Under Thin Ice

A monster lives in Lögnberg Pond.

Whilst there is heated debate on the specifics - how many eyes, the number of toddlers devoured, and whether its claws are sharp as a wolf or a bear - the one thing every child in Lögnberg agrees on is that there is definitely a monster in the pond.

The parents of Lögnberg use this fact to their advantage.

“Do that again, and the monster will break through the ice and snatch you!”

“Mind your manners, or I’ll feed you to the monster!”

Or, most terrifying of all,

“If you don’t stop that at once, I’ll leave you out on the ice at night!”

The pond ice in question is littered with fishing holes, and the surface mottled with sled tracks from daily journeys across it. However, these holes are neat and no larger than a foot in width, and the many tracks criss-cross the surface widely to avoid making deep grooves.

The few visitors that make their way to Lögnberg, those hardy souls willing to brave the bitter year-round chill, are rewarded with a warm, fireside welcome and a hearty helping of fish stew. They are also offered a tired mattress in the spot closest to the fire, as no Lögnbergian would dream of forcing a guest to walk across the ice at night. As they drift off, the exhausted yet contented guest will fall asleep to the excited whispers of children retelling horror stories of the monster which dwells under the ice.

The first crack happened shortly after 10am.

It was followed by a moment of complete silence, as if the pond itself was shocked and slightly embarrassed at the noise that had just erupted from its depths, shattering the peace of an otherwise unremarkable morning. This silence did not last long, but preceded the more harrowing, ear-splitting scream of a young child in fear for their life.

At 10am precisely, Johan panted as he scrambled down the snowy bank. His efforts were hampered by oversized hand-me-downs which hung goofily over his tiny frame, and a sled dragged stubbornly behind him. He paused often to yank impatiently at the fishing gear tied to the sled, which somehow managed to catch on every tree root. This was not the first time Johan had made this journey to the pond, but he was determined this time that he would not return empty-handed. At seven years old, he was probably the oldest boy in Lögnberg to have never caught a fish, as his older brothers so often reminded him. Having formed his resolve to remain on the pond as long as it took, he had collected his father’s fishing gear early that morning, while his brothers’ mocking laughter still rang in his ears.

Setting down the kit past the bank of the pond, he inspected the perfectly circular hole in the ice at his feet. Although he had never fished this hole before, he had seen his father drill it and catch three fish in one day. Looking through the array of tools on his overburdened sled, Johan picked the largest ice augur he could find. If he was going to catch a bigger fish than any of his brothers, this hole needed to be at least two inches wider. Summoning all of his strength, Johan positioned the augur over the hole, and turned the shaft.

At that moment, a crack like a gunshot pierced over Lögnberg pond. Johan froze, his hands still straining to hold the augur in place. Then, as the full realisation of what was about to come out of the pond hit him, he dropped everything and screamed.

Most of the residents of Lögnberg heard the crack. It was completely unlike the wheezing creak of a tree being felled, or the thunk of an axe. Even more residents heard the scream that followed.

First to arrive on scene was Johan’s father, Ossian.

“Johan! Are you alright?” Ossian sprinted to the tiny figure, huddled up on the ice. Johan was rocking back and forth, sobbing. The ice around him was stained yellow.

“Johan? What happened?” His father shook him.

“The monster.” Johan’s whisper was almost unintelligible over his sobs.

“What do you mean, Johan?”

“The monster.” Johan’s voice was still barely audible. “I let it out.” He buried his face into his father’s jacket, not caring about wanting to look older than his seven years.

At that moment a second, even louder crack split the air.

“I call this emergency meeting of the Lögnberg council to order.”

The chairman stood grimly at the edge of a circle of people seated in the snow. Other residents of Lögnberg clustered around the periphery. Parents held back children attempting to run closer, even as they themselves surreptitiously edged forward.

“Ossian, tell us what you know.”

Johan’s father stood. Johan, still refusing to leave his father’s side, clutched at his leg and stared wide-eyed at the circle. Ossian shakily removed his hat, raked a hand through his messy curls, then donned it again.

“Not much to tell. I heard the sound, and the boy screaming, so I ran down to the pond thinking that something must have got him. I tried to calm him, then the sound happened again. Then you all turned up.”

Ossian, clearly having decided that his part was done, sat abruptly. The chairman narrowed his eyes.

“And the sound, Ossian. What was the sound?”

Ossian fidgeted, undecided as to whether he should stand again or not. In the end he settled for an awkward crouch.

“Johan reckons it was the ice.”

“Nonsense!” rose a voice from across the circle. All heads swivelled to its source. Ludvig, the eldest resident, stood, leaning on a gnarled stick and pointing an even more gnarled finger at Ossian. “Ice don’t make that noise. Ice don’t make any noise.”

“Does when sheets of it snap off the roofs.” Ossian threw back defensively.

