The house had always creaked, always sighed with the shifting of wood and time but this was different.
Now, it was as if the house itself was breathing.
And in that breath, Clara could hear it a whisper just beyond the edge of sound, curling through the silence like fingers dragging over glass.
The house was not empty.
It should have been. Clara had locked the doors, bolted the windows, turned off the lights. No one else should be here.
But she felt it.
A presence.
Moving just beyond the edges of her vision, lurking in the spaces where the light didn’t reach.
The air was wrong.
Thick. Heavy. Unnatural.
The walls, once familiar, now breathed with something unseen.
She walked down the hallway, Ivy’s small hand clutched in hers, every step slow, measured. The floorboards did not creak the way they should have.
It was as if the house was holding its breath.
Then a noise.
A faint dragging sound.
Clara froze.
Her grip on Ivy’s fingers tightened.
The noise came again from the living room.
Slow. Soft. Something shifting.
She turned the corner.
The lamp by the couch was on its side, the bulb shattered, shards glittering like broken teeth on the hardwood floor.
She swallowed hard.
"Ivy," she whispered, "did you"
A shadow flickered across the wall.
Her blood turned to ice.
Not a normal shadow.
It moved wrong.
Slithering, stretching changing shape.
It did not belong to anything in the room.
And it was watching her.
Clara’s breath caught.
She should have run.
Should have grabbed Ivy and fled.
But she didn’t.
She stood there, frozen, staring, feeling her mind stretch to places it was never meant to go.
The temperature plunged.
Ivy shifted beside her.
Clara turned and her stomach dropped.
Ivy was looking directly at the shadow.
And she was smiling.
Not like a child.
Not like her Ivy.
Something else.
Clara’s fingers trembled as she touched her daughter’s shoulder.
"Ivy," she whispered.
Ivy’s head snapped toward her.
Not turned.
Snapped.
Her little lips parted.
And then
She spoke.
Not in English.
Not in baby talk.
Not in anything human.
A voice too deep, too old, too layered spilled from her mouth, crawling into Clara’s ears, twisting into her mind like black vines.
The walls shuddered.
The light in the hallway flickered.
Clara staggered back.
Ivy kept speaking.
The words **wet, slithering, blasphemous **twisted the air itself, made the room tilt, made the world feel awful, unnatural, broken.
Clara pressed a shaking hand to her mouth.
She wanted to scream.
Wanted to run.
Wanted to believe she was dreaming.
But she knew the truth.
Knew it in her bones, in her blood, in the spaces between her heartbeats.
Daniel was not human.
And now
He was inside Ivy.
Clara’s legs felt like wet sand, heavy and slow as she took a step back. The whispering hadn’t stopped. It crawled through the walls, sliding across the floor, seeping into the space between her ribs.
Ivy kept speaking.
Her tiny lips shaped words that shouldn’t exist sounds thick with decay, syllables slithering against each other like a hundred voices speaking at once.
The overhead light flickered not a casual flicker, but a slow, pulsing rhythm. The shadows stretched, bending away from Ivy like they feared her.
Clara’s breath shuddered out of her.
"Ivy," she whispered. "Baby… what are you saying?"
The child’s eyes were half-lidded, unfocused. Not asleep. Not awake. Somewhere in between.
Clara reached for her hesitant, trembling.
As soon as her fingers brushed Ivy’s arm
The whispers stopped.
The silence that followed was worse.
Thicker. Heavier.
Then
Ivy blinked.
She swayed slightly, her head tilting up to look at Clara. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Something moved in the hallway.
Not a creak.
Not the house settling.
Something moved.
Clara’s stomach knotted.
The doorway was dark. Too dark. Like the hallway had stretched just a little too far.
A shadow stood there.
Not attached to anything. Not cast by anything.
It was just… there.
And it was watching.
Clara’s throat closed. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.
Then, Ivy exhaled.
Her tiny fingers curled into the fabric of Clara’s shirt. She pressed her face into her mother’s stomach, her voice barely above a breath.
"It’s waiting for you, Mommy."
A ragged, choked sound escaped Clara’s lips. A sob. A prayer. A plea.
But the shadow only stood there.
Waiting.
..
