R J Hembree - Writers' Village University

“Unlock the doors,” Bill ordered.
Annie withdrew her head into the car. The locks in the jeep snapped open.
Bill paused to look over at the center of the pond where a patch of utter darkness
floated like the pupil of a giant eye. He put his wife into the front seat, buckled her
seatbelt, and leaned in so that he could look into her face.
“You belong with us,” he said. And taking each of her hands, he flipped them
over and kissed her scars. “I will never let you go.” Stepping back, he shut the door
on the sight of her damaged wrists. Then, he faced the pond.
Twigs and leaves gathered near the shore, pushed there by rings that
emanated from the pond’s eye. The ripples nibbled at the shore, taking mouse-like
bites out of the soil.
As sunlight descended into its vastness, the pond devoured every bit of it.
Bill sensed the monstrous depths hidden beneath its dull sheen.
“You can’t have her!” he said.
Something slapped the tip of his shoe, something that spat droplets over the
bottom of his trousers and soaked his socks. He squatted on his haunches, placed
his hand upon the ground for balance, and angled his head so that he could see
beneath the Jeep. Rank water stained the gravel a deeper gray than the shadows
that lay there. It left an imprint that reached out from under the vehicle with long
damp tendrils.
Bill jerked his hand off the ground. He stared at his palm, frowned, and
wiped off the wetness on his trousers.
It sucked at her feet, then her legs…
“What’s wrong?” Annie demanded from the back as Bill climbed into the
driver’s seat and slammed the door.
“Buckle up!” he said, over his shoulder. His keys jingled. The engine roared
to life. Bill popped the emergency brake and shoved the stick into reverse. He heard
his wife panting great gulps of air. “Hold on, Rach.” Keeping his gaze on the pond,
he pressed down on the accelerator.
The front wheels slipped in the damp soil. Gravel and sand pelted the water.
“Bill!” “Daddy!” His wife and daughter shouted.
The steering wheel refused to turn in his hands. Bill yanked it back and forth
and beat it with his fist, but the jeep wriggled like a fish caught on the end of a
hook. The rear wheels dug a trench into the soft base beneath the gravel lot. There
was a loud thump. The front end of the jeep dipped and it slid another few inches
into the pond.
“What the hell was that?”
Rachel gasped as the log rolled into view. Her hand dropped onto his thigh
and clung there. The wheels had churned the up sludge from the bottom of the
pond. A layer of scum appeared, spreading out to the center of pool where the
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