“The Flood”

Rain began before dawn. It wasn’t heavy at first, just a steady whisper against the canvas rooftops. By mid-morning, the lake had changed color. What was once a calm mirror of silver now churned into brown water thick with mud.

The manager assured everyone it was normal, just runoff from the tea plantations. He smiled too much when he said it.

Dinda wasn’t convinced. She had been filming the waterline since the night before. Now it was half a meter higher. The wooden walkways that connected the tents were slick with moss and nearly submerged.

Her father was packing already. “We are leaving,” he said flatly.

“The bridge is too dangerous,” her mother replied. “We wait until the fog clears.”

“The fog will not clear,” Dinda muttered. “It’s been three days.”

Adi sat by the window, staring at the lake. “It’s breathing,” he whispered.

No one answered.

The rain grew heavier. Wind pushed waves against the tent stilts. The sound came from below, rhythmic and strong, like something pounding from under the lakebed.

Pak Santosa stepped outside to check the ropes on their walkway. His flashlight caught movement on the far side of the lake. For a moment, he thought it was just mist. Then it rose higher, like a shadow trying to stand.

He froze. His breath came out in short clouds. The thing moved again, slow and deliberate, before sinking back into the water.

When he returned, his clothes were soaked. “We stay inside,” he said quietly. “Lock everything.”

By nightfall, half the camp was underwater. The tents closest to the shore were empty now, the occupants having fled to higher ground. The power flickered, and the air smelled like copper and wet soil.

Inside their tent, the Santosas tried to stay calm. Dinda kept filming. The footage was shaky, her camera catching flashes of something moving beyond the tent flaps. Adi’s eyes darted from corner to corner, tracking a sound only he seemed to hear.

The pounding below returned, louder this time. It was as if giant fists were striking the wood.

Thud.
Thud.
Thud.

The tent floor quivered with each hit. Cups rattled on the small table. The family held their breath. Then, silence.

For a moment, it felt like everything had stopped.

Then the boards cracked.

Water burst through, flooding the tent in seconds. The family scrambled for the door, but the zipper jammed halfway. Cold lake water surged around their legs. Dinda yanked hard, tearing it open, and they stumbled outside into knee-deep water.

The whole camp was sinking.

Lights flickered from the dining hall, where guests had gathered on the roof, shouting for help. The manager waded through the water, waving a flashlight. “Get to higher ground!” he yelled.

Then he froze. His beam caught something moving behind the tents.

It wasn’t human.

It rose halfway out of the water, slick and massive. Its skin looked like roots and mud fused together, pulsing with faint green veins. Its head tilted, almost curious, as it studied the people. The frog-like croak followed, deep and guttural.

Adi screamed.

The thing turned toward the sound.

The manager dropped his flashlight and ran. The light rolled into the water, revealing for a second a massive handprint pressed into the mud—each finger long and webbed, thick with moss.

Dinda’s heart pounded. She grabbed Adi’s hand and pulled him toward the hill behind the dining hall. Her father helped her mother through the rising flood. The rain came harder now, slanting sideways, stinging their faces.

They reached the slope, slipping and clawing their way up through wet grass and roots. From above, they could see the entire glamping site.

Tents floated like paper boats. Walkways broke apart. The suspension bridge twisted in the wind, one rope dangling loose, covered in slime.

Something moved beneath it. The water rippled outward in slow circles.

Then, from the center of the lake, bubbles began to rise.

Dozens of them.

The water swelled upward, forming a low dome, and a shape broke through the surface. It was enormous, hunched, its body a mix of mud, vines, and scales. Its eyes glowed faintly green in the darkness.

Dinda held her breath. Her phone, somehow still recording, captured the creature’s reflection.

The Glamp-Thing turned its head toward the hill.

Even through the sound of wind and rain, they heard it breathe.

Slow. Wet. Heavy.

The creature stepped forward, the water parting around its legs. Each step made the earth tremble. The bridge sagged under its weight, ropes groaning as if alive.

Then it stopped. Its head tilted slightly, and it let out a croak so deep it rattled the air.

The rain stopped for a moment. The sound of dripping echoed through the valley.

And then, just as slowly, the creature sank back into the lake.

The water calmed.

The bridge hung shredded and glistening.

And from somewhere far below, another croak answered.