Clara’s fingers dug into Ivy’s small shoulders, holding her close, too close. Her breath was shallow, her pulse a chaotic drumbeat in her ears.
She didn’t dare look away.
The figure in the hallway had not moved.
It was not shifting, not breathing, not even swaying with the air.
It was still.
But it wasn’t lifeless.
She could feel it, the same way she could feel the warmth of Ivy’s skin beneath her trembling hands.
A presence.
A consciousness.
Watching.
Waiting.
Clara’s lips parted, but no sound came. Her throat was dry, her tongue useless. What was she supposed to say to something that should not exist?
Ivy stirred slightly in her arms.
Then the child smiled.
Not the soft, sleepy smile of a little girl seeking comfort. No.
This one was knowing. Expectant.
Like she and the shadow in the doorway understood something Clara did not.
A deep chill wrapped around her spine, coiling tight.
She could not stay here.
She could not stand in this room and pretend this was normal.
Clara moved.
Quick. Sharp. More force than she meant to.
She hoisted Ivy into her arms, cradling her against her chest. The child was light too light.
Like she was hollow.
Like the weight of her body had drained out in the night.
Clara turned, crossing the room in three long steps, her breathing ragged, her pulse hammering as she reached the doorway where the shadow waited.
She did not stop.
She did not think.
She walked through it.
And for a moment, the world went silent.
The cold wrapped around her, thick as smoke.
Her vision dimmed.
She smelled something rancid, something old—like soil disturbed after too many years untouched.
And then
She was on the other side.
The hallway was normal again.
No stretched shadows. No impossible darkness.
Just the creak of the wooden floors beneath her weight, the steady hum of the refrigerator downstairs.
But Clara did not breathe.
Because Ivy was laughing.
Soft, muffled giggles pressed against her shoulder.
Not like a child.
Not like Ivy.
But like someone else was laughing through her.
Clara ran.
Clara stumbled down the stairs, her grip on Ivy tight enough to bruise. The walls around her felt closer, the air thick with the scent of old wood and something deeper damp, metallic, sour.
She reached the bottom step and nearly collapsed.
Ivy was still laughing.
The soft, muffled giggles crawled beneath Clara’s skin, a sound both too light and too heavy, like a child's voice played on a record that spun just a little too slow.
Clara pressed Ivy against her chest, her breath coming sharp and uneven. Her daughter was warm.
Alive.
But something inside her was not.
Clara’s feet dragged her toward the kitchen muscle memory pulling her toward the only room where she felt in control. She set Ivy down on the counter, hands bracing on either side of her small frame, eyes searching for what? A fever? A wound? A sign that she was still the child Clara had raised?
"Ivy, baby," Clara whispered, voice raw. "What’s happening?"
Ivy’s laughter died instantly.
Like someone had flipped a switch.
She blinked up at Clara, her big, brown, innocent eyes reflecting the warm glow of the kitchen light.
"Why are you scared, Mommy?"
Clara flinched.
The words were simple. Soft.
But wrong.
Because Ivy wasn’t scared.
Because Ivy hadn’t been scared all night.
Clara swallowed the lump in her throat, her fingers gripping the counter until her knuckles turned white.
"I just ‘ She exhaled, forcing her voice steady. "I had a bad dream, baby."
Ivy tilted her head. Too slow. Too precise.
"Was it about him?"
Clara’s stomach clenched.
She did not ask who.
She did not want to hear Ivy say his name.
A creak split the silence.
Clara’s breath caught.
Not from upstairs.
From the living room.
Her blood turned to ice.
She turned her head slowly. The kitchen light cast a faint glow across the wooden floor, stretching shadows along the walls. The doorway to the living room yawned wide nothing but darkness beyond it.
But the air felt charged.
Like the house itself was listening.
Clara’s hands tightened around Ivy’s arms. She lifted the child from the counter, clutching her to her chest, stepping backward.
The darkness did not move.
But something inside it shifted.
She could feel it.
A breath that was not hers.
A presence that had no body.
Daniel.
He was here.
Not buried. Not gone.
She had killed him, but he had not left.
And now, he was in her house.
In the walls.
In Ivy.
Clara’s throat closed.
She ran to the front door.
