This story was told to me by a friend. His surname is Wang—so I'll just call him Lao Wang. What you're about to read happened to him personally, many years ago, during a night fishing trip at a reservoir on the outskirts of the city.
That night, the moon was unusually bright, casting a cold, pale sheen across the surface of the water. Lao Wang and a few companions arrived quietly at the secluded reservoir after dark, carrying their fishing gear. They picked their spots, prepared the bait, cast their lines, and waited in silence.
It didn't take long.
Suddenly, Lao Wang's float plunged sharply beneath the surface. His heart leapt. He tightened his grip and struck hard—only to feel an immense force pulling back from below. This was no ordinary fish. Gritting his teeth, he braced himself, struggling for several long moments before finally hauling whatever it was out of the water.
The instant he saw it, he nearly dropped the rod.
It was a large fish—easily over twenty pounds—but something about it was terribly wrong. Tangled all over its body were greasy strands of long, black hair, matted and slick, as if they were growing directly out from between the fish's scales. A foul, indescribable stench rose from it, thick and nauseating.
The fish's mouth opened and closed repeatedly, producing a low, gurgling sound—gluk… gluk…—as though it were trying to speak.
The others gathered around, curiosity overpowering fear for a brief moment. They leaned in, holding their breath, listening closely.
Then Lao Wang's face drained of color.
Hidden within that murky gurgling sound was something else—faint, broken, but unmistakably human. A whisper, barely louder than a mosquito's buzz, repeating again and again:
"Help me… help me…"
That was enough.
Panic exploded among them. No one thought about the fishing gear anymore. They turned and ran—stumbling, tripping, scrambling toward the parking area without looking back.
Later, once they had somewhat calmed down, someone remembered that all their equipment—most of it brand new—was still back by the water. But no one dared to return. The scene they had just witnessed was too disturbing; even thinking about it made their skin crawl.
After much hesitation, they finally called the police.
The officers arrived quickly. The man in charge was a veteran policeman. After listening carefully to their account, his expression grew serious. Something, he said, was clearly not right.
He immediately contacted a salvage team, and together they returned to the reservoir that same night. Fortunately, the body of water wasn't very large. Using powerful lights, the divers searched the depths—and before long, they recovered a corpse.
It was the body of a young woman.
She had been submerged for some time, her remains badly damaged by fish and decay. The sight was horrific beyond words.
Later, according to that senior officer, the murderer was arrested not long after. He had killed the woman and, under cover of darkness, dumped her body into the reservoir, believing the water would erase all traces of his crime.
What he never could have imagined was that his evil deed would be exposed—by a fish accidentally caught on a hook, in such a bizarre and terrifying way.
As the old saying goes: If you want no one to know, don't do it in the first place.
Heaven may be silent, but justice is never blind. In the end, no crime escapes the law.