The lady of the lake
Everyone in Uranium has heard the legend of the lady of the lake.
The stories have been going around for decades, rumours of sightings, whispers, ghostly wails on the riverbank at night.
The story varies depending on who tells it. As time went on, it warped and distorted, but as most people know it, it’s about a woman who was wronged by her lover.
She and her fiancé were on a walk beside a lake, hand in hand. They were probably talking about something or other, and she felt safe. Loved. Happy.
And then it got dark.
She suggested they turn back, but her fiancé insisted they walk further, and why would she argue? Being alone with him in the dark didn’t scare her, she trusted him.
She loved him.
And then, when he was certain they were alone, he told her the truth.
He told her about his mistress, his affairs. He told her he had no intention of marrying her. He told her he wanted to marry another woman. He needed to be free of the engagement in a way that wouldn’t harm her reputation. In the easiest way possible.
And before the weeping young woman could ask him anything further, he pulled out a knife.
When he closed his eyes and slashed, he’d just intended to cut her throat. Kill her quickly. But the he heard something fall into the lake.
And when he opened his eyes, he saw his mistake.
The woman’s body was on the ground in front of him.
Her head was not.
So he dragged her body into the lake, trying not to look at it, then he ran.
No one ever saw him again.
All that was left of the woman was a piece of bloody lace from the neckline of her dress, left at the side of the river and found the next day.
But at night, the headless woman comes back from the lake, searching for her head. She hunts the shore, responding to movement and sound.
If you see her, they say to be still and quiet. Because if she can’t find her head… she might take yours.
And that was the story. At least, it was the one that I always heard.
But it wasn’t true.
Well, parts were.
There is a headless ghost that haunts the lake in Uranium city. But she isn’t a wronged woman. She’s just a girl.
The first time I met her, I was scared, confused and curious. Because I didn’t know who she was.
I’d heard the stories of a terrifying headless woman haunting the lake, but not one of them had mentioned a girl, a teenager, who walked jerkily and awkwardly along the riverbank, looking lost and scared.
She didn’t look ghostly, not from a distance, so I walked over to see if she needed help. And that’s when I saw it.
Her head wasn’t her own.
It was the head of a doll.
There was a clear disconnect between her head and body, a line, like they had been screwed together and only just fit. It was only visible because of the slashed neckline of her dress.
Some lace was missing.
And that’s when I realised there was no lady of the lake.
There was only a lost teenager.
When I tried to introduce myself to her, she looked confused and scared. It made sense. Not a lot of people would try to interact with a ghost at the edge of a lake at night. Not a lot of people would be down there.
But I was.
And she was.
I wanted to know her story.
As it turned out, so did she.
She understood me, and I listened to her. I learned the real story. I might be the only one who knows the real story. Not the rumour of love and betrayal and drama.
The truth is that she was walking with her stepfather (she has no idea what he looked like or why they were there, but she recognised the word. It triggered something.) , and she can’t remember what happened after that. She thinks she must have fallen over and landed on something, but I think she’s wrong.
It just doesn’t make sense.
Not that I’d ever tell her that, of course. She deserves to hold on to her hope. Have her own version of events.
Apparently, when she died, she was holding a doll, a fact she only knows because the doll’s head has replaced her own, and its body was clutched in her hands. She doesn’t want to let go of it.
She’s scared it’ll go wherever her head is, and she’ll never see it again.
What’s truly tragic, though, is that she doesn’t remember who she was. She’s not looking for her head. She’s looking for her identity. Her memories.
Because now, she’s trapped and confused.
She doesn’t know when she died, but based on her outfit, anyone who might have known her is probably in the cemetery, rotting six feet under the ground as she stumbles around by the edge of the lake.
So, I gave her a name.
Jane Doe, the name of an unidentified, lost girl.
She doesn’t know what the name means. In fact, she seems to like it. She considers it hers, based on the way her face lights up whenever I call her it.
Jane.
It’s just something for her to hold on to.
Every night for three years, I’ve been coming down to the lake to see her. And every night, she’s waiting.
Under a tree, holding her doll, staring off into the lake.
I know she’ll never find her head.
I know no matter how hard I try, I’ll never be able to find out who she is.
I know that she’ll be waiting here forever, and she’ll never have peace.
She’ll never move on.
But I have to.
Tomorrow, I’m leaving Uranium.
I have to go, I have a life to live, and I need to embrace it.
So tonight, I’ll visit her for the last time. At least, unless I come back to the town again someday.
I won’t tell her I’m leaving. It’ll only upset her, and she’s been through too much of that.
Let her be happy for one more night.
I hope she forgets about me. I hope she doesn’t wait every night. I hope we never meet again, and she somehow remembers everything and moves on to a beautiful afterlife that she deserves, rather than being trapped helplessly, doomed to spend eternity searching for something she’ll never find, lost and alone forever.
I’m going to miss her.
So, yes, everyone in Uranium has heard the story of the lady of the lake.
But it’s just that. A story.
Because Jane Doe, the girl who really haunts the lake, isn’t threatening or dangerous.
She’s my friend.