Island — T.M. Wright

Winter. The lake has frozen over. The island is covered with snow. Everything is still and white.

Everything except the people at the bottom of the lake. The dead people, with their bright blue eyes and their strange, translucent skin. They have been waiting for winter, for the cold. Now they are stirring, shifting, awakening.

Soon they will be strong. Soon the island will send them to seek new victims.

In winter, the island's dead cannot be stopped.