The Frog Pond
By Russell Fee
The frog pond had been an instant success upon its addition as an attraction to the Children’s Garden at the local arboretum. It drew in dozens, and then hundreds, more kids per week to the park. Despite the sign heralding the opening of the Frog Pond, “frog pond” was a misnomer, since it was two ponds. Their construction had been simple but carefully thought out. One was slightly higher than the other. Water flowed via a short waterfall between them. A railed wooden bridge spanned the fall. Rough flat rocks formed irregular paths around and through their shallow waters.
Each day in the summer and on weekends in the spring, squeals of delight and the occasional scream of a toppled toddler could be heard coming from the pond. Kids scrambled about and scooped up the seemingly thousands of tadpoles, letting them wiggle over and through the fingers of their cupped hands. Around the ponds, the mothers and nannies of the younger children sat on benches, strollers parked helter-skelter, as they scrolled or talked on their cell phones. The older kids played in unsupervised groups while their parents hiked the winding paths of the arboretum. Shaded below long-branched trees and surrounded by lush flowering bushes, the pond had the feeling of a secluded woodland hideaway. Idyllic and beloved, it was the place to be until . . .
Samuel was the first one in his gang of three to notice that something was amiss. “Where are all the frogs?” he said.
“Whadaya mean?” asked Aubrey, not bothering to stop chewing her bubblegum.
“There are no frogs,” answered Samuel.
“So?” said Nathan.
“So, shouldn’t there be frogs? Tadpoles turn into frogs, but all we ever see is tadpoles. No frogs.”
Nathan and Aubrey glanced at each other and then bent down to search the water at their feet.
“Maybe someone from the park goes and scoops them up at night and takes them somewhere else,” said Nathan.
“Why would they go and do that?” said Aubrey.
“Yeah,” said Samuel. “That’s crazy. This is a frog pond. That’s where the frogs should be.”
“Some of the little kids might be afraid of frogs, so someone comes and takes them away to someplace else,” answered Nathan, defending his guess.
“They could be hiding in the bushes around the pond,” said Aubrey, coming up with what she thought was a better possibility. “That’s why we haven’t seen them.”
“They must be hiding pretty good, because we never see one, and we never hear any croaking,” said Samuel.
“Then why do you think there are no frogs here?” said Nathan.
“Maybe they only come out at night when no one’s at the park,” said Samuel.
“Yeah,” said Aubrey. “Why would they want to be around all us kids anyway? Just look.” She swept her arm in front of her.
Although signs were posted around the pond instructing visitors to stay on the stone paths and not wade in the water, kids stomped between paths sending tadpoles tumbling skyward in the splashes and scurrying under the water in a hundred different directions to avoid being crushed under bare feet and squeezed between toes.
“Well, we could come back at night when the park is closed and see if you’re right about the frogs coming out then,” said Nathan to Samuel.
“I’d have to sneak out of my house,” said Aubrey. “My parents won’t let me out at night alone.”
“Mine neither,” said Samuel.
“Ditto,” said Nathan, shaking his head.
“So, what do we do?” asked Aubrey.
“We think of a plan,” said Nathan.
Aubrey and Samuel high-fived each other.
*
As sometimes occurs, plans form spontaneously without help and precisely at the right moment. That’s what happened to Samuel, Aubrey, and Nathan. Just as the three of them had given up on finding a way out of their homes at night without their parents knowing, their parents scheduled an evening dinner out together at a local restaurant and jointly decided to let the three of them babysit each other at Samuel’s house. So, there was their plan handed to them on a silver platter—a phrase Aubrey’s parents were fond of saying now and again.
The evening of their parent’s get-together, Samuel, Aubrey, and Nathan gathered at the door to Samuel’s house and waved goodbye to them. Then they each pocketed a flashlight and, after waiting to make sure Samuel’s parents, forgetting something, didn’t return, they left the house and headed for the park.
A high fence surrounded the Children’s Garden, and the gate to the entrance was closed and locked. The only way in was to climb the entrance gate, which was lower than the fence. It took some doing as it was composed of coiled metal bars crowned by sculpted metal leaves with sharp points. Aubrey got hung up on the gate when, going over the top, her shirt snagged on one of the leaves; she had to stand on Nathan’s shoulders to unhook her shirt and climb down to the ground. When they were all inside, they headed for the pond.
The loud crunch of gravel under their feet on the deserted trail made them sound like a pack of stampeding elephants, and they were certain they would scare away any frogs before they got to the pond. At the trail’s end, they stood at the edge of the pond and gazed down at the water. The light from a gibbous moon shone through the branches of the trees and over the flat surface, giving the pond the look of a dull cracked and broken mirror. All was silent, and nothing moved in the still night air.
“This gives me the creeps,” said Samuel. “I don’t see any frogs. I think we spooked them. Let’s go home.”
“What? We haven’t looked yet. They may be asleep in the bushes. We should search there first,” said Nathan.
Aubrey swept her flashlight quickly over the bushes on the other side of the pond and then said, “Okay, we searched. I didn’t see anything. Let’s go home. I’m with Samuel.”
“Wait,” said Nathan. “I think I saw something. Look.” He slowly moved the beam of his flashlight along the edge of the bushes. Tiny flashes of green and yellow and red appeared between the leaves. “There, you see that?”
“Maybe,” said Samuel.
Nathan grabbed Samuel by the shirt. “Come on. Let’s take closer look,” he said, pulling Samuel after him. Aubrey, not wanting to be left alone, followed.
As they approached the bushes, a faint clicking sound, almost like the chirping of birds surrounded them. They stopped to listen, and as they did, the sound grew deeper and coarser and louder, until it echoed around them like the reverberations from the booming beat of bass drums. They held their hands over their ears, but it didn’t stop them from recognizing the sound. It was croaking, thundering and monstrous. In front of them, a thousand pairs of red, green, and yellow eyes blinked from squat green bodies that marched en mass toward them from the bushes. Before the kids could run, long viscous shooting tongues stuck fast to their arms and legs.
No one heard their screams and cries for help as the frogs tossed and spun and dragged them through the water.
Russ Fee is the author of the multi-award-winning Sheriff Matt Callahan mystery series. His short fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in such journals as Star 82 Review, Bright Flash Literary Review, Witcraft, Literally Stories, Spank the Carp, Short Circuit, and Hemingway Shorts.
Russ and his wife are dual citizens of the United States and Ireland. They currently live in the upper Midwest, which they love.
To learn more about Russ and his work, visit his website at outerislandpress.com.
