This week's prompt was another fun one: "Something ancient rises from an old pond."
To be real, the first thing I thought of was the "Panzer of the lake" meme. I ended up steering away from that and going for something a little more realistic: near-death experiences and how they affect us. Thanks for showing up! Enjoy the story.
The old swamp was part of a long stretch of marshland that carved its way through the south coast of Massachusetts. When I was young, I followed the family dog down our long driveway, dodging briars and chokeberry patches. My memories of the event are hazy, not because of the fog that ominously hovered above us, but because we saw an unreal display of supernatural power.
“Tell me what you remember most vividly.”
The voice calmed me. It was angelic, coming from the heavens.
We were at the edge of the pond. It was a cloudless night, and the moon was full. I was mesmerized by the dark water. It seemed to entice me to wade into its murkiness. It was still like oil like it was about to solidify and rise up in abstract shapes.
Our dog was a sniffer. He loved to put his nose into everything and I knew something was wrong when he pulled his snout away from the pond in a violent recoil. He froze in a position of fear, his eyes wide, the hair on his rump standing straight. I figured he came across a turtle or something pinched him.
“Boy, what’s the matter?”
He remained frozen. Unblinking. As I stepped toward him, the haze got thicker. It wrapped around me like a cloak. I was paralyzed.
“I feel hot. What’s on my face?”
“I’ll adjust the temperature for you. You are safe. You feel tears on your face. Please, continue when you’re ready. I assure you that you’re in a place of safety.”
The world heaved as if it took a deep breath. As it exhaled, a section of the pond drained out its water in a violent whirlpool. From the muddy earth rose a gruesome totem. Faces etched into the black pillar writhed in pain. As I watched them, they came alive. They pressed against the totem as if trying to escape. I recognized them. My family. My brothers. My parents. Their voices echoed in my mind. They cried out for me. They described their punishments, trapped inside the wretched tomb.
The haze suffocated me. The world faded away, but the voices carried on for… years. It felt like years of agony. They were mutilated. Molested. Over and over. An eternal cycle of torture. When their bodies were to be disposed of, they were stacked onto the monument and impaled through the midsection.
When I came to, the dog was pulling me out of the pond by my jacket. The last thing I remember before passing back out was a muddy-looking hand trying to hold on to my shoe. My parents found me the next morning. The dog saved my life. He slept next to me all night, and when he heard my parents, he brought them to the pond. The story was that I almost drowned. I don’t remember falling into the water. I remember something rising out of it.
This is great man!