HAUNTED: Weekend In Maine

It’s surprisingly easy to feel like the main character in upstate Maine. The moment you arrive, the clouds part, revealing a bright, azure sky, as if in welcome. Cows graze lazily in the fields, turning their heads to watch you pass with a curiosity that feels almost human. In the distance, a deer bounds across the road, its presence fleeting yet magical. Locals wave with warm, familiar smiles, as though you’ve always been a part of their lives. That’s how it felt to me, anyway.

Hakim had booked us an Airbnb in New Portland, Maine, to celebrate our four-year anniversary. The listing photos hinted at its rustic charm, but stepping inside, I was unprepared for the unsettling feeling of familiarity. The cabin sat just a few feet from the foggy Gilman Pond, and as we stepped onto the creaking wooden porch, I couldn’t shake the feeling of unseen eyes watching us.

On our first night overlooking the water, the stillness was intense—almost oppressive. The moon cast a pale glow over the pond, but the stars seemed dim, as though reluctant to witness what lay beneath. The air grew colder, and the silence was so heavy it felt stifling. I tried to brush off the creeping sense of dread, chalking it up to the remoteness of the place.

Hakim decided we would take to the water the next morning. He found life jackets in a closet on the patio. I chose a green and yellow kayak that seemed sturdy enough, with a small drainage hole at the stern—a tiny gap that looked rusted tight. As I dipped my paddle into the water, an odd chill crept over me.

At first, everything was calm. The pond was a mirror, reflecting the blue sky and casting long shadows from the pines along the shore. But as we paddled, a dense fog began rolling in, covering the pond in a thick, impenetrable cloud. The water stretched into the fog, endless and disorienting, and suddenly, it felt less like a pond and more like a void. Small ripples began to break the surface around me.

Then, a smell hit me—a faint, sour scent, like rotting wood. I glanced around, but saw nothing—just an expanse of heavy mist. Hakim was ahead of me, his laughter echoing through the fog, yet it sounded strange, as though the mist was swallowing the sound.

I looked down to see water pooling at my feet. The drainage hole was still plugged, but water kept rising, inching up my legs with a cold, unnatural grip. The ripples grew into short waves, growing more aggressive. The kayak felt heavier, harder to maneuver.

“Hakim!” I called, my voice barely more than a whisper against the eerie silence. He was far on the other side of the pond, his expression shifting from joy to concern as he saw my predicament. The stern of my kayak had fully submerged, and I felt a cold weight pulling me deeper into the water.

“Hold on!” he shouted, paddling toward me, but his voice seemed distant, as though it came from someplace farther away.

As I tried to stay calm, I felt something brush against my ankle—solid and cold, like a hand. I jerked my leg, but the kayak wobbled dangerously. My heart pounded as I convinced myself it was just the water playing tricks. But then, I saw it: a pale, shadowy figure just beneath the surface, inches from my kayak. Its eyes were wide and empty, staring up at me with an expression of unending sorrow.

Panic surged. I clutched the kayak’s edges, desperate to stay afloat. The fog grew denser, and the smell intensified—a sickly sweetness, like decaying flowers. Somehow, Hakim reached me faster than I’d thought possible, though he’d been at the other end of the pond.

“Catch the rope!” he said, tossing a line to me. I quickly attached his kayak to mine.

“Thank goodness. I don’t know how, but my kayak’s sinking!” I stammered, my voice shaking. But when I looked at Hakim, his face looked distorted in the mist, his eyes hollow and distant.

“Hakim?” I whispered, feeling a strange numbness creep into my skin. He nodded, his mouth moving soundlessly. Beneath me, the figure reappeared, now directly between my legs, its hands reaching up to brush my skin with a rough, unnatural touch. I let out a strangled gasp, paddling frantically, but the water seemed to resist, as though it wanted to hold me there, suspended between two worlds.

The kayak tipped, and I began to slide toward the water. Just as I was about to lose my grip, Hakim gave a powerful tug, yanking me back. My vision blurred, and for an instant, I saw his face as though through a darkened veil—his eyes faintly glowing, his skin pallid and clammy.

Then, as swiftly as it had come, the fog lifted. The figure beneath the water vanished, and my kayak stopped sinking. The water around us stilled, as though whatever haunted this place had decided to release me.

Hakim helped me onto the shore, his hand steady and warm, grounding me. “What happened out there?” he asked, eyes full of concern.

“I... I don’t know,” I stammered, still trembling. I glanced back at the pond, half-expecting to see that ghostly face watching us from the surface. But there was nothing—only silent, dark water reflecting the morning sky.

We didn’t speak much on the way back, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had followed us, a shadow lingering just out of sight. That night, as we lay in bed, I listened to the creaks and groans of the old cabin, each sound stirring a fresh wave of unease.

Just as I drifted into a restless sleep, I thought I heard faint whispers echoing through the walls—mournful, pleading, calling me back to the water.