The Pond Eats Those Who Dig / Chapter 5: The Threshold Is Crossed
The Pond Eats Those Who Dig

The Pond Eats Those Who Dig

Author: Michael Branch

Chapter 5: The Threshold Is Crossed

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That afternoon, after Grandpa and Grandma went out to work, I snuck over to the pond.

I waited until the coast was clear, then slipped out the back door, heart pounding. The sky was bruised with storm clouds, and the wind whipped my hair into my eyes.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the air smelled like rain. The pond looked darker than ever, the surface choppy and restless.

When I got to the pond, I saw Carter using an excavator and a big pump to dig it out.

The machines were loud, churning up mud and water. Carter barked orders at a couple of workers, his suit jacket tossed over the hood of his car. He looked nervous, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds.

How did he get all that equipment in just one afternoon?

I stared at the excavator, wondering how it hadn’t sunk into the mud. The ground around the pond was always soft, but somehow, the machines kept moving.

I walked closer and watched as Carter pumped water from the pond. Every time he moved forward, the bell rang. Even in broad daylight, Carter jumped in fright.

The sound was sharp, cutting through the noise of the machinery. Carter flinched every time, his face pale.

“Must’ve bumped something. Isn’t this supposed to be a silent bell?”

He muttered to himself, glancing around like he expected someone to answer.

I ran over, frowning. “Grandpa said if the bell rings, you have to leave.”

I yelled over the noise, waving my arms. Carter scowled, waving me off.

Carter rolled his eyes. “The bell isn’t ringing. Stop trying to scare me.”

He turned his back on me, climbing into the cab. I could see his hands shaking on the controls.

I said, “If you don’t listen to Grandpa, something’s bound to happen.”

I stomped my foot, but Carter just ignored me, eyes fixed on the muddy water.

“Go on, scram. What do you know, kid?”

He glared at me, voice sharp. I backed away, but I couldn’t leave.

He got back in the cab. I heard the bell ring again and shouted, “The bell—”

My voice cracked, but Carter just slammed the door, pretending not to hear.

“It’s fine. The bell’s fine.”

He muttered it like a prayer, refusing to look at me. The machines roared louder, drowning out my warnings.

A wave of swampy stench hit me so hard my eyes watered. I saw the floodlights flicker wildly, but Carter seemed oblivious.

The smell was thick and rotten, like something long dead. The lights buzzed and popped, shadows writhing across the mud. My stomach twisted, and I had to cover my nose.

He kept pumping and digging deeper. I ran home in a panic, and the pond owner started following right behind me.

I stumbled over roots and rocks, glancing back to see the pond owner limping after me, his eyes glowing green in the half-light.

His voice was hoarse as he called my name. “Mason, Mason, come here.”

It sounded like gravel scraping glass. I froze for a second, then bolted for home, legs pumping as fast as they could go.

I didn’t dare stop. His green eyes were terrifying. When I got home, I shouted for Grandpa and Grandma, but no one answered—I remembered they’d gone to work.

The house was empty, the silence pressing in. My voice echoed through the rooms, but there was no answer.

The pond owner blocked the door, so I couldn’t leave.

He stood on the porch, filling the doorway. I could see the mud on his boots, the bandages on his arms. He smiled, lips stretched too wide.

But after a moment, it seemed like he couldn’t come in either. He just reached toward me, his feet stuck outside the threshold.

He clawed at the air, fingers curling like hooks. His boots scraped against the step, but something held him back.

No matter how hard he kicked at it, he couldn’t cross, and I finally let out a sigh of relief.

I pressed my back to the wall, heart racing. For a second, I thought I was safe—like the house itself was protecting me.

Grandpa once said the dead can’t cross a threshold. Maybe the pond owner wasn’t human anymore.

I remembered the stories Grandpa told, about spirits and old promises. My skin prickled, and I realized the truth was worse than any bedtime tale.

But just as I relaxed, the pond owner grinned. “Kid, why won’t you listen?”

His voice was soft, almost gentle. He leaned in, eyes shining, and I felt a chill crawl up my spine.

And with that, he stepped right over the threshold and came inside…

The air went cold, and the room seemed to shrink. I backed away, but there was nowhere left to run. The pond owner’s shadow stretched across the floor, swallowing up the light. My heart hammered so loud I thought it might burst. I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing for Grandpa, wishing for anyone, but all I could hear was the creak of the floorboards as the pond owner moved closer.

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