The Thing in the Pond

by Peter Woodruff

conclusion

“Is it one of the boys?” Bill asked.

“Can’t be,” Schmidt said with an edge of desperation. “Whoever that poor bastard is has been dead a long time.”

“Oh God, I can’t handle this,” the deputy said. “During my training we were told we’d have to deal with this sort of thing, but I didn’t believe it. I mean, who dies in rural counties? God, why did this have to happen on my shift?”

“Look, I’m no forensic expert,” Bill said, “but these remains look ravaged, not old. I mean, there’s no rot. And the shirt, it’s torn, but not decayed. It looks like someone small. I’m sorry, Mr. Schmidt, but I think it’s one of your nephews.”

“Jesus, it can’t be.” Schmidt struggled with his emotions. “And even if it is, what the hell happened to him, and where’s his brother?”

“Maybe he ran for help,” Bill said, without conviction.

The water in the pond stirred, as if disturbed by a breeze. Ripples, starting in the center, radiated outward. But there was no breeze. Bill took an involuntary step away from the bank. Several shadows appeared near the far side. The other boy? The divers? Tom? Fearing the worst, Bill followed the shore line around the pond.

“Dear God!”

“What is it?” Schmidt asked. “Not another body?”

“Skeletons. But not of people. They look like cows.”

“Damn it all!” Schmidt rushed to where Bill was standing and looked down at three partial skeletons. “Those can’t be my steers. I saw them alive and well just yesterday. These look like they’ve been dead for months.”

“Not really,” Bill said. “Look at the skin still on the bones. It doesn’t look rotten.”

“Deputy,” Schmidt shouted, “get the hell over here and help us figure this out.” Then to Bill, “you may be right. I don’t see any obvious rot. But what could reduce three healthy cows to nothing more than skin and a few bones?”

“Piranhas,” the deputy said, refusing to leave his spot on the far side. “I’ve heard of this. People buy piranhas at the pet shop, get tired of taking care of them and dump them in a river or a pond, where they breed and multiply. The divers, your nephews, your steers, were all eaten by piranhas. Christ, I’ve got to get the sheriff.”

“It wasn’t piranhas,” Bill said.

“How the hell do you know?” the deputy asked. “I read where piranhas can reduce a cow to a skeleton in seconds.”

“That’s a myth,” Bill said. “Most piranhas are scavengers. They have those big teeth so they can grasp things floating on the river. The predatory species never go after anything bigger than themselves. Besides, there’s no way piranhas can survive, let alone breed, in this climate.”

“What makes you such an expert on piranhas?” the deputy asked.

“High school biology,” Bill said. “And anyway, no fish can get prey if it’s not standing or swimming in the water.”

“So, the boys went swimming,” the deputy said.

“With their clothes on? Besides, how would piranhas get the cows?”

”Cattle will stand in water when it’s hot,” Schmidt said.

“Maybe, but it hasn’t been hot. The temperature hasn’t been over sixty-five yet this spring.”

“All right, professor”, the deputy said, “Then maybe it was alligators. Don’t tell me alligators can’t eat a cow, or a boy.”

“Same problem with alligators, or crocodiles. They can’t handle the climate. And they wouldn’t eat something that fast. Crocodilians usually drown their prey then stash it in a hole until it rots a little.”

“Jesus,” Schmidt said, “I never learned that much the whole time I was in school, let alone one class.”

“I really liked biology. And I watch a lot of nature shows.”

“Well, this is fascinating,” the deputy said, “but I’ve got to get the sheriff. I can’t handle this on my own.”

“That’s a good idea,” Schmidt said. “Go make the call. Bill and I will stay here in case...”

Schmidt was interrupted by the deputy’s shriek. He and Bill stood aghast as the deputy fell to the ground, screaming and thrashing. It appeared as if something was dragging him toward the water. The deputy desperately dug his hands into the ground, uprooting grass and digging up clumps of dirt.

Bill and Schmidt stood, immobilized with shock and terror. Bill finally forced himself to move closer.

Something was wrapped around the deputy’s right leg. At first Bill thought it was a vine, like a grape vine, two or three inches thick. But its color and texture was all wrong. It was a sickly yellow, and had a rough, pock-marked skin. The vine, tentacle, whatever, slowly and relentlessly pulled the deputy toward the water. The deputy’s frantic struggles were of no avail.

Unlike the frozen Bill, Schmidt snapped out of his stupor and ran to the far side of the pond to help the deputy. He grabbed the man’s hand and pulled against the thing in the pond.