She did not look back.
Clara’s fingers fumbled at the lock.
She yanked at the deadbolt, twisting, pulling, hands slick with sweat. The wood beneath her nails felt alive, like something beneath the surface was shifting, stretching watching.
The door wouldn’t budge.
Not stuck.
Not jammed.
Just… refusing.
Clara’s pulse slammed against her ribs.
Her breathing was ragged, uneven, but she forced herself to steady. She couldn’t panic. Not now.
"Ivy," she whispered, voice strained. "Hold onto Mommy."
The child did. Eagerly.
Too eagerly.
Her tiny arms wrapped around Clara’s neck, but the weight of them felt wrong.
Not heavy. Not solid.
Like she was holding onto something barely there.
Clara tried again twisting the lock, rattling the knob.
The door did not move.
The house did not let her leave.
A sound slithered through the stillness.
Not a voice. Not a whisper.
Something else.
Something inside the walls.
Clara’s stomach twisted.
She turned, slowly, her breath trembling against her lips.
The house was shifting.
The furniture had not moved. But the space around them had.
The air was thick with something dense, unmoving.
The hallway stretched just a little too long.
The corners of the room tilted just slightly off-center.
And then
Ivy sighed against her shoulder.
A long, slow exhale, warm against Clara’s neck.
"Mommy," Ivy murmured.
Clara shuddered. "What, baby?"
Ivy’s small fingers tightened.
And then, in a voice layered with something that did not belong—
"He doesn’t want you to leave."
The air in Clara’s lungs turned to stone.
The house hummed around her.
Something in the walls breathed.
And the door
The door locked itself.
Understood. I’ll expand the scene, pulling the world into focus the town, the neighbors, the sky above, the earth below. I’ll ensure Ravens Hollow feels like a real place, a world that’s still moving, even as Clara’s own reality fractures around her.
Let me rework and continue, making the scene bigger, richer, more suffocating.
Understood. I’ll expand the scene, pulling the world into focus—the town, the neighbors, the sky above, the earth below. I’ll ensure Ravens Hollow feels like a real place, a world that’s still moving, even as Clara’s own reality fractures around her.
Let me rework and continue, making the scene bigger, richer, more suffocating.
The Town That Watches, The Sky That Sees
The door remained locked.
Not by force.
By will.
Clara stood there, breath ragged, fingers trembling as she clutched Ivy against her chest. Her own heartbeat thundered in her ears, but beyond that **beyond the walls**she could hear it.
Ravens Hollow was awake.
The small town stretched out beyond her porch, a place of quiet streets and watchful windows, of weathered houses that had stood for generations.
Dawn was creeping in, spilling a pale, ghostly light across the rooftops. The sky, once thick with stars, had turned a deep shade of blue, the last remnants of night clinging stubbornly to the horizon.
But something about it was wrong.
The clouds hung too low, too heavy, like a hand pressing down from above. They churned lazily, thick with an unnatural weight, the edges tinged with a sickly shade of violet.
The wind did not move.
Not a single leaf trembled.
Not a single tree swayed.
The town should have been waking people stepping onto porches, starting their cars, walking their dogs.
But the streets were empty.
No morning joggers. No flickering porch lights.
Just houses, sitting in the dawn like silent sentinels, watching.
A shiver ripped through Clara’s spine.
She turned her head, scanning the neighborhood, searching for a familiar face.
Mrs. Calloway, her next-door neighbor, usually watered her plants at this hour.
But the rocking chair on her porch was empty.
Further down the road, Mr. Garrison’s old Ford should have been backing out of his driveway—he never missed his morning drive to the gas station for coffee.
But his house sat in silence, his car still parked, the curtains drawn.
Clara’s breath came faster. The town had changed.
Not completely. Not visibly. But enough.
Like something had reached into the world she knew and tilted it just slightly off-center.
A pressure coiled around her chest.
She stepped back from the door, turning, desperate to find a new way out—
Then
A faint movement in the corner of her eye.
Her stomach dropped.
She turned her head, heart hammering
And froze.
Across the street, just beyond the curb, someone stood beneath the streetlight.
Not moving.
Not watching.
Just waiting.
The light overhead flickered, casting the figure into sharp relief—but no features were visible.
