While hiking along a flood channel, I saw it.
It stood among the reeds, half-submerged, the water curling around its knees. Humanoid in shape, but wrong in ways the mind tries not to process. The head was broad and flat, the mouth a wide seam stretching nearly from one side to the other. Its skin was pale and slick, catching what little light filtered through the overcast sky, and along its arms the sheen broke into faint ridges, like the folds of an amphibian’s gill line.
Its hands were the worst part — long, skeletal fingers tipped with black claws, the wet webbing between them stretched taut as it shifted its weight. Those fingers flexed once, slow and delIberate, as if testing the air.
It stared at me with bulbous, lidless eyes that reflected the gray sky in warped, convex shapes. There was no expression, no movement save for the slow rise and fall of its throat, like it was drawing in the damp air.
Then, without a sound — without even the ripple of a kick — it sank straight down into the water, vanishing as if the river itself had swallowed it whole. No bubbles rose to mark the spot. No trace disturbed the surface.
But the reeds… the reeds kept swaying long after the water went still, as though something massive still moved beneath them. I stood there until my legs ached, half-expecting it to rise again, and knowing that if it did, I might not run fast enough.
The Hidden Ones 
Drop Your Cryptid Clues