“Ay, thin ice.” Ludvig threw back. “Not pond ice. Pond ice don’t crack, boy.” Ossian, whose 6 foot frame towered over Ludvig, bristled at the indignity of anyone calling him ‘boy’, but remained silent.

“Probably a gunshot. That kid of yours is just causing trouble.”

“Sit down, you old fool!” Heads swivelled again to the woman next to Ludvig. Karin did not speak loudly, but her voice was heard by all present, and the look in her eye caused even Ludvig, grumbling quietly, to sink back to the ground.

“The child is right. Wasn’t no gunshot that made that noise. That was the ice cracking, just like it did thirty years back when I was a girl, and it’s about time we listened to it.” Karin walked forwards slowly, all eyes on her. “We’ve been careless again. Cutting too many holes, taking too many fish, making too many journeys across the ice. It can’t take it.”

“Nonsense!” Ludvig repeated. Never cowed for long, he rose to his feet with surprising alacrity. “Pond ice don’t crack!” He elbowed through the crowd, jabbing at those too slow to scarper from his path.

“Ludvig.” The chairman’s voice was a warning that Ludvig pretended not to hear. He reached the edge of the pond and shuffled onto the ice.

Johan whimpered and buried his face again in his father’s jacket, as Ludvig repeatedly brought his stick down like an axe on the ice around him. “See! This ice don’t crack!”

“Ludvig, back to the shore!” The chairman’s voice was firmer this time, and Ludvig, smirking, leaned again on his stick and started back to the circle.

At that moment, the third crack sent residents scrambling from the pond edge. Ludvig sat down with a thump on the ice, and Johan’s whimpers turned to a cry.

“Everyone, away from the ice!” The chairman bellowed, but no-one needed to be told. Ludvig’s son ran to the edge and helped him, trembling, back to the circle.

When everyone was seated again, and the rumbling had dissipated, the chairman continued.

“We don’t need more demonstrations. The ice has cracked again. This meeting is to decide what to do about it.”

“What do you mean what to do?” Another speaker rose. “There’s nothing we can do. Can’t stop fishing. Can’t stop going across the ice. That’s our livelihood.”

“You would say that, wouldn’t you, Valdemar?” Karin glared at the young man. “Your careless fishing makes more holes than the rest of us combined!”

“And I catch more fish than the rest of you combined!” Valdemar retorted. “How do you expect to get by if we stop going on the ice?”

“How do you expect to get by if there’s no ice at all? It’s the only way out of the village.” Karin shot back. “That ice hasn’t cracked in thirty years, and now we’ve heard three today! How long do you think we can keep going?”

The chairman silenced them wearily. “No-one is suggesting that we stop fishing or going across the ice.” He paused. “We just need a strategy to slow down for a bit, give the ice time to build up again.”

The surrounding villagers were silent for some time. Then a voice piped up.

“We could take turns fishing.”

Others started to join in.

“We could only drill new holes far out on the pond.”

“We could put a weight limit on the sleds.”

As the suggestions flowed, the villagers looked less sceptical and more enthusiastic, each throwing in their own ideas.

Ossian remained silent, and buried his head in his hands as the conversation flowed around him. He had heard all of these suggestions thirty years ago when he was Johan’s age.

The discussions continued for hours, late into the night. Every resident stayed, until finally the chairman called a halt.

“We’re agreed then. For the next three months, we continue as normal, being careful not to put too much weight on the ice. This is our best fishing season, and we won’t make enough money to last through without it. After that, only ten sleds are allowed to cross the pond every day. Anyone can bid to be one of these ten, or to have their fish carried over. We’ll appoint some strong youngsters to go on the ice and find new spots to drill holes where the ice is thickest. Agreed?” A general, tired murmur of assent followed.

“The children are tired, and we’re all hungry. Let’s go back and get some sleep.”

The crowd dispersed. Ossian, who had crouched silently for the entire proceedings, rose to his feet.

“Johan?” He looked around, uneasily, until he caught sight of a small shape at the edge of the ice. As his father approached, Johan hovered his hand above the frozen surface, as if scared to touch it. He looked up at his father with the same wide-eyed expression as earlier.

“They’re not going to do anything?”

Ossian crouched down next to his son and took his tiny hand in his own large, calloused one.

“Course they are, son. They’re going to change the fishing, the ice’ll come back, and we’ll hear no sound from it again.”

Johan looked out across the pond.

“What about the monster? If we wait too long, the monster’ll come out and then even if the ice grows back, it’ll be too late. Or what if it’s already got out?”

“Listen to me.” Ossian picked up his son and set him on his hip so he could look him in the eyes. “There’s no monster in the pond. That’s just a story we told you so you wouldn’t go wandering. You understand?”

Johan paused, considered this information, and nodded.

“Let’s get you home now before your mama scolds us both.”

Johan nodded once more but said nothing.

Lying awake that night, he overheard his older brothers’ stories with growing unease. He tried to drift off, but the fear in his father’s eyes as he looked out across the ice haunted his sleep.