That night, the town felt different. It wasn't just the mist creeping in from the fjord or the way the streetlamps flickered as I walked past. Something in the air had shifted, subtle but undeniable, like a breath held too long. The smiles of the townsfolk were the same as before — warm, open — but now I could see what lay behind them. Anticipation.
They weren't just being friendly.
They were waiting.
I wandered the streets without any real direction, letting my instincts guide me. The scent of wet pine and distant woodsmoke mixed with something sharper, something metallic that clung to the back of my throat. I passed a bakery where a woman stood at the window kneading dough. She looked up, caught my eye, and smiled so sweetly it almost hurt to look at her. But the smile didn't reach her eyes. It was the kind of smile that said: We see you. We know what you are.
I turned away quickly, shoving my hands deep into my coat pockets.
---
The river drew me back again, as it always seemed to do. No matter where I walked, my feet found their way to the bridge. The water below shimmered under the moonlight, black glass broken only by the faint ripples of the current. It was beautiful in a way that was almost unbearable.
I leaned against the railing, breathing in the cold night air. The hum of the town faded behind me, leaving only the sound of the water sliding over rocks. My own reflection stared back, and I forced myself to hold its gaze.
At first, it was me.
Then it wasn't.
The eyes in the water darkened, endless voids that seemed to pull me in. The hair drifted around the face, like it was moving underwater. My own face shimmered and changed — still me, but not. Something older stared back, something patient and powerful.
The melody rose again, clearer this time, curling through the night air like smoke. Not from the water, not from the town. From me.
My chest tightened, and for a moment, I wanted to let go of the railing, to lean forward, to fall. The thought wasn't mine, but it was there, sweet and tempting.
A voice cut through the fog in my head.
"Bekkholt."
I spun around, heart hammering. Maja stood at the edge of the bridge, her coat wrapped tightly around her, her expression sharp.
"You shouldn't be out here alone," she said.
I forced a shaky laugh. "Could say the same to you."
She stepped closer, eyes scanning my face. "You look pale. Did something happen?"
"No," I lied, slipping my hands back into my pockets. "Just thinking."
Maja studied me for a long moment, as if she could see through the lie. Then she sighed, shaking her head.
"Don't let this place get under your skin," she said quietly.
"Too late," I muttered under my breath, but she didn't hear me.
---
We walked back together, the silence between us heavier than the mist that clung to the streets. When we reached the guesthouse, she hesitated.
"Bekkholt," she said softly, "if you start hearing things… or seeing things… you tell me. Promise?"
I forced a smile. "Sure."
She didn't look convinced, but she left without another word.
---
Back in my room, I shut the door and locked it. The mark on my wrist was darker now, not just gray but shifting slightly, as if it pulsed with the rhythm of my heartbeat. I pressed my fingers against it, feeling the faintest warmth under the skin.
I grabbed my notebook and wrote furiously, the words spilling out without thought:
The town feeds the water. The water feeds me. The water is changing me.
I stopped, staring at what I'd written, the ink smearing under my thumb. My hands were shaking.
I got up and splashed cold water on my face, staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. For a moment, I thought I saw the same dark eyes from the river staring back. But when I blinked, it was just me again.
Just me.
---
I didn't sleep.
Instead, I sat by the window, watching the mist roll over the river. The night was so still it felt like the world was holding its breath, waiting for something to break the silence.
By morning, my nerves were raw. I hadn't slept more than a few minutes at a time, and when I did, the dreams were thick with water — cold, endless water. Every time I sank, I woke with a start, heart racing, shirt damp with sweat. The mark on my wrist throbbed faintly, an irritating pulse I couldn't ignore no matter how many times I rubbed it.
I told myself to stay focused. I was here to investigate, not to spiral into whatever this was.
---
After a stiff cup of coffee and a half-hearted attempt at breakfast, I stepped outside. The mist still clung to the streets, curling low to the ground, but sunlight filtered weakly through the clouds. The town looked ordinary in the daylight, almost cheerful. Children ran across the square, laughing, their boots kicking up gravel. Shopkeepers opened their doors, nodding as I passed.
The smiles were still there, wide and warm, but now I saw the way conversations paused when I walked by. Heads turned slightly. Eyes lingered. They weren't just greeting me; they were studying me.
Every nod felt like a silent acknowledgment: You're part of it now.
---
Maja met me by the car. She looked tired too, dark circles under her eyes, but she tried to mask it with a brisk tone.
"Ready for the last site?" she asked.
"Ready as I'll ever be," I said.
We drove in silence, the hum of the engine the only sound. The road took us deeper into the forest than before, the trees closing in so tightly they blocked out most of the sky. The air smelled of moss and something faintly metallic, the same scent that seemed to follow me everywhere now.
"This place," Maja said suddenly, "it doesn't feel right."
I glanced at her. "You believe something's going on here?"
She hesitated. "I don't know. But the water — it's like it's watching."
Her words sent a shiver through me. I wanted to tell her about the reflection, about the music, about the mark. But I didn't. Not yet.
---
The third site was the most isolated. A narrow path led to a rocky outcrop overlooking a deep pool of water, darker than any I had seen so far. The surface was still, unnervingly so, and the trees around it leaned as if they were being drawn toward the water.
I knelt at the edge, peering into the depths. The water didn't just reflect; it absorbed light, swallowing it whole. For a brief second, I thought I saw movement far below — a shadow twisting just out of sight.
Maja stayed a few steps back.
"You see anything?" she called.
"Only my own paranoia," I replied, forcing a smile.
But I wasn't smiling inside.
The water hummed, faint but there. I could feel it in my bones.
---
We stayed only long enough to take notes and photos. The longer I was near that pool, the harder it was to think straight. When we left, I felt as if something clung to me, trailing behind like a shadow I couldn't shake.
The drive back to town was tense. Maja kept glancing at me, and I could tell she wanted to ask questions. I kept my eyes on the road, gripping the wheel a little too tightly.
By the time we reached Sauda, the streets were alive again. People smiled, waved, offered small talk. But there was something behind their eyes now, something that made my skin crawl.
It wasn't friendliness.
It was hunger.
---
Back at the guesthouse, I locked the door behind me and sat heavily at the desk. My notebook lay open, waiting. The words spilled out before I could stop them:
The town feeds the water. The water feeds on them. And now, it feeds on me.
I stared at the sentence, my pulse pounding in my ears. The mark on my wrist was darker than ever, a sickly gray that seemed to shimmer faintly under the light. I traced it with my finger, feeling warmth, as if something alive pulsed beneath the skin.
For the first time, I was afraid to sleep.
---
Night fell quickly, wrapping the town in a heavy darkness. I sat by the window, watching the mist roll in from the river. It moved differently tonight, twisting and curling as if it had purpose. Somewhere out there, the water sang again — faint, mournful, calling.
I wanted to resist.
But I found myself standing, pulling on my coat, and stepping outside.
The streets were empty, the mist thick enough to blur the lamps into glowing orbs. I walked slowly, each step sinking into the damp gravel, until I reached the bridge. The river below was black and endless, the song louder now, almost sweet.
I gripped the railing, staring down. My reflection stared back, not me but something older, something that smiled faintly with lips that weren't mine.
I didn't move. Couldn't.
Then the song stopped.
The mist shifted, and for the briefest moment, I thought I saw a figure standing at the water's edge — an old man, cloaked in shadow, watching me. His face was unreadable, but his eyes burned with something I couldn't name.
When I blinked, he was gone.
---
I stumbled back to the guesthouse, heart pounding, the melody still echoing in my head even though the night was silent.
Whatever is in this town, whatever lives in that water, it has its hooks in me now.