“I dare you to walk across the ice,” Jorge said, his voice mocking, yet laced with humor. Gesturing with his hand, he indicated the large pond that formed every year in the wide ditch along the side of Mill Creek road. We passed it each day on our way to school and at least once a week during winter, Jorge dared someone to brave its surface.
I turned and eyed its frozen expanse just as a slight breeze sifted through the trees, settling an even deeper chill over this stretch of Northern Arizona forest. The ice didn’t look all that solid, but then again, I wasn’t too big myself. I might be able to make it across, though I wasn’t keen on trying.
I gazed at the other kids in search of support, but they all just stared back in silence.
“The ice might break,” I said.
“Not if you’re careful,” Jorge told me.
I tried my best to change the subject without appearing too cowardly. “We don’t have time. We’ll be late for school.”
Jorge took his self appointed role as class bully quite seriously. Looking back, I guess that was the only way he could feel important. “Chicken,” he proclaimed for the assembled crowd to hear. A few of the other kids snickered, glad they were not the center of his attention.
Having seen this scenario play out before with others, I knew that there was only one way to earn my redemption. I dropped my rucksack on the ground and eased one foot onto the ice.
Nothing.
My other foot followed.
Still nothing.
I was now standing completely on the frozen surface. I looked at Jorge, who only waved his hands at me in annoyance, indicating I should get moving.
Gradually I began crossing the hardened pond. Moving one foot at a time, I inched my way further and further from the safety of shore. Soon I was nearing the center, increasing my hopes of getting out of this mess without taking a very cold swim.
Crack.
I looked down. The ice was fracturing. Dozens of spindly cracks were creeping through the ice, all of them emanating from under my feet. I could feel the surface shaking under my weight. Frigid water began lapping over my shoe. Panic threatened to take me.
Something nudged my foot. I looked down and saw a pale white hand rise from the water and stabilize my ankle. Even through my wet socks, the touch was far colder than the icy water. Below the surface, I saw a pair of crimson eyes glaring back at me. Abandoning all pretense at dignity, I scrambled for the far side of the pond.
“You made it!” came Jorge’s surprised cry.
“Yep,” I agreed, breathless. I looked back at the pond and saw nothing but its frozen surface, marred only by the spot where I almost went under.
“How?” Jorge asked. “How did you do it?” He began creeping onto the ice himself, examining the surface in puzzlement. “You were supposed to…”
With a loud crack and a sudden splash, the ice shattered, something long and white whipping forth to seize Jorge and pull him under in a heart beat. All I saw was that last look of terror in his eyes before he vanished from view.
I glanced across the pond at the other kids, some of whom were staring at the ice in mute shock. “Well that takes care of him,” I told them. Walking back around the pond, I retrieved my rucksack and shouldering it, pointed at the road ahead. “We better get to school.”
The others fell into step behind me. I could hear them muttering about Jorge. Finally one girl called out to me.
“Erika, what about Jorge? Is he gone forever?”
“I guess,” I answered. “Though he has no one to blame but himself. He really should have known that La Llorona only takes boys.”
—
© 2009 Jameson T. Caine
Jameson T. Caine has at one time or another worked as a carpenter, meat cutter, shipping clerk, forklift operator, assembly line worker, long haul truck driver and ordained minister. Currently he drives a tanker truck by day and calls himself a writer by night, the latter fueled by a steady diet of soda and cheese puffs. He has stories appearing in the forthcoming Devil’s Food anthology and issue number five of Sand. He lives in Northern California with his wife and two dogs. Visit him online at http://jamesontcaine.blogspot.com/.
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Tags: Jameson T. Caine
June 14th, 2009 at 11:31 am
Yet another reason I won’t go ice fishing. Well done Mr. Caine.
June 14th, 2009 at 2:33 pm
I found that the “pale white hand rising from the water” and the “crimson eyes glaring” really notched up the creepiness factor. The final line was classic. Great job, Jameson!
June 14th, 2009 at 3:01 pm
There’s something about a bully meeting his demise that always puts a smile on my face. What a nice job you do of illustrating the terror a young person will endure when confronted by the monster of peer pressure. I really like this piece.
June 14th, 2009 at 10:18 pm
Nice twist.
–dj
June 14th, 2009 at 10:59 pm
I really liked this James. Creepy, with a nice twist.
June 15th, 2009 at 8:44 am
I really enjoyed this! Very creepy.
June 16th, 2009 at 10:18 am
I love female leads. very nice Jameson. very nice indeed
June 23rd, 2009 at 3:29 am
Never have I been so happy to be female!
July 2nd, 2009 at 8:58 am
Wonderful little tale! Thoroughly creepy and the end brought a smile to my face.