“God almighty, help me!” the deputy screamed.

“Bill, get the hell over here.” Bill finally came out of his own trance and raced around to help Schmidt. He grabbed the deputy’s other hand and pulled with all his strength.

“You’re hurting me!” The deputy’s legs were now in the water. No matter how hard Bill and Schmidt pulled, the deputy was dragged further and further in until his head was submerged, his eyes filled with terror. There was a burst of bubbles as the deputy silently screamed his last. Bill and Schmidt had to let go.

Out of breath, both backed away from the pond. Bill put his face in his hands.

“What the hell, I mean, what the hell is going on here?” Schmidt said through his own tears. “What in the name of God was that? Come on, Bill. You seem to know things, get a hold of yourself and tell me what just happened.”

Bill took a few deep breaths. “I have no idea. I never saw anything like that in Biology class.”

“What was that thing? Was it a snake? An eel? Jesus, Bill, keep away from the damn pond.” Schmidt grabbed Bill’s arm, preventing the boy from approaching the water.

“There’s something in the pond,” Bill said.

“No kidding!”

“It’s something new,” Bill continued, “some new type of life.”

“What, you mean something from outer space?”

“No, more like something recently evolved, or mutated. Do you use a lot of chemicals in this field?”

“This is a cow pasture. I don’t use any chemicals. What do you mean, mutated? You been watching too many sci-fi movies or something?

Bill spun toward Schmidt. “Then you tell me what it is! I have no idea. I’m just guessing.”

“Easy, Bill. I suppose your guesses are as good as anyone’s. I just want to understand what’s happening.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Look, here’s what we’re going to do. You stay here, while I go call the sheriff and tell him what’s going on.”

“The hell I’m staying here!”

“Bill, it’ll be all right. Just stay back by these trees, away from the water. I really think someone needs to be nearby, to watch, and to make sure no one else goes near the pond.”

Bill agreed, though with great reluctance. Schmidt headed up the hill toward his house.

* * *

The afternoon wore on. It was actually a beautiful spring day, with a clear sky and soft, warm breeze. Not that Bill could enjoy it. He stayed by the trees, several large cottonwoods about fifty yards from the shore. Was he far enough? How long was that tentacle thingy’s reach?

There were almost no sounds in meadow, other than the breeze in the cottonwoods. No birds flew overhead, no insects buzzed nearby, no rabbits or mice rustled in the grass. The surface of the pond was like glass, occasionally rippled by the breeze.

There was a mild disturbance in the water, like when a large fish breaks the surface in pursuit of a bug. Ripples radiating from the center spread across the surface. A shadow appeared a few feet shy of the far bank. Bill couldn’t make out what lay just under the water, but figured it was the remains of another unfortunate victim; one of the divers, the deputy, maybe Tom, or perhaps another of Schmidt’s steers. Bill was not about to approach the pond for a closer look.

Bill glanced at the sun as it slowly worked its way toward the horizon. Where the hell were Schmidt and the help he was supposed to bring? Bill hoped Schmidt would have the sheriff, and perhaps the state police, maybe even the military. A few well-placed explosives might put an end to the thing, though it would make it difficult to figure out what it was.

Pop!

Bill jumped. He stared at the pond and backed away. Was the damn thing coming after him? He searched the grass for any sign of a moving vine or tentacle.

Pop!

Then he saw it. It was in the center of the pond, difficult to see in the glare of the late afternoon sun. It was straight, four or five inches in diameter, a little wider at the tip. It was yellowish with rough, pocked skin. It stuck out of the water about three feet. Every half minute or so the tip seemed to expand, making the popping sound. With each pop a yellowish mist projected from the tip and drifted away in the breeze, down wind from where Bill stood.

Jesus, was the thing giving off poisonous gas? Maybe it knocked out its prey first then dragged it into the pond. That could explain why there was no wild life in the area. But then why did it take the deputy live?

Bill didn’t have time to ponder the question. He heard voices, then spotted Schmidt and several other men coming down the hill.

“Hey guys,” Bill yelled, “stay far away from the pond. The thing’s got a periscope or something sticking out of the water.”

The men stopped. The ‘periscope’ slid silently beneath the surface and disappeared.

“What?” Schmidt called.

“Stay there. I’ll come to you.” Giving the pond a wide berth, Bill circled and climbed the hill to the men. He was pleased to see the sheriff, two more deputies and the game warden. No state cops, though. Too bad.

“What’s happened, Bill?” Schmidt asked. “Did you see the thing?”

