The water turned from golden green to a bruised purple as he descended. Then, out of the silt, it appeared. The house was perfectly preserved, untouched by rot or currents. It sat on the lake floor as if waiting for a Sunday guest.
Luca swam through the open front door. His flashlight beam cut through the dark, resting on a wooden table where a porcelain cup sat, still upright. He moved toward the back room, his flints echoing strangely in the pressurized silence. La casa in fondo al lago
The village of Aris used to be famous for its mirror-like lake, but nobody swims there anymore. They say that when the water is perfectly still, you can see the red clay tiles of a rooftop shimmering thirty feet below the surface. The water turned from golden green to a
Luca kicked hard against the glass, the sound of the ticking growing deafening, drowning out the bubbles of his own breath. Just as his vision began to grey at the edges, the glass shattered. It sat on the lake floor as if waiting for a Sunday guest