Jenny Greenteeth

I sat on the bank of the beautiful lake. My blue button up dress ruffled occasionally in the light summer breeze that made the trees dance. The birds are singing and dragonflies chase unsuspecting insects who dare go near the water. Mother and father sat a little way up the hill on the red tartan picnic blanket watching Peter play with his toy horse, the paint on the horse faded over time as he had thoroughly loved it each day. I adored my little brother, he was so curious about the world around him. I can only imagine I was once like that, full of curiosity and endless discoveries of new wondrous things like a caterpillar that now at my mature age of 8 seemed very ordinary. 

There was only one unknown that kept my curiosity pricked and that was the lake. I felt drawn to it. The perfect lily flowers in their glorious bloom scattered across the glittering water, I’d estimate one thousand. There were no dragonflies flying over at the moment so there was a stillness to the lake as if it were a painting. A painting I would cherish forever if I could. 

“Don’t go near the water Penelope” mother would say when I would be too close for mother’s comfort but not close enough to satisfy the calling the water gave me. The lily flowers would almost whisper, “touch me, smell me, feel the cool waters in which we bloom”. The call was so loud in my own mind I could no longer hear the birdsong.  

My eyes trailed across them all to the other side until my stomach sunk and a prickle ran from the base of my spine to my neck and my hairs stood on end. A ladies eyes stared back at me, black, soulless, just a few centimeters above the water, her black wet slick hair shone in the sun with pond weed clinging here and there. Her skin was green like the duckweed scattered around the edge of the lake.

“Mother!” I shouted not daring to break eye contact with her. 

“Mother! Look!” I pointed at the lady and her eyes creased as if below the water a grin was spreading across her face. 

She submerged herself slowly in the water, so stealthily that not a ripple or droplet disturbed the surface. 

I looked behind me and my parents were stood with their backs to me, mothers dress and hair billowed in large motions and she was holding Peter in her arm as she pointed to the sky with the other. The wind had picked up at the top of the hill. They can’t hear me. Father was flying Peter’s kite, it flipped and waved through the sky in an uneasy fashion. I should move. 

“Mother! Father! Peter!” I shouted, my throat burning. They can’t hear me! I go to run but something cold gripped my ankle tight. I felt my ligament rub across the bone as my ankle was squeezed ever tighter. I knew what had me. I dared not look! I fell forward and dig my hands into the earth. My fingers gripped deep into the clay soil under the grass. I looked up at my family, tears brimming, my heart thumping. “Help me!” I screamed. 

Peter looked over mother’s shoulder through her wind swept hair. His smile faded and he extended his little arm in my direction. “Penny”

I slipped backwards and I felt the hands and sharp nails claw at my back through my dress. 

“Help” I sobbed as loudly as I could through the pain and panic.

Mother started to turn, but I feared she was too late. 

A hand gripped my hair and scalp and I felt the clay soil give way to my fingers. Water covered my eyes and flooded my nose. It burns. I screamed but silent bubbles erupt from my mouth. Sharp teeth sank into my shoulder. 

They never found me. 

The grief caused my family to move far away. Now another family visits the lake every Sunday in summer. Another little child is curious about the lake and drawn in by the lilies. This little child estimates there’s one thousand and one.