The Hand in the Pond - Jan. 4th

   Two brothers walked along the shore of the pond not far from their farm house one summer evening with an old ice cream pail and their gumboots. It was tadpole season, and the brothers were searching for the biggest ones to collect and show off to their parents and two sisters.
   They sloshed along the shore line through the dark muck that was littered with old shells that crunched beneath their feet and drying algae left behind by the receding water level of the pond. It was an irrigation pond you see, and the water did not flow into it constantly throughout the summer.
   The younger brother was amazed by all the different insects, birds, and critters living in and around the pond. He became quite distracted from the task at hand. As his older brother continued about his task, the younger brother watched a couple of sand pipers hop along the edge of the pond as they foraged for dinner. Red Winged Black Birds fluttered about the reeds and cat tails; a few even perched on the log fence around the pond's bank and sang their songs. His attention was eventually drawn back to the pond as water skimmers skittered along the surface. A leech awkwardly glided up to his rubber boot and latched on. Being a young boy that didn't know any better, he panicked as he thought the leech was going to eat trough his boot, and began to sway dangerously back and forth as he tried to lift his feet, but his boots were stuck in the muck. They made horrible sucking sounds as he tried desperately to escape.
   His older brother saw what was happening. He knew he was too far out to reach without getting stuck himself, and knowing that his younger brother didn't know how to swim, he did the only thing left to do. He ran for help as fast as he could.
   The pond was on the edge of the yard near their farm house, but was behind a small hill out of sight of the kitchen window where he knew his mother would be visible as she was most likely doing the dishes from supper. It was her routine.
   Their mother was indeed  doing the dishes when her eldest son shot over the hill from the pond like lightning yell for her at the top of his lungs. Her instincts told her there was trouble before she had even heard what was happening. She flew from the house and bounded down the front steps in two giant paces, and was across the yard in seconds. She vaulted over the hill to the pond and saw her youngest boy teetering helplessly towards the deeper part of the pond. She raced to his aid. She reached out and grasped a fistful of shirt just as he was going to fall in, and with one hand lifted him out of his boots to safety on the shore.
   He was weeping uncontrollably, sniffling and hiccupping in terror from his ordeal. She comforted the boy, cradling him in her arms as she rocked him back and forth on the bank of the pond, consoling him until he stopped crying. When he was spent, she dried his eyes, hugged him and then took hold of his hand and ushered him back to the house and up to the bath to clean up.
   Later that evening, after thanking god for protecting her youngest son, she gathered all four of her children and sat them down on the couch. It was time to tell them a story to scare them from going near the pond unsupervised again. It was the story about the giant hand that lived in the deepest, darkest part of the pond.

***

   As the story goes, there once was a boy who lived near a pond. He used to wander alone along the water's edge, exploring everything he could. He was warned time and time again about the dangers of getting too close the water's edge for fear of the lurking hand that lived deep beneath the surface of the pond, but continued to venture off alone anyways. One such day, he was watching insects in the water and became mesmerized. He leaned further and further towards the water to get a better look at them, and that's when he fell in. He could not swim, and the pond dropped off to it's deepest, darkest depths where he fell. He had been entranced by the beams of sunlight that never seemed to reach the bottom of the pond. Before he could reach for the bank, his wet clothes and boots filled with water began to drag him under. No one was around to hear him scream. He fought to hold his head above the water, but it was too little too late. Something grasped his ankle and yanked him under, pulling him deeper and deeper out of sight. The clear surface of the water turned cloudy, then to murk. The cold and darkness closed in around him. He kicked and fought to get free, but to no avail. His mind raced with fear as the imagined the stories about the hand in the pond being real, even though he could not see what had grasped his ankle.

   This is it he thought, I should have listened. The last bit of air burning in his lungs escaped his lips and slid up past his face, and he remembered nothing beyond this point.

   Luckily for the boy, his father had come home just as he was going under, and had raced from his truck, jumping into the pond from the fence like a high diver, cowboy hat and all. He dove as fast as he could, reaching out all around him until he felt his finger tips brush over his son's arm. He grabbed hold and kicked frantically to the surface. The boy was motionless and turning blue. His father managed to get him to the bank of the pond and performed emergency CPR, praying he was not too late all the while. One attempt, two attempts, three- His boy sputtered water and vomited as his father turned him onto his side, breaking into tears of joy.

   Once the boy had recovered, his parents asked him what happened. He explained that the hand in the pond was real. That it had pulled him into the depths of the pond. To this day no one knows if it really was the hand, or if it was simply a root that got tangled around the boy's boot, but one thing remains true, it's dangerous to go to the pond unsupervised.

***

   When their mother had finished her tale, the children's mouths were agape with fear. She asked them if they had learned their lesson, and they unanimously agreed that they had. The youngest of her girls said to her youngest brother, "You were lucky," and that's the truth.

   So remember, whenever you are alone, young or old, be mindful of the water's edge. Do not take chances, and always, always fear the Hand That Lives in the Pond, lest it claim another victim.



I hope you enjoyed the story. Today's prompt (Jan 5th) is to write a story about snow that isn't snow.
Cheers,
Rob