The Weeping Woman of Inle Lake

You know, I’ve lived in Nyaungshwe near Inle Lake all my life. It’s a place full of beauty, but it also has its share of darkness, if you believe the old stories—and trust me, some of them are hard to ignore. This one, though, it’s personal. It’s about my cousin, U Min, who was one of the best fishermen around. He knew Inle Lake better than anyone, or so he thought except The Weeping Woman of Inle Lake.

It happened about fifteen years ago, but it still feels like yesterday. I remember that evening so clearly. The sun was just dipping below the mountains, casting an orange glow over the lake. You know how beautiful it is at sunset here, like the whole world is peaceful. But that night, there was something different in the air—something unsettling.

U Min had been out on the lake all day, and as usual, he was the last one to head back. He liked the quiet of the evening, said it helped him think. The other fishermen always said he was too brave or too stubborn for his own good. But he wasn’t afraid of anything on that lake. At least, that’s what he used to say.

That evening, he decided to set his nets one last time before coming in. The water was still, not even a ripple. He told me later, just before he disappeared, that it was the kind of stillness that makes you feel like something’s watching you. But he brushed it off, thinking it was just his imagination.

He was almost done when he heard it—the sound of a woman crying. Now, you might think it’s no big deal. Maybe someone from the village was out there, or it was just the wind. But U Min knew better. He knew that cry wasn’t natural. It was too close, too clear, and it came from a place where no one should’ve been.

He looked around, but there was nothing, just the reflection of the moon on the water. He tried to focus on his work, but the crying got louder. He said it was like the sound was coming from everywhere at once, echoing across the lake. That’s when he saw her.

At first, he thought it was a trick of the light. But there she was, standing on the water, her feet barely touching the surface. She was wearing a long white dress, the kind you’d see at a wedding, but it was soaking wet, clinging to her like she’d just crawled out of the lake. Her hair was long, black as night, and it hung over her face, hiding her eyes.

He said she looked lost, confused, but more than anything, she looked sad. Her shoulders were shaking like she was crying, but he couldn’t see her face. He didn’t want to. Something deep inside him, some old instinct, told him not to look, not to get involved. But it was too late. She had already seen him.

She lifted her head just a little, just enough to speak. Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, but it cut through the silence like a knife. “Have you seen my child?” she asked.

U Min was frozen. He didn’t know what to say. Who was she? Where did she come from? But more importantly, why was she standing on the water? His heart was pounding in his chest, but his feet were glued to the boat. All he could do was shake his head, slowly, hoping she’d just go away.

But she didn’t. She took a step forward, and the water didn’t even ripple. “Please,” she said, “have you seen my child?”

By now, U Min was shaking. He said he’d never felt fear like that in his life. It was the kind of fear that takes over your whole body, that makes you feel like you’re about to die. He grabbed his paddle and started rowing, but it was like the boat wasn’t moving. No matter how hard he paddled, the shore didn’t get any closer. And that voice—it followed him, growing louder, more desperate.

The closer he got to the shore, the more frantic she became. Her voice changed from soft sobs to a high-pitched wail, like she was in agony. He could feel her behind him, feel her breath on the back of his neck. He didn’t dare look back, didn’t dare stop paddling. All he could think about was getting to the shore, getting away from whatever she was.

When he finally reached the shore, he jumped out of the boat and ran, leaving everything behind. The villagers heard him screaming, but by the time they got there, he was already gone, vanished into the night. All they found was his boat, drifting on the water like it had no purpose anymore.

The next morning, we searched everywhere—along the shore, through the reeds, even out on the lake. But there was no sign of him. Just the boat, and nothing else. The village elders said the weeping woman had taken him. You see, there’s a legend around here, one that goes back generations. They say she was a mother who lost her child during a storm. She drowned trying to save him, and now her spirit roams the lake, searching for him.

No one knows who she was or where she came from, but everyone knows to stay away from the lake after dark. They say if you hear her crying, you must never answer, never look, because once she sees you, she won’t let you go.

I don’t know what really happened to U Min that night. All I know is that he was never the same after that. He became quiet, withdrawn, like something had been taken from him. He stopped going out on the lake, stopped fishing altogether. A few months later, he just disappeared. Some say he left the village, trying to escape whatever haunted him. Others say the weeping woman came back for him.

But me, I believe she took his soul that night, and all we found was the empty shell of the man he used to be. That’s why I don’t go near the lake after dark, and I warn anyone who will listen. There are things out there, in the water, that don’t belong in our world. And if you’re not careful, they’ll pull you under, just like they did with U Min.

So, if you ever find yourself at Inle Lake after sunset, and you hear a woman crying, do yourself a favor. Don’t look, don’t listen, and whatever you do, don’t answer. Just turn around and walk away, as fast as you can. Because once she finds you, there’s no going back.

Daw Aye, Nyaungshwe, Myanmar