As we arrive at what I believed to be a lake, I soon realize my assumption couldn't be further from the truth. Instead of a picturesque body of water, what stands before us is a massive lake house, surrounded by a towering steel gate. The house itself is a magnificent sight, constructed entirely of intricately carved wood. Two lifelike bear statues, poised in a snarling stance as if ready to attack, guard the entrance. They are carved from logs and look incredibly realistic, a combination of craftsmanship and a touch of menace.
My friends and I exchange bewildered glances as Tom leads us past the imposing gate and up to the entrance of the grand lake house. It's not what any of us expected, and I can't help but feel a hint of suspense lingering in the air.
Tom, as if sensing our unspoken questions, offers an easy smile and waves off our curiosity with, "My family is a bit eccentric, you could say. They're into hunting, and this place has been in our family for years."
We step inside, and the interior is equally astonishing. Metal suits of armor, ornate and imposing, stand in various corners of the room. Racks and weapons, from archaic crossbows to finely crafted swords, line the walls. It's as though we've stepped into a medieval armory, and the surroundings are equal parts fascinating and unsettling.
I exchange whispered comments with my friends, our voices filled with a mix of amazement and unease. This place is like something out of a fairy tale or a historical drama, and I can't help but feel that there's more to the story than Tom is letting on.
Tom guides everyone to a room to change. Sophie and Emily get one to share. They are already embracing for a kiss and laughing as the door shuts. I get one to myself. It is also opulent with a large bed, bedding red like blood. I change into my swimsuit, a cute green bikini with shorts as the bottoms, and I stand before a large, ornate mirror.
My reflection stares back at me, and I can't help but scrutinize the features that make up who I am – my long, black hair cascading down my back, my sun-kissed tan skin, my brown eyes filled with curiosity. I wonder if I look like my mother, someone I know so little about.
"The spitting image," a voice whispers softly in my ear. I whirl around, searching for the source of the voice, but there's no one there. The room remains silent, and I'm left with an eerie sensation that something or someone is watching me. A shiver runs down my spine, and I can't help but feel that there's more to this place and its history than I ever imagined.