It Comes From the Water

First thing first, I'm a huge Toadies fan. If you don't know them, look them up.

I live five or so miles north of downtown Albany, in a small town called Waterford. The main drag is Broad St. and it's bordered on both sides by two and three story brick buildings that were built around the turn of the century, when Waterford was a bustling trade hub. Back in the 1800's the roads—and actual horse power—meant that most bulk goods couldn't make their way north from NYC or south from Canada. The obvious solution was to use the Hudson and Mohawk, two powerful rivers that run the length of the state from the Atlantic to the St. Lawrence Seaway, and the breadth of it to the great lakes. Barges brimming with textiles were sent north to Canada, and bundles of untreated furs were sent south. All manner of goods traveled the rivers of the state, and they all passed through Waterford. Grand mansions sprung up along the waterways, and steel bridges spanned the canals and locks.

Since then Waterford has been dying the slow, prolonged death of economic depression. The mansions are mostly decaying now, sold many times over and converted into two and three family homes. The bridges are rusting in place, cordoned off with yellow tape.

I live on 1st street. On one side of my house is the park where a kid OD'd a few months ago. On the other side is the canal walkway, just about the only part of town that’s gotten any kind of economic infusion. They host a farmer's market there on Sundays, and they make a big show of it, but most of the patrons are disinterested locals waiting for noon and the bars to open. There are a couple of watering holes in town, McGrevie's which caters to the well-off clientele. And The Angry Penguin, which closes early most days. Other than that there's Don and Paul's, which is the best breakfast joint in the Capitol Region.

I'm in Don and Paul's almost every morning. To get there I walk over to Broad St. and up two blocks, passing the Police Station which is the only building in town that’s taller than three floors. It's a huge building with a looming clock tower, and a dirty white marble façade. It houses the town offices and the courtroom. In the window under chipped gold lettering that reads NOTICE BOARD, hang the bits and pieces that make up the commerce of a small town. There are offers to babysit, dog walk, new business that are opening, and calls for service with the volunteer fire department. The window is also where people post missing pet notices, and in the last month the lost pet flyers have piled up so thick that the town refused to post new ones. It's a macabre reminder of the dangers facing our furry family friends.

Of course there's always gossip in a small town. We're not cut off from the outside world by any means, but there's a tight core of locals that see each other daily, and it's been that way since the town was formed. Mary over at The Angry Penguin said her cousin's daughter's cat went missing right off their back porch. Tom, who I ran into on the canal walkway told me his brother's dog disappeared one night when it was let out to pee. All they heard was a high pitched squeal and that was it, never seen again. Tom told me to keep a close eye on Gordon, my Corgi, before ducking between two buildings and scurrying away.

Tom was a bit of a drug addict, and most days found him rummaging through the trash looking for cans to return, so I took his words with a grain of salt. Apparently the local P.D. took the whole missing pet thing with a grain of salt because they issued a terse statement, taped to their window that blamed the spate of missing pets on careless owners, and cold winter nights. To be honest, I thought the same. I figured that come spring, the bodies of dozens of local pets would be found under the snow, or floating in the Hudson. I was wrong.

One of the real draws of Waterford is the canals. I love walking on the edge of the water at night. The soft twinkling lights of Troy across the river feel like a whole different world, separated by the inky dark of the Hudson. The canal walkway is lit by evenly spaced old-style streetlights that cast yellow pools on the red brick. On one side are houses and the park. On the other side is a five foot drop to the water, frozen and non-moving in the winter. A couple of weeks ago I was taking one of my customary walks with my dog. I was struggling to light a joint when Gordon stood to attention. His large ears were erect, like satellite dishes pointed into the darkness. He let out a low growl, aimed in the direction of the park. I told him to knock it off but he wouldn't stop. I figured it was a rabbit or something. It was strange because usually, when he sniffs out some wild game, he strains at his leash trying to get at whatever it is. This time, he stood stock still, and was growling. It was almost as if he was a barrier, placing himself between me and whatever was out there in the dark.

I finally succeeded in lighting the joint and took a large, long puff which ended with me doubled over coughing. When I straightened up, and the stars cleared, I could make out a shadow in the park. It was dark grey and vaguely humanoid, standing on two thick legs. At first I couldn't be sure if it was real or not, but then it moved. And I ran. I'm not proud about running, but weed makes me paranoid. Gordon followed suit and we made it back to the house in record time, slamming the door shut, locking it, and turning on all the lights.

