The Cove
The Cove creepy stories

green217Just your local History enthusiast
Autoplay OFF  •  a year ago
There is a cove. The people who live near it say that it is cursed.

The Cove

by green217

There is a cove near my home. The people in my town refuse to go near it.

They say that travelers come from far and wide to drink from it's waters, But we won't touch a drop.

The people still come, however. And they still drink. My mother says that only fools near that place.

I suppose I am a fool then. Because against her wishes, I go to the cove.

It is beautiful.

Beautiful, but dangerous. The water is cursed, and the craggy rocks are dangerous.

It is a place that the wise avoid. I am not wise.

It is a forbidden place, and because of that, I can't help but be curious.

Only the travelers know I come. They come for the same reason.

They're curious too. But they also have a goal.

I observe. They drink.

And I see what the waters of the cove do to them.


They drink, and then they leave. I don't understand my village's hesitance.

Why do we avoid the cove when it poses no more danger than any other beach?

But still I am wary. For I grew up on stories of the cove.

So I observe. I observe any chance I get.

Sometimes foreigners are with me, sometimes I am alone. But I watch.

And many years pass. I age.

I watch my town and I watch the cove. Everything is stagnant.

Nothing changes.

My mother confronts me about my whereabouts one night. I tell the truth.

I tell her I was at the cove. She frowns but doesn't scold me like I expect.

Perhaps it is because I'm older now. No longer am I a child she need raise.

So I go back to the cove and I continue to observe. And I watch.

I watch the cove for a decade, but I never drink the water. The water is cursed, my village says.

But my village never changes, and eventually I grow restless.

And I go to the cove. I drink the water.

I am thirty years old. And I drink the water.

I don't notice a change. I don't for many years.

But then I realized. Nothing was changing.

Not my body, not my town, not the cove.

People still come to drink the water, and my mother still calls them foolish.

But I'd been counting the years, and my mother should have been dead.

I was thirty when I drank the cursed waters of the cove. I am seventy three now.

But I still look the same. I still feel the same.

My body is strong and I can't get sick.

I am stagnant.

There is a cove near my home. The people in my town refuse to go near it.

People from near and far come to drink from it's waters, And we warn them not to.

Because we all did, and we regret it.

The water insures that the drinker never ages, It make the drinker immortal.

Every twenty years, someone in my village has a child.

Around my one hundredth birthday, It was me.

As the child grows, they are told about the cove. Warned of its dangers.

I tell my child that only fools would go near it. Naturally, they do the opposite.

This is how my people are cursed.

We grow older without changing, And we have to watch as our mistakes are repeated.

Because it never matters what we do or say. The child always picks the cove in the end.

The elders picked the cove. My mother picked the cove. I picked the cove.

Now my child's children are picking it too.

I am six hundred and fifty two years old.

The world has moved on without me, without my home. We will forever wait here.



But regardless of our pleas, Everyone always picks the cove.


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