The Pond

While wading in the pond, I can sense a presence.

A shiver races down my spine and a lump comes to my throat as the shadow moves closer and closer, its size growing exponentially. Had it not been for its splash, I might not have even taken notice.

The shadow moves again, and the long, sinuous form of sliminess brushes against my foot.

Then I feel another one. And another.

Out of nowhere, its teeth sink into my foot in the blink of an eye.

“What the…”, I mutter in a state of confusion.

I found myself in utter disbelief. Yet, in an instant, a foreboding realization gripped me, understanding that this was no ordinary encounter—a mere fish nibble. I pulled my foot into the air, only to be met with blood spilling profusely. Like a twisted waterfall, the blood pours and pours, saturating the surrounding space and infusing the air with a pungent scent of iron.

I, for one, had never experienced the need for stitches. No broken bones or physical mishaps, either. As someone who does not actively seek out opportunities for engaging in challenging and perceived risky play, they had never been a part of my life’s narrative, and the probability of bodily injury was low. However, I had just faced a physical affliction that filled me with loathing.

I scream until something breaks in my throat, but all that escapes my lips is a forceful rush of air expelled from my lungs.

Again, it thrashes at my other foot. This time, a surge of panic consumes me as my ability to manoeuvre dissipates. Only my eyes encapsulate the overwhelming desire to escape, while not a single muscle in my body contributes to the effort.

* * *

One moment I was standing up, the next I was laying in a hospital bed, with absolutely no memory of falling. Tired and exhausted, I was in so much pain, I could barely move.

The nurse was explaining that I had been found by a pond, unconscious. She said my injuries appeared as bite marks resembling those inflicted by an eel, leading to the need for stitches. However, no eels were known to inhabit the vicinity, leaving the incident in an enigmatic veil of uncertainty.

They discharged me two days later. Sam had arranged to take me home.

I felt bad. It was my responsibility to take special care of him upon his return from a business trip. After enduring a lengthy trip, and a lot of travel, he was undoubtedly worn out. Chances are what he really wants is to sleep, or collapse on the sofa, yet against all odds, he expressed a want to visit that very pond and kill whatever had inflicted harm upon me.

“Honey, you don’t have to do this.”

“Luckily for you, it’s what I want Emily,” Sam said, his face pleasant, yet earnest.

“Lucky? I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“But…” Sam trailed off. Parked alongside the road adjacent to the pond, my gaze followed his, fixating on an object gently floating on the water’s surface—could it truly be…

Sam hastily exited the car, devoid of any spoken words, and proceeded to investigate the situation down by the pond. Despite the urge pulling at me, I resisted the temptation to step outside and check with him. I was scared, and I kept checking through the window every other minute.

Observing Sam pulling out his phone to make a call, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of my stomach—that wasn’t a good sign. It was already getting dark, and the street light wasn’t bright enough.

Eventually, Sam returned to the car. As he opened the door, a putrid scent reached my senses, a repugnant combination of decaying flesh with faint hints of fruitiness. The odor left no room for doubt—“it… it’s a dead body, isn’t it?”

“Yup. It’s a dead body,” Sam said, shuffling back into the driver’s seat with his head resting against the head restraint.

A sense of discomfort settles within me, “Did an eel kill him?”

“I don’t know,” Sam responded in an uneasy manner. He takes out his phone once more to search up ‘can an eel kill you?’

“Well, it says eels can produce a lethal 600 volts of electrical energy,” he added on.

“600 volts? That’s enough to kill a person”.

“Right. But, who knows… he may have just drowned,” he replied.

That is a possibility. It’s a shame, either way. I do know drowning victims can be brought back to life as long as two hours after they drown, although it seems as though that body has been there for days. How was it that no one had noticed?

Seconds later, it happens. The roar of an engine interrupted; three police cars and one ambulance truck. Sam exits our car to direct the paramedic to the dead body. Judging from Sam having to crane his neck to look at the paramedic’s face, I would guess he must be around 6 feet 4 inches.

I find myself taken aback as the paramedic swiftly plunges into the water without taking a moment to investigate the surroundings. The water, though not deep for him, reaches up to his knees when he encounters the lifeless body.

He works slowly and carefully. With practised precision, the paramedic gently cradles the deceased, his gloved hands crisscrossing beneath the body, lifting it slowly and reverently out of the water. Silent whispers of instruction pass among the team as they work together to manoeuvre the body towards the waiting stretcher. With synchronised precision, they transfer the body onto the stretcher, securing it in place.

Later, Sam approaches the car, he prompts me to lower the window with a subtle hand gesture. I swiftly roll down the window, ready to engage in conversation.

“The man had drowned,” he explains.

“And?” I respond, expecting a more detailed answer.

“There are traces of alcohol detected in his system. No indications of foul play were apparent, leading to their assumption that his death resulted from excessive drinking, ultimately leading to drowning after having accidentally fallen into the water,” he replies.

"Oh?", I secretly had hoped for a connection between the recent death and my event. However, it became apparent that the death was merely a coincidence, unrelated to what had transpired in the same location.

"Reacting to the circumstances, the policemen have made the decision to close off the area from public access," Sam explained.

I turned my gaze towards the ongoing installation of the fences around the pond, only to be startled by a sudden, piercing cry that tore through the air.

"Ahhhhh!"

* * *

“Something just bit me” said one of the policemen. “Why would it bite an innocent man like me?”

“Damn, you’re bleeding.” said the other.

An elongated, wormlike body sat next to the policeman’s foot. Both policemen were competing to see who would kill it first.

“Why don’t I just shoot the damn thing, you know, before it hurts someone?”

“No, let me kill it!” he suddenly exclaimed, pulling out his glock firearm.

“What the…” the other muttered, studying the small rectangular tag he’d found on the side of the eel.

“Dr. Emily Dawson?” he asked. 

They both looked down at the tag. Looking at one another, they knew.

"That bastard introduced eels into the water, didn't she?", he responded.