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.
We spent hours fishing with little luck, though Adam seemed determined to catch something. The rest of us began to grow bored, lounging in the boat or snapping photos of the stunning scenery. The sun was high, and the air was thick with humidity, making us all feel lethargic.
That's when we saw it.
At first, it looked like nothing more than a ripple in the water, far off in the distance. But as we drew closer, I realized it was something else. Something… solid.
"What the hell is that?" Razif asked, squinting at the water.
Adam, always the most daring of us, steered the boat toward the strange object. As we got closer, we could make out its shape. It was a bell. A massive, rusted temple bell, half-submerged in the water, swaying gently with the current.
"What the fuck?" I whispered, feeling a knot form in my stomach.
Adam's eyes lit up with curiosity. "This must be from the old village," he said. "It's part of the legend! The temple bell!"
"No way," Razif muttered. "This can't be real."
But there it was, floating before us, a relic from a time long forgotten. It was impossible, and yet we were staring right at it. Adam, of course, couldn't resist the temptation to get a closer look. He leaned over the side of the boat, reaching out to touch the bell.
"Adam, don't," I said, my voice more desperate than I intended.
But he didn't listen. His fingers brushed against the metal, and the moment he did, a deep, resonating sound filled the air—the sound of the bell ringing.
The water around us suddenly churned, and the boat rocked violently, nearly tipping us over. Razif and I grabbed the sides of the boat, trying to steady ourselves, but Adam was still transfixed by the bell, his hand now gripping it tightly.
Then, without warning, his body jerked forward, as if something was pulling him into the water. He let out a sharp cry, and in a split second, he was gone—dragged beneath the surface with a splash.
"Adam!" Razif screamed, leaning over the edge, his eyes wide with panic. But there was no sign of him. No bubbles. No thrashing. Just the still, dark water.
For a moment, we were all frozen, too stunned to react. Then, without thinking, I dove in after him. The water was cold, much colder than it should have been, and as I swam down, the light from the surface quickly faded. I could barely see, my eyes stinging from the murky water.
I swam deeper, my heart pounding, but there was no sign of Adam. The deeper I went, the colder it became, and soon, the chill began to seep into my bones, slowing my movements. That's when I saw it—a faint, flickering light below me.
At first, I thought it was Adam, but as I swam closer, I realized it wasn't him. The light was coming from the ground—a soft, eerie glow emanating from what looked like… buildings. The submerged village.
I saw the outlines of houses, their roofs caved in and walls crumbling. And there, in the center, was the temple, the source of the light. The bell from the boat must have belonged to it. It was all real.
Then I saw them.
Figures. Dozens of them, drifting through the water like ghosts. Their faces were pale, their eyes wide and empty, mouths hanging open in silent screams. They reached for me, their fingers long and skeletal, their bodies bloated and decayed from years underwater.
Panic surged through me, and I kicked desperately, trying to swim back to the surface. But the figures were faster. I felt cold hands wrap around my ankles, pulling me down, dragging me toward the village. I screamed, but no sound came out, only bubbles.
Just as I thought I would drown, I broke free. With every ounce of strength I had left, I swam upward, my lungs burning, the light of the surface growing closer. Finally, I burst through the water, gasping for air.
Razif and the others were pulling me into the boat, shouting in panic. I collapsed in the bottom, coughing and trembling, my skin ice-cold.
"We… we have to go!" I choked out.
Razif didn't hesitate. He started the engine, and we sped away from the bell, from the cursed village, and from whatever dark force had taken Adam.
We never found him. The authorities searched the lake for days, but his body was never recovered. The official report said he must have drowned, an unfortunate accident. But I know the truth. I saw what took him.
It wasn't an accident.
Now, every year during the Hungry Ghost Festival, I hear the ringing of that bell in my dreams, calling to me from beneath the water. I know the villagers are still down there, waiting, hungry for more souls to join them in the drowned village.
And one day, they'll come for me too.