Horrors from Around the World

Night 023 - Drowned Village

In the rural heart of Malaysia, nestled between dense jungles and misty mountains, there is a legend that the locals dare not speak of. It's a tale of a village long forgotten, submerged beneath the waters of a vast man-made lake that supplies much of the region's electricity. The village is said to be cursed, haunted by those who drowned when the dam was built, their spirits trapped beneath the dark, cold water.

Few know about it, and even fewer believe it, but I—unfortunately—am one of the believers. This is my story, one I wish I could forget, but it clings to me like a shadow, a constant reminder of the things that lie beneath the surface of the lake.

It started two years ago when my friends and I, a group of six university students, decided to take a trip to that very lake. We'd heard about it from a classmate, Adam, who loved fishing and swore it was the best place for catching massive fish. The lake was enormous, and Adam boasted that it was mostly unexplored due to how remote it was. That part was true—getting there required hours of driving through narrow, winding roads that cut through thick jungle.

Our plan was simple: spend the weekend camping by the lake, enjoy the serene views, and maybe even rent a small boat to explore some of the more secluded parts. It sounded like the perfect getaway, an adventure away from the stress of exams and city life.

We arrived at the lake on a Friday afternoon. The water stretched out endlessly, still and glassy, reflecting the towering mountains in the distance. It was beautiful, but there was something unsettling about it, something that felt... off. I couldn't quite put my finger on it at the time, but the air felt heavy, like it was holding secrets that it didn't want us to uncover.

We set up camp near the water's edge, pitching our tents and gathering wood for a campfire. As the sun began to set, casting a warm orange glow over the lake, we sat around the fire, drinking and laughing, sharing ghost stories for fun.

That was when Adam, our fishing enthusiast, told us about the legend of the Drowned Village.

"They say there used to be a village right where this lake is now," Adam began, his voice low and dramatic. "Before they built the dam, the government forced everyone to move out. But not everyone left. Some people stayed behind, refusing to abandon their homes. The dam filled up faster than expected, and the village was swallowed by the water, taking everyone who stayed with it."

The others listened, half-interested, more focused on their drinks. But I could feel a chill run down my spine. I didn't like the way the lake seemed to grow darker as Adam spoke, the water's surface losing its earlier warmth.

"They say," Adam continued, leaning in closer to the fire, "that on nights like this, when the moon is full and the air is still, you can hear the bells from the old village temple ringing from beneath the water. And sometimes... you might even see the lights from the houses, glowing faintly at the bottom of the lake."

"Bullshit," Razif, one of my friends, scoffed. "It's just a story to scare tourists."

"Maybe," Adam grinned. "But there's one more thing. They say the spirits of the drowned villagers never left. They can't. The water trapped them, and now they're hungry for company. Sometimes, they'll call out to you, begging you to join them."

At that, a nervous silence fell over the group. The sound of the jungle and the crackling fire seemed louder than before, and I noticed the faint rustle of leaves in the wind. I didn't believe in ghosts, not really, but something about the way Adam spoke made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

The next day, we rented a small fishing boat and set out onto the lake. The water was calm, almost unnaturally so, and as we drifted farther from the shore, the world around us became eerily quiet. No birds, no insects, just the soft sound of the boat cutting through the water.