The grass is green, but moss is greener

“Come on sport, don’t trail behind!” I shout to my youngest son Damian, 7 going on 17. He looks up at me, his small hands gripping a sword half his size, and smiles that mischievous way he always does when he’s up to no good. I look around me for some form of defence as he runs toward me, and raise my own sword as his swings wildly towards my ribs. I respond with my own swipe at his legs, but the nimble squirt skips over the blow. He slashes, and the blade rips straight through my stomach. I fall to the ground letting out a painful shriek. He stands his foot on my chest, lifting his sword high into the air, and laughs the laugh of glory.

“Our hero, you’ve slain the beast!”

My wife shouts to us, looking back and laughing at my defeat. He looks down at me and, continuing to laugh as he throws the stick into the trees, runs to join his brother further down the trail. I use my own to stand, and walk to my waiting wife.

“That looked painful, have to get you sewn up at camp.”

“Nothing but a scratch, though I think I left my liver back there on the floor.”

She laughs, the most beautiful laugh in the world. She hooks my arm and pulls me along in the direction of our sons.

The sky above us is cloudless, a pale blue in the early afternoon. It’s just past lunch and I can still taste the burgers on my lips. The perfect day for a barbecue she had said earlier that morning. She likes to drop me subtle hints like this, mentioning something in passing but actually saying yeah this would be nice, so you should do it. I had seen that the little shop at camp was selling disposables and pointed it out. I wish I hadn’t though. It’d completely slipped my mind how temperamental they could be. Almost a half hour of trying to light the thing before it took. But it served its purpose, and damn if I’m not a great cook.

It was my idea to come out here. Gwen wasn’t the camping type usually, but I’d managed to convince her that we could use a break from the ordinary drawl of our working lives, and the boys would love the adventure. She would’ve preferred a trip abroad; cocktails by the beach and lounging at the hotel pool like we used to. Instead she settled for a summer of midgey bites and blow up mattresses – a small price to pay for the promise of a winter break in Milan. So here we are, day five of twelve at Llyn Gywnant. It’s going well, and I can see her relaxing more and more into the scenic campground.

The lake, a mere stone’s throw from our tent, looked beautiful during the day. By night, it reflected the stars with artistic elegance. It’s still surface that barely lapped against the shore seemed inviting, but the cold snatch of its steely water always took a while to get used to. Others on the campground were renting the small boats available to paddle out for a few hours in the height of the summer heat. It was the selling point of the whole site, second to the mountainous backdrop of the Snowdonian peaks. Yet despite its undeniable beauty, Damian refused to go near it. Even more than refusing, he had tried on several occasions to stop us from going near it as well. It had come as a surprise to both of us, given Damien’s love for swimming. Still, I have hope he’ll come around to it soon enough.

The path we were walking down had started from the site, crossing a small bridge over the stream that ran into the lake, then followed along the edge of the lake and dipping further into the woods beside the cliff. It was obviously a well trodden path, though the maintenance needed some serious attention. Roots, rocks, dry ditches, and sometimes nettles dotted along it, and the boys loved jumping from rock to boulder in a desperate attempt to keep out of the lava below. Gwen and I just enjoyed the fact they had found a way to entertain themselves, though she was more worried than I with their reckless jumping to and fro. Now our path has opened up into a short clearing from the woods, and not too far away, through the trees at the end of the clearing, I can see a small farmhouse.

“Slow down boys!” I shout, “Stay close to us while we go past that farm.” Of course they just laugh, but as we move closer and enter the small wood again, it seems the farmhouse is abandoned. It stands two stories tall, with a rustic half rotted mill wheel on one side. The walls, thick granite looking rocks, seem to be stable enough to keep itself from falling down. I’m no expert in rocks though, nor houses. For all I know this place is about to collapse. I open my mouth to call the boys back before they run off through its gloomy doorway, a gaping hole of complete uncertainty, when I see the sign outside.

