Life at the Pond

Huge footsteps in the snow, the tracks led nowhere from the pond. Curious, Cyndy brought a plate of food with her and left it at the base of the pond, fork sticking straight out of the mashed potatoes. She waited nearby, but no one came, so she returned to her cottage.

The plate was clean the next day, the fork turned onto its tines. So the giant has manners, Cyndy thought. The villagers at the base of the mountain had no couth, yet this person knew the proper etiquette. Interesting.

Cyndy returned to her hut and cleaned the dishes. She didn’t trust a stranger she’d never seen to properly sanitize the thing. Something tickled her throat as she cleaned, but it dissipated quickly.

Cyndy brought plates to the pond for weeks and they were returned clean the following day. Finally, she tried to stake out the person, but the cold forced her home early. She coughed into her fire.

She awoke the morning after the stake out to her cottage swimming and bobbing to her eyes, she could barely move. Oh lovely, a fever. Her stomach rebelled against her, tightening into a ball of nausea and pain.

Thuds sounded on the front stoop, shaking the cottage and throwing a vase from the mantelpiece. Great. What next?

The door knob rattled and vibrated, then gave. A cracking sounded and the knob turned fully. She’d have to have that fixed. A massive, hairy man wearing a light sweater, jeans, and a beanie appeared in the frame. He removed his hat and held it in front of himself.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry about the door ma’am,” he said. “I sensed pain in here and came to investigate.”

Cyndy rolled over so she could see the hairy man more clearly; he was barefoot.

“Go clean your feet in the snow,” she said. “And wipe them on the mat before you enter.” She clutched her stomach. Hopefully, the man wouldn’t come in and wreck the place—or her. The pain in her stomach prevented her from doing anything to stop him anyway. Cyndy tempered the fear with a pinch of hope.

“Ah. Of course.” The man rumbled back down the steps, scrubbed his feet, and launched himself onto the stoop. He stopped to scrape his soles on the bristled mat.

The man scooped Cyndy off the carpet and carried her to her bed; his beard scratched the tip of her nose. She fell asleep as soon as he tucked her in and she dreamt of swimming in the pond during summer.

She slept for two days.

On the third day, she awoke to the smell of something absolutely wretched. The world didn’t seem to be dancing or bobbing anymore, so there was that. Her stomach still hurt, though.

The bearded man came into the room stirring a cup of something. The concoction smelled like an unwashed ferret rolled in spoiled pig fat.

“Oh, don’t make that face,” the bearded man said. “This is the best thing for you, trust me.”

“What is it?”

“Something to keep Death from you,” he said.

“Does it come in strudel?”

“I’m afraid not. I’m not that kind of magician. Now, drink up, please. A kindness for your food.” A magician. She took the cup, it warmed her fingers. She took a sip and almost tossed the cup out the window.

“This is—not to my taste,” she said. The man laughed.

“No, I don’t suppose so. Even I have trouble choking down that particular brew. But you must drink it. It really is for the best.”

Her arms froze on the way up. “What happens to me if I don’t drink this?”

“Death.”

Cyndy held her nose and tried to gulp down the cup. It tasted exactly like it smelled. She couldn’t hold it all in.

“Blech,” she said. “What happens now?”

The man’s face fell. “Well, you either live or you die. That brew only has about a 74 percent chance to work if you drink the whole thing and you just ejected half of it, by my guess.”

“Oh. Great. Can you brew another one?”

The man shook his head and asked if he could put a palm on her forehead. She had no reason to say no.

“Hm,” he said. “I think we’ll know soon. Try to rest.” And she did.

He returned an hour later, holding a coin in one hand. He felt her forehead. Tears welled in his eyes and fell on the coin.

“You were kind to me, fed me in the cold,” he said. “So speak your wish into this coin, that I may fulfill it for you.”

“Bring me to the pond and leave me. I came here to live alone, forgotten. I wish to die that way. You may use my cottage when I’m gone.”

He pressed the coin to her hand. “A wish granted in life, then. Good. Please give this to Death. She’ll know what to do with it.”

When she’d fallen asleep, the man carried her to the pond where Death took her. He used the cottage until Death came to him.

Death gave him the coin and he was young again. He forgot Cyndy after his third lifetime on the mountain.