The Haunted Lake

During my high school years, I had to walk an hour just to attend every class I was enrolled. It was not the subjects that scared me, but the trail between our house and the school. One night, I had to start walking home at eleven in the evening because the Halloween Party ended late. And because I was a child of a poor man, my costume had to be an unused sleeping pajamas with holes around it.

The forest ahead of me was dead silent. Our house resides at the edge. Before I could enter the forest, I had to open the rusty gate first. The reason why the place had a gate was because this was a camping area two decades ago. Some said the area was closed because seven children were gone missing in the forest while having a Junior Camp. I didn't believe it.

Slowly, I opened the gate, but its creaking sound made bats flew above the treetops. The night birds spread through the dark sky, and their noises caused by flapping wings made my skin cold. Thirty minutes and I would be home, eating midnight snacks, with mother preparing my sleeping clothes and father sipping his coffee on the old patio. Everything would be calm and fine, just thirty minutes more of walking through the dark.

The way from the gate to the middle of the forest was very easy because there were post lights in every ten meters. But things got weird when I reached the haunted lake. It was a small lake, maybe the same size as my school's swimming pool, just dirtier and darker.

Maybe being a teenager was my problem. It is natural for a young lad to be curious about just anything that is strange or interesting. I knew I had to continue walking home, but I found my feet stone cold. There was something in the cold water that was tempting me to dive in with no reason. In the midst of the dark, I found the lake very beautiful. Its face was covered with moonlight.

I walked closer to the lake and touched the water with one finger. It was colder than I expected. Then I put my whole right hand into the water. A small hand touched my hand. I stood up quickly. I stared at the surface of the water. A bubble burst out. I stepped one foot back. Another bubble burst out. Then a face of a child appeared. It was not a face of a dead child because it looked like he was crying for help. But the face was under the water so I couldn't tell if it was one of my neighbors' child or just my imagination. Then another bubble came out of the child's mouth.

I turned back. Seven children stood right in front of me. They're all crying. One of them said: "Help him, he's drowning."

I loved to imagine things. I loved to create my own world and live in it. But this was something very real. I knew if it is real or not by observing. The children were all wearing white T-shirts and green caps. It was real because it was very detailed.

Then the tallest of the children said: "Sir, please don't let him drown like us. It is very cold down there, Sir, please help him."

I wanted to run fast. I wanted to go home. But there was something inside of me that wanted to help the drowning child or the ghost or whatever it was. I heard myself saying: "Help him now."

Every time I don't know what to do, I close my eyes and breathe three times. So I closed my eyes and breathed three times. When I opened my eyes, the children were gone. But there's still bubble bursting out the water. I made my decision. I ran and dive into the water. I pushed the child hard until he was out of the lake. I was chilled when I saw his face. He looked just like me when I was eight years old.


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I am now thirty-six. I attended the Junior Camp twenty-eight years ago. We were eight in our team. I am the only one who survived. I lived because of a person who helped me. I didn't know him. He just came out of nowhere. But I could tell what he was wearing: sleeping pajamas with holes around it.