“Sort of. It had a leg or an arm or something sticking out of the water. It looked like it was giving off some sort of gas.”

“Gas?” said the sheriff, who, along with the other newcomers, had been briefed by Schmidt on the situation. “What did it smell like?”

“I was up wind, so I don’t know, which I think is a good thing.”

The game warden examined the pond through his binoculars. “I wish I could see the thing. Schmidt described the vine, or whatever, but there’s got to be more to it than that if it’s eaten all those people and cows.” Still holding his binoculars, the game warden took several steps toward the pond.

The sheriff restrained the warden with a firm hand on his shoulder. “Hold up, Trent. We don’t know what we’re dealing with here. Let’s keep our distance.”

“But this could be a new species of animal, something never seen or described before. I’ve got to get a look at it.” The sheriff maintained his grip, until Trent finally lowered the binoculars and turned to Bill. “Describe it to me. The tentacle you saw, did it have cups, like an octopus?”

“No, it was more like a jellyfish, or a man-of-war, only thicker.”

“And just where have you seen a jellyfish?” the sheriff asked Bill.

“At the Shed Aquarium in Chicago, and on nature shows.”

“About this thing you saw in the water,” Trent asked, “was it like the tentacle?”

“Same color, but it was thicker, and didn’t seem to be flexible. It had a knob or something on the end. That’s where the gas came out.”

“This is great,” the sheriff said. “My county is being threatened by farting jellyfish. Schmidt, are you sure this isn’t one of your jokes?”

The water in the pond rippled again. Another shadow appeared just below the surface.

“Sheriff, I watched one of your deputies get dragged into the pond by the thing. Bill and I tried to help, but there was nothing we could do. The man is dead now, drowned, and probably eaten. I don’t find anything remotely funny about any of this.”

The sheriff gazed at the pond for several moments. “Well, I guess I can’t take any chances. We’ll get some dynamite and waterproof charges down here and blow the thing back where it came from, where ever the hell that is.”

“Sheriff, no!” the warden said. “We’ve got to figure out what this thing is. We’ve got to study it. I know some biologists at the University of Illinois who can figure this out. Let me get them up here before you blow it up.”

“And let the bastard eat up half the citizenry in the county? Can’t take that chance, Trent, not with an election coming up.”

“But the thing’s in the pond. It seems to have a limited range. We’re only about a hundred yards away, and it hasn’t come after us.”

“Not yet, anyway,” the sheriff said. “No, Trent, I want to get that thing now, tonight, if I can get the explosives up here before dark. I won’t have the thing come crawling out of the pond and grabbing people out of their houses.”

“But Sheriff...”

“No, Trent, he’s right,” Schmidt said. “People are already dead because of the thing. We don’t know what it’s capable of. And besides,” Schmidt’s face became grim, “if it did kill my nephews and my brother, which seems likely, I want the bastard dead.”

Trent gave up his argument. Together, the men headed up the hill to make plans on dealing with the thing once and for all.

* * *

Bill woke early the next morning, even though he hadn’t gone to bed until after midnight. He got dressed then drove down to the pond.

The sheriff had acted quickly. Explosives were obtained from a nearby quarry and dropped into the pond by helicopter just as the sun was setting. The explosion was spectacular, water spouting like a geyser nearly fifty feet into the air. The sheriff posted four deputies near the pond to keep people away until the biologists from the University 0f Illinois could arrive the next morning.

Bill wanted to watch the biologists, maybe even assist, if they’d let him. He parked his old pickup in the usual spot and hiked toward the pond. He couldn’t see anyone around except two of the deputies, so he figured he’d beaten the scientists.

Bill brushed against the tall grass, observing how the pollen fell off the plumes like a fine mist. Pollen? Mist? Bill shuddered as a terrible thought occurred to him. Perhaps the thing in the pond hadn’t been giving off gas, or ‘farting’, to use the sheriff’s words. Perhaps it was shooting off spores or seeds, or tiny eggs. The thing may have projected millions of spores, carried off by the wind to infect more ponds, lakes, rivers, water troughs, even swimming pools.

What if it were a new species, or even some sort of alien organism, as Schmidt suggested? Would each new thing, spawned from a spore from farmer Schmidt’s pond, project millions of their own spores, all the while feeding on anything that came near?

Animals, including humans, can’t live without water. Last night after the explosion, the sheriff declared the problem over. But what if all surface water on Earth becomes unapproachable? No one will go fishing any more. Will the thing come fishing for us? The problem may not be over at all, but just beginning.