“Hey, Dad! The lake’s got bubbles in it again!”
Cry of a curious child. Boy. Sigh of an overworked man bent over a cluttered desk inside. Click of the pen dropping from his hand. Reluctant groan of an overstuffed chair as he rises and moves tiredly to the door. Slam! The voices outside sifting through these walls.
“John, how many times have I told you to stay away from the lake? It’s too dangerous and …”
“But, Dad, I tell you I saw …”
“No buts! Now you heard me: Stay away!”
Voice rising. Child lost.
“Son?! Are you …?”
“Yeah, I know, Stay away!”
Reverberating down to me in my muddy womb, the conversation and stern warning from father to son, I hear. It has rained much lately and the sides of the lake are slippery, dangerous for a man, deadly to a child.
And so the warning.
I hear, and see and smell and touch this, for all of my senses are one, molded together in complex simplicity through time. And soon, with them in full readiness, I will arise from these dark depths that have been my prison for so long and I will take my revenge.
Ah, your questions. Revenge?
I will tell the tale.