, no man was there. Only a shadow stretching across the trees, whispering into the night:

“You can’t save them. The lake keeps what it takes.”

And the water rippled again, hungry.

The Dunkers ran, but Sameer glanced back once more.

In the reflection of the lake, he saw himself.

Not as he was.

But pale, drowned, with water pouring from his mouth.

The lake had already chosen its next victim.

And he knew…

It was him.

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⚡ End of Chapter 2 ⚡

This chapter ties together abuse, queer tragedy, and the curse, making the lake a symbol of silenced voices and lost lives.