The Watcher by the Pond
We were driving through an old, sprawling graveyard late one autumn night in my friend’s beat-up Subaru. The place stretched endlessly under the cold moonlight, gravestones rising like broken teeth in the dark earth. A thick fog clung to the ground, swirling around the tires as if reluctant to let us pass.
We decided to stop and explore—a reckless decision fueled by teenage curiosity. We wandered down a winding, leaf-strewn path until we came to a small, still pond. The air was eerily quiet, the only sound the faint rustling of dead leaves in the breeze.
That’s when we saw him.
On the far side of the pond, a solitary figure sat motionless on a moss-covered rock. He was dressed entirely in black, wearing what looked like an old-fashioned top hat. His face was hidden in shadow, blending into the dark like he was part of the night itself.
“Hey!” my friend shouted, waving like an idiot. “Hello?”
The figure didn’t move—not even a flinch of recognition. He just sat there, unmoving, as if he’d been carved from stone. Then, without warning, he shot to his feet.
Before we could even process what was happening, he began sprinting across the surface of the water—silent, impossibly fast. His form was blurry, like ink bleeding into water, and halfway across the pond... he vanished into thin air.
We didn’t scream—we couldn’t. Terror locked our throats. We bolted back to the car, hearts pounding like war drums.
My friend fumbled with the keys, hands trembling, but the old Subaru wouldn’t start. As she twisted the ignition over and over, a heavy bang echoed from the back of the car. We froze.
Another bang. Then silence.
It wasn’t a constant noise. It came in irregular, jarring intervals, like something—or someone—was toying with us. We spun around, peering into the suffocating darkness, but saw nothing—just endless rows of headstones, fading into the mist.
Desperate, I grabbed my phone and tried calling my mom. No service. Every single phone we had showed the same—dead signal.
Minutes stretched into what felt like hours. The heavy stillness around us pressed in like a physical weight. We could barely breathe, adrenaline making every shadow seem alive. But after what felt like an eternity, the engine finally roared to life. My friend slammed her foot on the gas, and we sped down the winding cemetery road, the gravestones blurring into a gray haze.
As soon as we crossed the rusted iron gates at the cemetery’s entrance, our phones buzzed to life. Full signal. Text notifications poured in like nothing had ever happened.
We didn’t talk for a long time after that drive. But even now, I can’t stop thinking about that thing by the pond—its impossible dash across the water, the hollow bangs on the car, and the crushing, suffocating sense of being... watched.
Whatever was out there that night... it wasn’t human. And it still might be waiting.