No eyes.
No mouth.
Just the outline of a person.
Clara’s legs locked beneath her.
Ivy sighed against her neck.
And then, soft as a whisper, with that same layered, inhuman voice
"They're awake now, Mommy."
A slow, creeping terror curled through Clara’s veins.
Because when she looked back at the town
More figures had appeared.
Clara’s breath came in short, sharp bursts.
More figures had appeared.
Lining the sidewalks. Standing in doorways. Motionless. Silent. Featureless.
She clutched Ivy tighter, her fingers pressing into the child’s thin frame.
The streetlights flickered, casting long, jagged shadows that stretched too far across the pavement. The sky above remained wrong, the clouds boiling in slow, lazy spirals, a heavy weight pressing down on the world.
But Ravens Hollow was silent.
No morning birds. No car engines.
Just the figures.
They did not move.
They did not breathe.
But they were there.
Ivy stirred in her arms, shifting slightly, her voice a soft purr against Clara’s ear.
"See?" she murmured. "They were always here."
Clara’s stomach twisted, bile creeping into her throat.
No.
No, this wasn’t real.
She squeezed her eyes shut, whispering under her breath. "This isn’t real. This isn’t real."
When she opened them.they had moved closer.
Not by much.
Not enough to catch them moving.
But the nearest figure, once across the street, now stood at the base of her driveway.
Closer.
Nearer.
Waiting.
A breathless sob hitched in Clara’s throat.
She whipped around, scrambling toward the back of the house. She needed an escape. A back door, a window, something.
Her feet skidded over the kitchen tiles.
The floor felt wrong softer, almost damp, like the wood was rotting beneath her.
She reached for the back door.
Her fingers closed around the handle
And a whisper crawled through the house.
Low. Layered. Inhuman.
The walls sighed.
The air thickened.
Ivy lifted her head slightly, her small arms locking tighter around Clara’s neck.
Then, in a voice that no child should ever have
"You can't leave, Mommy. He’s almost here."
A sharp knock rattled the front door.
Clara froze.
The house went silent.
Even the figures outside had stopped moving.
The knock came again.
Steady. Measured. Unshaken.
Clara turned her head slowly, her pulse a frantic drumbeat in her ears.
Through the window, she could see the shadow of someone standing on her porch.
Not one of the faceless figures.
Not the formless things in the street.
This was different.
Solid. Real.
A voice, deep and familiar, cut through the heavy air.
"Clara."
She gasped, stumbling backward.
Her knees buckled.
The voice was calm, almost warm.
But it did not belong to the living.
It was Daniel.
The knock came again.
Steady. Patient.
The kind of knock that wasn’t asking for permission but waiting for inevitability.
"Clara."
Daniel’s voice.
Calm. Almost warm.
But it did not belong to the living.
Clara’s stomach plummeted.
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.
Ivy’s fingers curled into her hair, her weight pressing heavy against Clara’s chest.
"You let him in," Ivy whispered, her voice too soft, too knowing.
Another knock.
Closer.
Stronger.
Clara’s body shook violently. Her skin was damp with sweat, her pulse pounding behind her eyes.
Her hands moved on their own.
Shaking. Trembling. Reaching for the lock.
Her breath hitched.
The deadbolt slid free with a dull clunk.
Her fingers brushed the cold metal of the handle.
Turned it.
Pulled.
The door swung open.
And
The world rushed back in.
The stillness was gone.
The silence shattered.
Instead life.
Sunlight spilled across the porch, stretching golden fingers across the wooden planks.
Cars rumbled down the street, their engines humming, steam curling from exhaust pipes.
A child laughed somewhere nearby.
Footsteps scuffed against pavement.
A dog barked.
The smell of morning coffee and fresh-cut grass drifted through the air.
And standing in front of Clara
Maggie.
The waitress from the diner.
Her expression flickered from confusion to concern as she took in Clara’s wide, frantic eyes, her sweat-dampened skin, the way she gripped Ivy like a lifeline.
"Hey, Clara," Maggie said, voice gentle, cautious.
"You okay?"
Clara couldn’t answer.
She couldn’t move.
The terror was gone.