“Danger, do not enter, danger of death. Lovely. That’s not gonna stop our boys.” Gwen roles her eyes as if she’s reading my mind. She hurries off before I can, steering Damian and Jack back towards me, suddenly complaining about tired legs and promising ice-creams. I shrug, it was a better idea than I had. I doubt they would’ve accepted no you can’t go in there, because I said so that’s why.

With that we turn back the way we came, walking back through the crisp meadow of the clearing. I don’t remember this many flowers before. Or that there were two paths to choose from in the trees now ahead of us. Follow your gut, that’s what my dad always used to say. The one on the right then, that seems logical, sticking close to the side of the lake we’ve followed the entire way here. Now entering these trees again, the path seems both familiar and completely new. Then again, things always seem like that when you go back on yourself for the first time right?

“Dad, I don’t like this,” Damian says, coming close to me and grabbing my hand, “we should go the other way.”

“Don’t be silly kiddo, we’re heading back to camp. Come on, trust in your old man yeah?” I laugh, pulling him along while Jack and Gwen follow behind us, hands interlocked. The path is smooth going, sloping downwards towards the waterfront. I don’t know how I mixed up all these luscious flowers for nettles before. It seems hotter, the sun beaming down on our heads just a little harsher than before. Further down the trail I see the lake, and a shallow pool hiding beneath the overhang of a massive boulder, a boulder easily twice the size of the farm house behind us.

“Perfect!” Cries Gwen, “Shade, a pool, an amazing view. Come on boys, how about a dip and a quick break before heading back to camp?” I couldn’t have come up with a better idea if I’d tried. But the look on Damien’s face as we drew closer to the pool puzzles me. He looked almost terrified for a second, but then it was gone. I’m the first to take off my bag, shirt and shorts, and stride into the cooling water. Gwen is right behind me, splashing water up my back as she kicks towards me laughing. Jack comes barrelling toward us, screaming and laughing as he soaks us both. As I look up, Damian’s face is filled with horror, screaming at the top of his lungs. I can’t make out the words. Everything goes black.

***

“Dad, I don’t like this,” I say, reaching up and taking his hand in mine, “we should go the other way.” This isn’t the path we’d come down, and the overgrown nettles keep pricking at my bare legs.

“Don’t be silly kiddo, we’re heading back to camp. Come on, trust in your old man yeah?”

He’s laughing, but there’s no feeling behind it; looking right at me with eyes I’ve never seen before. Staring both into my soul and through me as though I’m not even here. Without stopping, he turns and carries on walking into the woods, stepping over a fallen tree and past a rabbit I think is sleeping. “That rabbit really needs a wash! It stinks! Look, it’s even got flies around it like poo in cartoons!” I shout, looking round to Jack to watch him laugh. Like dad, he stares through me, and we all carry on walking in silence. The only sounds are our feet crunching through the dead leaves that litter the floor, the snapping of twigs hiding beneath them, and the humming of a singular bird fluttering from branch to branch directly above us. What’s going on? They’ve never acted like this before.

As I follow dad’s gaze, I see where he’s leading us. The lake is straight ahead and a little off to the right. At the end of the path we’re on is a pool under a rock. As we get closer, I look down at the dry cracking soil, no longer covered by dead leaves. And the smell? Ten times worse than that stinky sleeping rabbit. I almost gag, and dad finally lets go of my hand. He keeps walking like he doesn’t realise I’m not next to him anymore. Mum and Jackie walk into me, bumping me to the side without caring that they’d pushed me off the path.

“Hey watch where you’re going!” They don’t even flinch as I shout. They’re following dad, hand in hand, not even murmuring. I start to cry, tears welling in my eyes. I wipe them away with the back of my hand and start to run after them.

“Stop. P-p-please. You’re scaring me!” Dad stops. He turns, but not to me. He waits for mum and Jack to stand next to him, and he takes Jack’s hand. They’re standing there, right at the edge of the pool, not moving, just staring straight ahead.

