Pond Water & Snake Oil

Fictionistas Prompt Challenge

The ducks don't often come to this side of the pond. This is because the people don't come here often anymore, and the ducks go where the food goes.

I can't remember a time when this wasn't the case, and neither can my grandfather. He tells me many stories of his childhood here - of tree climbing and of fishing - but they all take place on the other side, at the other gazebo and the other willow tree. There's only one story from this side: a story he heard from a friend who heard it from a cousin. In this story the water's edge is haunted by woman with a red veil, who appears at sunset and hovers over the stony bank. This story has warded off the townsfolk from this little gazebo for generations - and they've taken the ducks and other hungry wildlife with them.

I think I saw her, once. It was five years ago, near sunset. I was walking home and got caught in the rain, one of those quick downpours that don't make a sound until they're right on top of you. I ran to this gazebo to wait it out. I saw something in the corner of my eye, cranberry red and the height of a person. I didn't move until the rain stopped, and neither did she. The same couldn't be said for the lightning that night, so despite her reputation, she frightened me less than the bad weather.

So now I visit her on some evenings, and the library on others. I've been searching through old newspapers and photographs - more urgently lately than when I started. The nearby mall is expanding again, her sprawl of parking spaces, calendar kiosks, and clothing stores forever devouring more of the wooded space of my hometown. She's never stopped to ask the living for their blessing; I doubt she'll stop to ask the dead.

My search ended this afternoon, and this evening I visit her bearing a gift. If she's here. If not, I'll be giving my report to no one but the preying mantis crawling up a wooden post of this weather-worn gazebo.

"I think I've figured out who you are. I've been doing some research, through the library's records. There was an outdoor wedding in this park, nearly a century ago, and the bride collapsed shortly after the ceremony. They didn't find the cause, back then."

I unfolded the paper I had brought, a nickel and a dime's worth of printed images. "It took me quite a while to find anything more than that. Then a few days ago I stopped in a little town just north of here, and I went through their library's archives. Turns out, there was a traveling doctor around here at that time. Well, a fraud, actually. He left the day after the wedding. The next town he went to found him out."

I pointed to one of the pictures I'd printed. A blurry newspaper shot of a quacky medical man.

"I just thought you'd like to know that he didn't get away with it. Someone caught him, even though it wasn't here. Even though it wasn't for you."

I waited for a response for a few minutes, maybe five. Then, deciding I may have accomplished nothing but entertain an insect, I got up and flung the paper into a nearby bin.

A small splashing noise made me turn back around.

There was a woman standing at the edge of the pond, in a wedding dress, holding the lace and fabric up in bunches to keep it dry. I couldn't see her eyes through her veil, but I could see her mouth. She gave me a winsome smile, said something I couldn't hear, then stepped further into the pond. She didn't sink; she walked straight ahead and vanished into the haze.

I turned to the preying mantis, my remaining audience. "You'd better watch yourself. I think the kids and the ducks will soon be coming around here again."

This was written as a response to Fictionista’s October ‘Let’s Write Together’