“Ducks have slimy green excrement,” Jerroll said as his rubber boots crunched hardened soil, dried pine needles, and tiny pebbles.
“I don’t see anything. There are usually so many ducks.” I looked across the expanse of land. We were walking on a lake bed. Big Bear Lake had shriveled. The water level was so low that only a ten foot length of the lake remained. Docked boats were wobbling in mud. “We should head back.” I wanted a burger and a beer. When I was a child Big Bear Lake was vast, cool, and blue. I could drench myself in it in summer time and gaze at its snowy surface in winter with a paper cup of hot chocolate. “Let’s go,” I said.
I waited for Jerroll on the concrete walking path next to a maple tree and a bench. A man with gray hair, heavy jowls and healthy bloom on his cheeks walked up with his black labrador. He looked at the lake (or puddle) and sat on the bench. Jerroll was still meandering along the lake bed looking for duck excrement.
“I can’t believe the water level,” I said sadly. “It used to be such a wonderful lake.”
“It’s been shrinking for a decade,” the man said. “Statewide drought but even so…it’s strange. I’m a native. It has never been this low.”
“It’s hurt tourism…”
“Indeed. Say what’s that man doing out there?”
“Looking for ducks. He likes ducks.”
“He’s looking for ducks in the dirt? Can’t he see there are no ducks?” the man looked like he was going to laugh.
“He’s looking for excrement so he can trace them…,” I said.
“The ducks disappeared a few years ago.”
“How?”
“No idea. Strange things have been going on around this lake. Loads of dead carcasses have been found all around here. In streets, in parking lots. All kinds of animals. A few humans have been found dead too. Made the LA Times. Mauled by something or other. And then the ducks started disappearing like something was snacking on them.” His voice was low and icy.
“Something?” I felt a shiver. As I pulled my coat tighter around me his dog barked in the direction of the forest of pine trees.
“Calm down girl.” He tried pulling on her collar but she took off like an Olympic sprinter. She disappeared into the darkness. I looked out at the lake and didn’t see Jerroll. It was then I heard the whelping of the dog and Jerroll’s scream. The old man and I became stones. Somewhere in the shadowed wood was a beast killing and eating. The old man and I walked slowly to the street.
“She was a good dog,” said the old man
“Jerroll was a good boyfriend,” I remarked.
The old man and I shook hands and I went to my car. This story could have become a
horror story but I’m not that kind of person. People in horror stories do stupid things. I knew I was no match for the beast in the forest. Some monsters will never be defeated. There’s is no point in trying.
I sped off to Lake Arrowhead. They have ducks there.