I can see it better now. The water, so still it reflects the rock and the moss hanging over it like a mirror. It’s dark too, like the sludgey mud I jump in back home when its been raining. At the edges its all bubbly, but not like the baths mum makes me. They’re black bubbles, that grow and pop every few seconds. All around, the dry soil cracks and smoke comes trailing out filling the air around us with that awful smell. It stings my eyes and all the crying in the world cant stop them from burning. I open my mouth to scream, but the smell hits my throat like a bomb. It tastes like sick. No, that’s me. I run to the edge of the path, hunching over next to a rotting tree and throwing up the burgers we’d had for lunch.

“Let’s go for a swim,” mum says with the same voice she uses when reading me my bedtime stories, “it looks so nice.” Her voice trails off. Perfectly in sync, they all take a step towards the pool and into the water. Another step, then another.

“Stop it, come b-back!” I’m screaming, sick and tears on the back of my hands. I run towards them, but they’re already knee deep in the swamp.

“Dad! Mum! What are you doing!?” They don’t stop. They keep walking, ignoring every plea I make , until they’re waist deep in the filthy water.

“Get out of there! Please! Mummy I’m so scared p-please come b-b-back!” Now they stop. They turn. Blank faces and dead eyes all trained on me. They cant see me though. Their eyes are all black. I fall to my knees, staring in horror and disbelief at my family standing there in that pool of death.

“Please!” Through my tears I can just make out dad’s eyes. They’re no longer black. None of their eyes are. Dad reaches his arm out to me, and opens his mouth…

Green hands shoot out of the water, grabbing each of them by the shoulders and pulling them under. In a second, my family are gone. I’m screaming, not even words, just screaming. The noise echoes through the trees, answered by the humming of the bird that followed us here. It’s perched on one of the rotting trees by the lake, watching me. As I sit here, writhing in fear, it turns and flies away. Not even that stupid bird will help me! But maybe it has the right idea, to run, to get away, to find help! I struggle to my feet, scraping my palm on a sharp rock coming out of one of the cracks in the soil. I take one last look at the spot where my family were stolen from me, and turn to run down the path. The path. Where’s the stupid path? It was right here. But it isn’t here anymore. I fall to my knees, screaming out once more. In front of me is a huge boulder, that reaches around back to the pool, and on the other side shoots down to the lake. Somehow I’ve become trapped in this place, an inescapable prison where I’m all alone.

From behind me, the sound of water splashing brings me back to whatever it was that stole my family into the depths. I don’t want to turn around, but I know, I can feel it in my bones, that if I don’t, I’ll never make it out of here. The splashing has been reduced to dripping, like when I forget to turn the tap off and mum and dad get annoyed at me. No, stop thinking about them, they’re gone. So is Jack. It’s just me and whatever is in that pool. Shakily I get to my feet, my fingers tingling from fear. Face your fears sport, you can’t be afraid forever. My dad’s voice echoes through my head. I clench my fists, ready to fight if I have to, and turn.

Hovering over the pool are three, things? They’re taller than dad, with skin the colour of moss. Hanging from parts of their tight leathery skin are strands of moss, twigs, and mud. The mud slips, dropping into the water with a sickening slop. Each of them has four long slender arms, the bones seeming ready to split through their skin, and hands with only three fingers. Their claws seem bigger than my own hand; a brilliant black with specs of mud and, flesh? And their heads, tiny compared to the rest of them, with thick beady black eyes. Eyes that my family had when they walked into the water. They open their mouths in unison, revealing a smile I’ll never forget. Layers upon layers, rows upon rows, of ivory white teeth stained red with blood. “Let’s go for a swim, it looks so nice.” They say, with mum’s voice. I open my mouth to scream and…

***

From my vantage point, I saw it all unfold. Every smile and laugh of joy, every glimpse of hope, every second of despair. But I knew from the offset that they were doomed. I’ve seen it all before, and they like the families. They like to play with them, leave one till last. I’d followed them all day, flying above in the hope that they wouldn’t be next. I witnessed it all go wrong, watched the others slip through the trees to mark their victims for death. I followed them down the path, knowing what was to come, but unable to change the outcome. It was always the same. The young boy, he’d seen me, saw me leave him there alone. There’s only so many times you can watch before it breaks you, or you become their next meal.