Camp by the Falls

Didn’t sleep well last night. The sound of the waterfall isn’t peaceful — it’s constant, deep, like someone whispering just out of range.

At around 2 a.m., I woke up to footsteps outside the tent. Thought it was Sakda at first, but then I heard water sloshing.

Tom mumbled something in his sleep. I unzipped the flap just a little — and saw John standing near the water, barefoot, staring straight ahead.

“John,” I whispered. No response. I went closer. “Dude, what are you doing?”

He turned his head slowly. His eyes looked glassy. “It’s warm,” he said.

Then he just walked back to the tent like nothing happened.

In the morning, he didn’t remember any of it. Said he’d had a dream about a woman humming by the water.

The fog didn’t lift all day. Pete kept trying to get a signal but his phone battery kept dying fast, like draining faster than normal. He joked that the humidity was killing it, but I saw him looking nervous when it hit 1% again even with a power bank plugged in.

Sakda came back around noon with some mushrooms and bamboo shoots. Said the rain might hit hard tonight. Told us again: “Don’t go near water when rain come.”

I asked why.

He just said, “Water fall change. Not same.”

I didn’t understand what he meant, but his face looked uneasy.

Later, while we were eating, Tom pointed at the falls. “You guys see that?”

At first, I thought it was just mist shifting, but no — something moved.

Like a ripple, slow, circular, in the middle of the pool. But there was no wind. And it didn’t spread out — it just sank, like being pulled down.

We all stared for a few seconds. Then Sakda stood abruptly and said, “We eat inside.”

That night, it rained hard. The sound of the falls got louder, mixing with thunder until it was all one roar. Around midnight, I thought I heard someone crying. Maybe the wind. Maybe the water.

Either way, I didn’t look outside.