The Pond
By Michael O’Brien
I’d been working at my desk all morning. I looked
at the sky out of my window; the clouds were dark grey and angry with the
weather getting worse and my list of tasks getting longer and longer. It all
felt oppressive and was starting to make me feel like I was failing. It felt
like the storm was sent for me. It was pushing me down by the neck, just like
my workload, and I realised I needed to get away.
“Natalie? Nat? I’m going to nip out for a walk. I
need to get some fresh air and clear my head.”
“What? Have you seen the weather? Is that
sensible?” said Natalie.
“Yeah, it’s fine, I won’t be long. I just need to
get out of the house for a bit.” I was anxious to get going and get outdoors
for a little while before I would be stuck in for the rest of the day.
“Alright, just be careful. Where are you going?
You’re not going into the woods, are you? The wind is too strong.” My wife
hated me going out in bad weather, she tended to worry that something terrible
would happen but that day she was preoccupied, so didn’t pursue it the
way she usually would.
“No, I’ll go up to Cubbins Green, it’s more open
up there and I’ll be careful. I’ll be back soon.” I kissed my wife on the cheek
and headed out the door. The moment I stepped outside the wind shoved me back
inside. For a split second I thought Natalie might be right, maybe this wasn’t
such a good idea, it actually felt a little spooky.
***
I arrived at Cubbins Green car park fifteen
minutes later. As I pulled in, I noticed mine was the only car there. The trees
were swaying wildly; small branches and leaves flying everywhere. Again, I
hesitated, maybe this was a silly idea. No come on, let’s go, I thought.
I headed onto the gravel path that would allow me
to loop back on myself. That way, I could walk near the cliff top, or down onto
the beach, past the old pond created when the railway line was built and then
back to my car.
I’d been walking for a few minutes when I
realised there was literally no one about. The storm was getting worse, but I
didn’t think it was so bad that there wouldn’t be at least a few people out. A
chill went down my spine and the wind howled and stung my ears and nose.
I got to the cliff top and looked out over the
beach and saw the tide was coming in. There was probably another hour before it
came in fully, but again, there was not a soul to be seen. Not a single person
was walking on the sand, no dogs, not even a seagull. It was really odd. I’d
been coming to Cubbins Green for years but had never been there completely
alone. I walked on, thinking, why is there no-one here until I thought I heard
a voice; it sounded like, “shhhh.”
I turned away from the cliff edge. All of a
sudden, an icy gust of wind hit me, pushing me forward. It felt like a hand on
the back of my neck. Bloody hell, that was close! I regained my balance just in
time, my right foot had started to slip over the edge of the cliff, and I would
have gone over had I not started to turn a second before.
Over the wind I heard a voice. An older woman,
who looked to be in her mid-seventies, was standing directly behind me. She had
lank, grey hair, a long, battered brown coat and cracked, black shoes that
looked like they were completely sodden.
“Excuse me, I wonder if you could help me, I
can’t find my dog,” she said.
“Jesus Christ!” I exclaimed, turning around. “Wow,
I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were behind me, you made me jump,” I said,
offering a half smile, half laugh. In all honesty, the old lady had scared the
shit out of me.
“Your dog? Uh, okay, what does it look like?”
“She’s a white Maltese named Shelby. The wind has
scared her. She ran towards the pond ten minutes ago and hasn’t come back to
me. She’s normally such a good dog,” said the old lady.
“Okay, well, it’s really getting dangerous here
by the cliff top. Maybe we should look further along the green, towards the
pond then if that’s the way she headed?”
“She always tries to go into that pond when I
bring her here…”
“Let’s go then. What’s your name? I’m Michael.”
“Thank you dear. I am lost without her,” she
said. I assumed she didn’t hear me over the wind, but she gave me a strange
look. She looked vacant; it must have been the worry about her dog.
We walked along the green, and I made sure I
stayed away from the cliff edge. I was really struggling with the wind and
thought she would be too, but she didn’t seem to notice.
We reached the pond a couple of minutes later and
I began calling the dog’s name again.
“Can we get closer dear?” said the old lady.
“Um…okay,” I said. The water was black, the trees
and bushes around it, were blowing wildly. I could feel the soil under my feet
at the water’s edge shifting. Being this close to the pond in such weather
didn’t feel right.
“Just a little closer dear,” said the old lady.
“I really don’t think this is safe, I’m right on
the edge of the water and there’s no sign of Shelby here either.”
I started to turn to her but then something like
that ice-cold hand pushed me on the back of my neck. I stumbled down towards
the black water of the pond, panicking. I managed to grab a branch with my left
hand and, with my right hand, a thinner branch overhanging the pond. The
momentum took me swinging into the water and, before I knew it, I was waist
deep. The cold water was like a punch. I gasped and scrambled up the bank. I
dug my hands into the black sludge but it oozed through my fingers. I must have
grabbed a root because the next moment I was hauling my half-soaked body out of
the pond. I pulled until I was well clear of the water, rolled onto my back and
looked up and around me. The old lady was gone.
***
A week later I was sitting at my desk. Work had
continued in the same vein as the week before, pushing me down. It didn’t help
that I was still confused and a little jumpy about what had happened at Cubbins
Green. The old lady had simply vanished and when I got home, soaked and covered
in black mud, Natalie had gone from shocked, to panicked about the fact I’d
made the ‘sensible’ decision to go for a walk in a storm and had fallen into a
dangerous pond. She hadn’t said much about the old lady. I didn’t think she
really knew what to make of it.
“Michael? I need to show you something,”
Natalie’s voice startled me. “I found this in the library this morning. They
had a local history display. It’s an article here in the Wirral Globe from 30th
July 1974.”
“That’s, what? Fifty years ago? Yes, fifty years
ago last week, wow! What’s it about?” I asked.
“It says, police have found the body of Wirral
resident, Dorothy Walters. Mrs Walters and her dog, Shelby, were found at the
bottom of a pond at Cubbins Green, West Kirby on Tuesday 23rd July. Police
theorise Mrs Walters dog may have got into difficulty in the water and Mrs
Walters has tragically drowned trying to save her pet. Oddly, Mrs Walters neck
was broken, but the police, rather than suspecting foul play, believe she may
have been struck by a falling tree branch given last week’s storm.”
“Natalie, last week, when I fell in the pond. It
was the 23rd of July, do you think…” my voice trailed off and my
heart sank into my chest.
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