Chapter 1: The House at the End of the Waterway
The Mekong Delta has places people fear—not because those places are haunted.
They fear them because they hold stories no one wants to talk about again.
Cùm River is one such place.
Tucked beside a large river branch that flows straight out to the river mouth, this creek was once a familiar route for cargo boats, fishing skiffs, and small boats traveling through brackish water.
By day, it was still beautiful.
Rows of old mangrove apple trees leaned over the water. Green leaves trembled in the sea breeze. Flocks of white birds crossed the orange-red sky as evening fell.
But once the sun had completely disappeared…
Cùm River became an entirely different place.
The locals called it by another name.
“The Riverbend No One Wants to Remember.”
Because twelve years ago, something horrifying happened right here.
A family of three vanished aboard their small boat.
The boat was found several days later, drifting near the river mouth.
No one understood what had happened.
No one knew what had been on the boat that night.
All they knew was that after a lengthy investigation, one man was identified as the prime suspect.
Three days after the incident, that man was found dead near the spot where the boat had once been anchored.
After that, the case was closed.
But the questions remained.
Because some secrets do not disappear when people leave.
They simply wait for someone else to come looking for them.
Twelve years later.
An old passenger bus crawled along a dirt road beside the river.
Inside were four young people.
Phong sat by the window, phone in hand, repeatedly checking the map.
“Hey, I’m serious… isn’t this place a little too far out?”
Nhut sat across from him and laughed.
“That’s what makes it fun. You want to experience the Mekong Delta, but you keep insisting on staying in a city hotel. What kind of experience is that?”
Phong turned to look at the other two.
Thao and Tuyet were sitting in the back, each with a camera.
Thao was the quietest one in the group.
She liked photographing ordinary things that other people usually overlooked.
A fallen leaf.
An old house.
An empty road.
Things she said were:
“You have to look closely to see the story in them.”
Tuyet was the complete opposite.
She was lively, loved exploring, and was always the one dragging the group into strange trips.
This trip had started with her, too.
Three days and two nights.
A riverside house.
A chance to live like people in the real Mekong Delta.
That had been the original plan.
“How much longer?”
Tuyet asked.
Phong glanced at his phone.
“About fifteen minutes.”
But his voice was no longer as excited as it had been at first.
The deeper they went into the Cùm River area, the more deserted everything became.
The houses grew farther apart.
The roadside stalls disappeared.
All that remained were endless rows of trees and dark water beside the road.
Nhut looked out the window.
“Wait, do that few people live around here?”
The driver heard him and looked at them in the rearview mirror.
He was silent for a few seconds.
Then he said:
“Not many people have lived here for a long time.”
“Why, sir?”
The driver did not answer right away.
He only looked toward the distant creek.
“Young people like you enjoy exploring. But some places… not every place wants to be remembered.”
It was a very ordinary thing to say.
But for some reason,
all four of them fell silent.
The house they had rented stood at the end of a narrow road.
It was an old wooden house with a porch facing straight out over the creek.
Beside it stood a huge mangrove apple tree.
Its trunk was so thick that even two people wrapping their arms around it could not encircle it.
Long branches stretched out over the water.
Phong looked around.
“Pretty nice.”
Nhut nodded.
“Exactly what I pictured.”
Only Thao stood slightly apart.
She stared at the old tree for a long time.
“I don’t know why…”
“This tree looks familiar.”
Tuyet laughed.
“You’ve never been here before. How could it look familiar?”
Thao did not answer.
She did not know why she had such a strange feeling, either.
As if she had seen this place before.
In some dream.
The inside of the house was fairly clean.
The owner had prepared everything in advance.
Four beds.
An old wooden table.
A small radio sitting in the corner of the room.
But one thing caught Nhut’s attention.
An old photograph hanging on the wall.
It showed the creek many years earlier.
The same mangrove apple tree.
The same house.
But beneath the photograph was a faded line of writing:
“Cùm River—2014.”
Nhut stepped closer.
“Wait. Why would the owner hang an old picture here?”
Phong glanced over.
“Probably just a keepsake.”
But Thao stared at the photograph.
She noticed something.
In the corner of the picture, near the riverbank…
There was a small boat.
And on that boat…
The silhouettes of three people standing.
The first night.
Everything was still normal.
They ate, talked, and traded stories about school.
Around eleven, the group began turning in.
Outside, the only sound was water gently lapping against the bank.
The sea breeze moved through the mangrove apple trees, making their leaves rustle.
Thao lay on her bed, staring up at the ceiling.
She did not know why.
But this house made her feel as if someone were waiting.
Not inside the room.
Outside.
Around two in the morning.
Phong was asleep when his eyes opened.
He heard a sound.
“Thump…”
Then silence.
“Thump…”
This time it was clearer.
Like something had struck the floor beneath the house.
Phong sat up.
He looked around.
Nhut was still asleep.
There was no movement from the two girls in the next room, either.
He got out of bed.
The sound rang out again.
Scrape…
Clack…
Like slow footsteps moving beneath the porch.
Phong went to the window.
He looked outside.
There was no one there.
Only the old mangrove apple tree swaying in the wind.
He gave a nervous little laugh.
“Probably just a fish thrashing around…”
Phong turned back toward the bed.
But before he lay down…
He saw something.
On the wooden floor outside the bedroom.
There was a small trail of water.
It stretched from the porch…
All the way inside the house.
Phong stood motionless.
He remembered clearly.
No one had come inside with wet feet that night.
He stepped closer.
Looked down.
The trail stopped right in front of his bed.
Then vanished.
The next morning.
Nhut was the first to wake up.
He looked at the clock.
7:30 a.m.
“Where’s Phong?”
No one answered.
Phong’s backpack was still there.
His phone was not on the table.
Nhut thought:
“He probably went out to take pictures.”
No one was particularly worried.
Because that was Phong.
He was always the type to explore on his own.
But by afternoon…
Phong still had not returned.
And the strangest thing was…
No one in the group could remember when Phong had left the house.