In the light of day the whole event seemed insane. I'd probably seen Tom rummaging for cans or something. I put it out of my mind and went on with my life. But then strange things started happening on an almost nightly basis. I heard banging outside, on the siding of my house. Strange animal sounds I'd never heard before, guttural honking and high pitched squeals. One morning I tried to take Gordon on a walk and he refused to leave the house, locking up till I had to drag him outside. There was a foul smelling sludge smeared on the sidewalk and across the glass of my storm windows. It smelled like the sea, but rotten.

I chatted up the locals, trying to see if they had any info to spill, but gauging from their reactions no one wanted to talk about strange foul smelling creatures that go bump in the night. Then the police found Tom.

He was frozen stiff under a bush in the park. The cops said he likely OD'd on something, but Mary told me they had found a ring of needle-like suction marks on his neck, under his jaw. Her brother in law was a local cop and He'd told his wife who told Mary. Apparently the body had been sent all the way to Watertown for an autopsy. Tom's death made me pretty sad. HE wasn't exactly a friend, but I could count on seeing him at least once a day. Whether he was knocking on my back door looking for cans, or offering to hook me up with the best weed in the state, he was always a happy guy, content with his lot in life. The thought of him slowly dying under a bush sends shivers down my spine.

Since then things have gotten pretty grim in my little neck of the woods. Everyone is inside with doors locked by the time it's dark. In the last three days I've counted seven military helicopters flying over the town, that's more than the last three years combined. Across the canal from town is a small state park called Peebles Island. A buddy of mine who's a State Trooper told me over coffee that the park's entire population of deer had gone missing over the course of four months. The park staff thought it could be due to hunting. I'm starting to think it's not a human that's been hunting out there.

Last night I was smoking some weed at home, no more night time walks for me. I'd gone to bed like normal, turned everything off, brushed my teeth and passed out at soon as I hit my bed. Seemingly as soon as I fell asleep, something roused me, and I was wide awake. It was sometime between two and three, that time of the morning when the world is at it's darkest, and seemingly nothing good can happen. Gordon was at the bedroom door, stiff and growling. I can't explain it but a sense of dread spilled over me seeing him at the door. I became fully aware of a rotten seafood smell and my heart skipped a beat. I sat completely still and tried to stretch my senses out, listening for anything in the quiet. At first all I could hear was Gordon's growling, the roar of blood in my ears and the hammering of my heart.

Then I heard something else, a gentle scrabbling against my bedroom wall, near the door, like a rat or some small mammal. Gordon jumped two feet in the air and started barking full force at the door. I tumbled off my bed and landed between the mattress and the wall, then reached up and tried to grab my phone. Gordon was barking and the scrabbling had turned to pounding on the wall and door, something was trying to smash it's way in. Lucky for me, my house was built over 100 years ago so the doors are good, solid oak. I scrambled up and grabbed my phone, dialed 911 and screamed that someone was in my house at the tired operator. The pounding continued. Terror coursed through my veins. Gordon was jumping back and forth along the length of the door barking at the crack. The operator told me to remain on the line, that officers were enroute. I peeked over the top of the bed and saw a slimy grey tendril worm it's way under the crack of the door towards Gordon. I screamed NO! and vaulted over the bed, snatching up my dog and slamming my heel on the thing. I heard a watery squeal from the hallway and the sound of squishy footsteps pounding away, then the smash and tinkle of broken glass in the living room.

I stayed huddled behind my bed, with Gordon in my arms till the police arrived. The smell was slowly dissipating, but outside my bedroom door the plaster was cracked and broken where something had been pounding it. Smeared into the cracks and pooling on the floor was the same goopy sludge I'd found outside weeks earlier. The police had some sort of forensic expert with them, a woman in a green SWAT uniform; she looked at the heel of my foot and took a blood sample from me, then collected some of the goop in glass test tubes. One of my living room windows was broken, and the kitchen was a mess. My fridge had been emptied out all over the linoleum.

The police took a statement, and told me not to leave town in case they had more questions. I got a note for my job which was cool, called the boss this morning and told him I wouldn't be coming in for the next week. I paid four times what I normally would to get a glass guy out to the house. I told him I would pay whatever he asked as long as my window was fixed by the time the sun went down today.

So there it is, if you live near Waterford NY, the sun is down. Its night out there, and something is coming out of the water. Keep a close eye on your pets and make sure all the windows are closed and the doors are locked. If you find yourself outside, and you smell rotten fish, look around for shadows lurking in the darkness, and then get your ass to the warmest, brightest place you can find. Because whatever attacked me is still out there, looking for its next victim.