A Moonlit Night
A Vietnamese horror story.
Đà Lạt had its fair share of upgrades ever since it’s become one of Vietnam’s most famous tourist attractions circa 2020. Back then, however, the winding roads up the mountains and through the forests were treacherous at the best of times, and suicidal when it rains. We rode as a group, single file line, slowly, with our motorbikes packed with climbing gear.
Four hours, and we only got as far as the next-to-last pit stop, another 3km away from the village of our destination. It was mid-February then, spring time, when the flowers bloomed and the weather was to die for. We stopped the bikes in front of a large shed with thatched roof and thatched walls so newly placed the dried grass was still green. The door was made of bamboo, unfinished, with some half-woven sticks laid in the yard. The place was built for travellers like us and the hunters from the village. Not much was inside, except for some firewood in the middle, tree stumps recycled as stools, and two villagers sleeping. Next to them was water urns filled to the brim, a clue to their slumber.
After parking, we checked our equipment and headed inside to eat. It was around 6p.m, and there was no light so we had to use the flashlight from our phones. The stories came naturally, an expected guest on occasions like this, one that had experienced many worlds. He shared with us the beauty and the strange, the magic and the Gods, but always the most sought-after was the terrifying.
One stood out that day, the tale of Hunchback Trọng, a name that even caught the two ladies to spring from their nap and pitched in. Trọng was a self-describe jack-of-all-trades, in which he would do anything for money, and sell water to a fish if it heavied his wallet. Despite his back, Trọng would boast about his “venture” with the girls he came across while doing business, and how he would vanish without a trace after staying with them for a few days. He was supposedly a frequent at this village, coming here every two weeks or so, and as the girls described, he was “charming but devious.” Until one day, he was gone. As expected, the villagers thought at first, having been used to his tricks. Until the next day they came to check his lodging and found his belongings still there. For someone like Trọng to leave behind anything, he must have been dead. The girls, who have been anxiously awaiting this part, jumped in to say how their grandmother told them that Trọng’s soul was dragged to Hell by the girls he deflowered.
After the meal, I decided to stay behind to rest, while my friends rode the girls back to the village. I will join you later, I said, thinking how they wasted an opportunity to enjoy the forest, free of fellow men. When they were gone, I breathed a sigh of relief, took of my glasses, and listened. Somewhere nearby, a stream was conducting an orchestra of water and rocks, crickets and wind. Listen closer, and I could hear the faint snoring of the trees, and the tiptoe of squirrels trying not to wake them. Suddenly, a cold breeze hit my body like a truck, waking me from serenity.
“A beautiful night like this, and yet you are sleeping?” - A Southern accent so clear I knew the owner was beautiful before seeing her.
I opened my eyes only to confirm it, but what I saw was more Goddess than woman, and my eyes had to squint in front of her gradient charm.
“Come, let’s go to the village!”
“Am I dreaming?”
She laughed and pinched me. I was glad it hurt.
“No, silly. I was on my way back home and saw your bike. I love hanging out with travellers.” - She laughed again, and the Cacophony of Nature sounded like construction work in comparison.
“You want to hang out with me?”
“Who else is here, silly? Come, I know where the stream is! And grab your climbing gear, too.” - Before I could react, she held my hand and started dragging me out of the shed. Her touch must have given me wings, because I felt like I was a balloon, just floating behind her. My mind was so intoxicated by the woman that it didn’t occur to me to ask how she knew about my climbing gear.
One slope after another, we were going deeper into the forest, where the Moon tried her best to squeeze her light in-between the leaves. Then all of a sudden the trees gave way, revealing a waterfall bathing in moonlight. My eyes and ears had to adjust to the assault. The Moon was there in her full glory, patiently waiting, a bit ticked-off as if to say “what took you so long?”
“We’re here.” The voice was still hers, but gravity, which was gone when she touched me, seemed to have made a triumphant return.
“Here? Where’s here?” I started to shake, as my friends’ stories of ghosts and demons and spirits came flooding back. Have I been following a Succubus, who would suck out my soul and dump my body down the waterfall?
“I need a favour. A man I was with fell down the cliff, and I need your help to save him.”
“Why me?”
“Everyone is at the village for the festival. I couldn’t find anyone else but you. You could see him over there.” - She ignored my question. Following her delicate fingers, all I could make out without my glasses was a figure swaying his head slowly side to side. With the roaring waterfall, assuming he wasn’t severely injured to begin with, calling for the person was no use.
“Help me with the ropes. I’m going down.” - If I wasn’t exhausted from the trip, or the woman was half as pretty, I would have asked questions about how he fell off. What on my mind, however, was how angelic this woman was, searching high and low for someone to save her friends. With several years of mountain climbing under my belt, I could save the man and got back before the Goddess could say thank you.
I was right about the man swaying his head. But unfortunately he didn’t have any control over it. On that ledge, I saw a body with a hunchback, which would have been its highlight if not for the head fluttering in the wind, the skin barely connected to the neck. I looked up at my Goddess in horror, only to see her gesturing me to bring the body up. As I slowly the ascend, her laughter, the very one that rivaled even Mother Nature, grew louder.
The woman finally stopped laughing, long after myself and Trọng’s body was back at the top, long after I have calmed myself.
“Why?” - I asked the obvious.
“He killed my husband, and threw him under this waterfall here.” - The magical fingers pointed again at the foaming water below.
“He was rich, and he wanted to marry me. He thought I was one of those stupid wenches from the village, that I would immediately fall for him if my husband was gone. So I played along, and dragged him here, and let my axe did the work.”
“But when I dumped him down there, he was stuck on the branches. I was not going to be satisfied until he was where my husband is. So I found you.”
I could see in her eyes the fiery will of a woman in the Highland. I was still speechless, actless.
“Thank…”
The remains of the syllable was drown out by the waterfall, as she flung herself off the cliff with Trọng’s corpse.
The Moon now hid behind the trees and mountain top, holding a finger up her mouth, to hide a secret.
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