The Black Pool

Flash Fiction

There is something in the mountains, in the darkest part of the forest, where sunlight is never more than a fleeting ray amidst unbroken shadows, and where the calls of birds and insects are unheard. It is a pool; a black pool whose surface is dark and gaseous. No matter the weather, it will still stand. When it rains, it becomes swollen with runoff. In times of drought, it will recede; but will never fully dry out. No matter what, flood or famine, the black pool still stands.

It is alive, yet lifeless. No animals drink its water. It houses no fish or tadpoles. No plants grow near it. The soil surrounding it is barren and cold. Somedays there may be a deer that wandered near the pool. But on any such occasion it will sense evil lying nearby and dart away, not daring to turn back.

Few men have ever approached it; and among those few, fewer have dared to touch it, for they know that only death lies beneath its surface. Those who drank from it have died, their bodies reduced to grey and emaciated husks within days. Those foolish enough to step into the pool quickly sink into its mud, never to resurface.

No one knows what this stain on the earth is or where it came from. Some say that it is a meeting place for witches. Some believe that it is a gateway to Hades and the ghosts of the deceased emerge from the pool at night. Among those who know of the black pool, only one thing is certain: it is to be left alone; there is no good reason to be near it.

There was once one man who did know of the black pool and its unholy reputation. Astride his horse, he ventured off the road and deep into the forest, until he found his final destination. As he approached, the sounds of birds drifted away. He felt his horse become anxious, aware of the evil close by. When its hoofs hit the dry soil on the pool’s banks, it whinnied and reared. Its rider tried to control the animal but it was no use. He fell off and the horse trotted away, kicking up the foliage in its path.

The man sat there, indifferent to the horse. He struggled to stand back up. His clothes were dirty and ragged; his hair was an unkempt mess; his beard reeked of liquor. But none of that mattered to him; he did not care, not anymore.

He let his foot step into the pool. A ripple ran through the water. More rushed by as he lurched further in. He could feel the mud hugging his feet. The pool tried to pull him down. The man made no struggle. He fell forward and stood on all fours. His hands pressed into the bottom. The mud wrapped around his wrists and pulled down his arms. He made no struggle. He was its prey. He looked up into the trees above, trying to glimpse at the sky one last time, before his face was pulled under the water.

After that, the pool was as still as glass.

The black pool is still there today, deep in the mountains. If you should ever encounter it, then you had best turn back and not even think about going near it. One way or another, it will bring you death.

It will always be there; no matter the weather, flood or famine, the black pool will still be there.