Creepypasta stories

The Silent Pool

I guess I’ll start off with the mundane introduction as to who I am and why I’m telling you this. They want me to hide my identity, so just call me E. I’m currently 16 years old and I’m on holiday in the Philippines.

My mum was Filipina. As a result, we spent most summers here to escape the dreary grey skies of Britain. I have to admit that the change of scenery is really rejuvenating; I had just finished my GCSEs (exams), so lazing around on a beach for a few weeks seemed ideal. The Philippines, on the whole, is a vast place, being more of an Archipelago than a country.

On the night of the 26th, my father, mother and I left Manila, the city where the airport is, and headed for M….they don’t want me to tell you. It’s a beach resort with palm trees, coral and sunsets in abundance. That’s about all I can say I think.

It’s not the average resort you come across, as the actual accommodation was, in traditional Filipino style, wooden villas overlooking the turquoise sea. I stayed in Villa 22, whereas my parents stayed in 23 – the two villas were connected by a bamboo bridge on the first floor, so they could check up on me to see if I was getting on alright. I lived a pretty sedentary lifestyle, so the majority of my days were spent listening to music on the hammock, tied to two protruding wooden logs on the balcony. Mum and dad knew that, from an early age, I had been relatively independent, so they would only see how I was doing once a day, if that. Allowance would be given, and we would only meet for occasional lunch and dinner.

This resort was built upon a hill, meaning the stairs going to our villas were extremely steep. The steps were essentially rock slabs, with encrusted seashells, going up the hill. From what I can remember, it was a fairly old resort; the staff maintained the grounds well, but you could see wear and tear in some of the rooms, and the swimming pool had an unnerving reddish tint. I never saw anyone enter it. Signposts were scattered across the hotel, directing guests to one of the several restaurants, spas and restrooms on the tiny island.

Being curious, I asked the resort staff if there was another swimming pool on the island as the colour was too off putting; I have had eczema, among other multiple skin conditions, for all my life, and the sea’s salt water stinged like hell. Contrary to their usual upbeat, helpful nature, the Filipino staff seemed hesitant to even respond to my question. I repeated the question at least two or three times to other staff across the space of an hour, and the only response I got were blank, icy stares.

Asking the staff here was practically pointless, so I took it upon myself to go online. The search results were…strange, to say the least. Nothing. Not just that, it was like this resort was non-existent on the Internet, even with the hundreds of guests staying weekly. No reviews, no pictures…absolutely nothing.

A couple of days after this, I took it upon myself to personally search the island. The island’s perimeter was 2 miles, at best, and I was feeling confident that I could find a pool, especially as we weren’t the only resort here. I hadn’t actually seen the other resort(s), but loud laughter and native music could be heard during the night from across the island.

At this point, my memory gets a bit hazy. The small, insect-ridden nature path I had taken to find this pool had just stopped. I looked back, and all that I could see was a tropical forest staring back at me, with thick air resting on the forest floor.

“I headest east” I thought, so logically, I opened up the compass on my iPhone and headed west to return to the resort. As I said, my recollection from now is not great, but I distinctly remember walking for hours in between trees and being unable to find the trail. It seemed like the forest would never end, despite heading in the exact same direction.

Then, a lifeline. A signpost in the distance. In fact, it was identical to the ones at the resort, which filled me with joy. Surely, this meant I was back, safe & sound. Except, I wasn’t. The rotten signpost had 5 arrows pointing out of the top, all in the same direction (left). It simply read “silent pool”, engraved deeply in the wooden signs. I knew heading back to the resort was futile, and at least the pool must have someone about that I could talk to about returning. At this point, I didn’t even fancy swimming anymore.