Luca swam through the open front door. His flashlight beam cut through the dark, resting on a wooden table where a porcelain cup sat, still upright. He moved toward the back room, his flints echoing strangely in the pressurized silence.
On the wall hung a massive grandfather clock. Its hands were frozen at 12:06. La casa in fondo al lago
He shot toward the surface, lungs screaming. When he finally broke the water, the sun was setting. He scrambled onto the shore, gasping, and looked back at the lake. Luca swam through the open front door
Should we add a where Luca finds something in his pocket from the house, or On the wall hung a massive grandfather clock
Panicked, he checked his oxygen gauge. It was dropping rapidly, far faster than possible. He turned to leave, but the front door was no longer open. In the window, he saw a reflection that wasn't his: an old man sitting in a rocking chair, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the water to stop rising.
Luca didn’t believe in ghost stories. He was a diver, a man of cold facts and oxygen tanks. He had heard the legend of —the house at the bottom of the lake—since he was a boy. Locals claimed it belonged to a clockmaker who refused to leave when the valley was flooded for the dam in the 1950s. One humid August afternoon, Luca dove.