The waves spoke without words; their buckling reverence conveyed much more power than any sentence could conjure—and the way they continually attacked the lake's embankment, which rose starkly of weathered rocks and odious slime. But on the cynical mysterious lake sat a juxtapositioned wharf, its oak wood standing out from the jet black which undulated beneath it. The lake, as anyone could tell, did not like this building which stood in defiance of its waves. Still, there it stood, for someone to stand over the water as if they could walk upon the very surface and to stare into the abyss which only sickenly reverberated one's facade. And for me, it was not the same the day I stood on the dock and mockingly looked over its side to leer into the abysmal depths. Staring into the eyes of a faceless killer, I remembered what it had done—what it had taken—and I thought its waves to be an insulting gesture at me; I believed it remembered what it had done too—what it had taken—I saw myself quivering on its surface, and I thought it too, was the water mocking me with my own fear. Deep in the depth of the lake, I believed it was laughing manically at me. But I was here not for vengeance but acceptance, though now I did not know where I would find it; the waters seemed to churn with more evil now than they did that day I strongly try to forget. I sat by the edge of the dock as a ghastly vapor drifted from the distant mountains, which encapsulated the lake in an atmosphere of isolation, and soon desolation, for I would be the last human to be within its jeering presence. Listening to the waves and watching the mist descend upon the lake's surface, I thought of what it took from me; I wept, and my shimmering tears fell onto the dock, but I made sure too not to let one land within the waters lest it torment me further if it knew. And then the waters within the distance grew disturbed and swarmed with imploding bubbles that popped and displaced the water, my sadness became secondary now to my curiosity that pulled my eyes to the scene, watching with dismayed confusion. I stood up slightly in a tightened stance, ready to pull back further or run maddingly back to my car. Within the pandemonium, a silhouette began to jut out into the air and backdropped by the hoary clouds it contrasted them with its void pigmentation; then it furtherly raised from the lake before reaching a horrific height into the clouds, and it felt as though it stared at me, but now with the sun behind it, I could make out a more distinct figure. The horrendous figure of half a man, from the waist up, it seemed, but everything down was part of the writhing tentacular mass that protruded from the abysses of the lake. And so, in a stuporous frenzy, I lept from the dock to my car, not looking for a further image of what rose from that lake. Still, as I neared my vehicle, I heard a distinguishing feature that festered in the air like literal death. The sound must have come from the grave, but it was very real, and pierced by brain was a nauseating effect, causing me to fall into a panic and inexplicable fear, for the voice, the voice which bellowed from the beast, was the voice of my brother. And as I drove far from that lake, I swore to hear its mocking waves more clearly than ever, and they sounded like a laughter that was maddened by an oppressive demonic emanation.