The creeping whispers, the faceless figures, the impossible presence pressing against her ribs all gone.
Her lips parted.
Her mind reeled.
Maggie shifted slightly, glancing past her. "Sorry to drop by so early. Just thought I’d check on you after yesterday. You were acting a little… off."
Clara stared.
She turned her head, looking beyond Maggie, expecting what?
The shadows? The figures? The silent, twisted world that had held her captive just moments ago?
But all she saw was her street.
Houses bathed in the golden light of early morning.
Neighbors stepping onto porches, sipping coffee.
James Turner leaning against his truck, chatting with Mr. Garrison.
Life.
Completely normal.
Completely untouched.
Had it all been… a dream?
A trance?
Clara’s fingers loosened around Ivy.
Her knees nearly gave out.
Maggie took a hesitant step forward. "Clara?"
Clara swallowed hard.
Her voice barely above a whisper
"I think I need some air."
How to Submit Undergraduate Research on the Law of the Sea to the UMN Law Scholarship Repository
Question
I am an undergraduate student fascinated by the Law of the Sea. I have written research or a paper on topics such as maritime boundaries, UNCLOS, or marine environmental protection. Does it make sense to attempt to submit that work to the University of Minnesota Law School Scholarship Repository?
👉 University of Minnesota Law School Scholarship Repository
Answer — Rich Insight
Yes, it can make sense — but only under certain conditions. The Repository is primarily designed for faculty scholarship, law journals, centers, and events. Undergraduates are usually not directly listed among the eligible depositors. However, if your work meets certain criteria, there are pathways for inclusion. Below is what to consider.
What to Check First
- Collection type: The Repository accepts certain collections that may include student or international law work. For example, the Minnesota Journal of International Law is listed under “Submit Your Research.”
👉 UMN Submit Research - Authorship status: Submissions are usually by UMN Law faculty, staff, or affiliated research centers. If you’re not affiliated, you may need mentorship or collaboration with a faculty member.
- Publisher rights and permissions: Make sure your paper is unpublished, or that you have the rights to share it (pre-print, accepted manuscript, or with permission).
- Quality and relevance: Undergraduate work stands a better chance if it shows analytical depth, originality, and clear links to Law of the Sea frameworks like UNCLOS, maritime dispute cases, or environmental obligations.
Editor's Picks
Benefits of Submitting Your Work
- Visibility: Papers accepted are indexed and searchable via Google and the Digital Commons Network. They also appear in “Top Downloads” and “Recent Additions.”
- Academic credibility: Having your work in an institutional repository adds weight to your résumé — very useful for graduate school or scholarship applications.
- Networking: Faculty and researchers often use repositories to discover new work. Your submission could help open doors to internships or collaborations.
👉 International Tribunal for the Law of the Sea (ITLOS) Internship Programme - Skill development: Preparing for submission improves writing, citations, and adherence to academic standards.
Challenges and Limitations
- Eligibility: Without formal affiliation or faculty mentorship, undergraduates may face barriers to direct submission.
- Publisher restrictions: If your work has been published elsewhere with exclusive rights, you may need to provide a pre-print or limited version.
- Quality expectations: Undergraduate work may need heavy editing or feedback before acceptance.
- Visibility limits: While repository placement raises exposure, it is not the same as peer-reviewed journal prestige — though it complements it well.
Practical Tips to Strengthen Your Submission
- Partner with a faculty mentor: Having a professor review, co-author, or sponsor your work increases credibility.
- Pick a strong, timely topic: Examples include disputes over maritime zones, coastal state obligations under UNCLOS, deep seabed mining, or marine environmental damages.
- Use current sources: Reference recent rulings, treaties, and reports.
👉 RAND’s Law of the Sea Research - Follow repository standards: Prepare an abstract, citation, PDF or Word file, correct metadata, and keywords. Always check repository FAQ for style and permissions.
Conclusion
Yes, as an undergraduate, it can make sense to submit your Law of the Sea work to the UMN Law Scholarship Repository — but only if you meet eligibility and academic standards. Even if direct submission isn’t possible at first, using mentorship, collaboration, and revision can make your work repository-ready. The process builds your academic profile, improves research skills, and increases your visibility in the field.
