Traveling the back roads of Loveland, Ohio, you come upon swampy regions that have long been deserted by the people that live in the surrounding area.  And if you chance to be in the swamps at the proper times, you find the reason for the strange fears that infests the inhabitantsof the countryside.

    In 1926, I was called to the site by the death of my great uncle, Walter Ridgecross. He had lived in the Loveland country side all his life and had died under rather mysterious circumstances.  Early in the morning he had departed to go hunting and was supposed to return by nightfall.  He never did. The strangest part was that the body had been found three miles from the property he had been hunting on, and that it was bruised and lacerated, several bones had also been broken. I received a telegram from my aunt on Wednesday and made preparations to leave immediately.  I went to the train station in Boston the next day and purchased a ticket for the next trip to Cincinnati, where I planed to rent a horse and buggy and drive to Loveland. The train departed at three in the afternoon, which meant the I would arrive around 4 P.M.. on Friday.  I withdrew some cash from the bank in hopes of obtaining some antiques for my shop.

    On the journey to Cincinnati, I pondered upon the death of my uncle and tried to relax as I read from the magazine that I had bought at the station. The trip took longer than expected and I arrived shortly after five. I walked down the lane to Tony's Carriage rental and for a modest sum rented a rig for a full week's use.

    The drive to my late uncle's home was a pleasant one even though unseasonably warm and humid. Upon arriving I was met by my aunt and two cousins, one of whom I hadn't seen since I was a small child.  I was invited indoors and had an excellent supper of baked beans and ham.  As we ate, my aunt told me of the recent events that were occurring all around the area. Apparently the death of my uncle was not unique in circumstance and while I was on the train, a fisherman had been torn to pieces while cleaning his catch at the edge of Corder Lake. The rended fragments of the body had been spread in a twenty foot radius, and some had not been recovered at all.  I retired early that evening, obviously being shaken up by the events I had been informed of that evening.

    Sometime around midnight I was awakened by a tremendous crash of thunder and got out of bed to have a look at the weather. Through the pouring rain, I could barely discern a dark figure maneuvering around the family cemetery, adjacent to the backyard area. I quickly rushed downstairs putting on my clothes as I went.

    As I opened the door and steeped off the porch, the cold rain quickly soaked my garments and the roar of thunder soon deafened me.  I made it to the cemetery in less than five minutes and saw the dark figure running into the woods near the graveyard.  I decided not to give chase and instead decided to turn my attention to what the fiend had done to the burial site. As I reached the fence I was shocked beyond belief at the horror that just occurred in my aunt's backyard! The corpse of my uncle had been exhumed from the earth and removed from the premises by some unknown thief in the night.  I resumed to the farmhouse soaked and chilled to the bone. My cousins and my aunt were awakened by the commotion I had made while leaving the house.  A pot of coffee was brewed and it was decided that, because of the weather, nothing could be done that night and that early in the morning we would all examine the scene of the horrid deed.
    I arose about eight-thirty and put on some tea.  I began to cook breakfast and the smell of fried eggs and bacon drifted through the old farmhouse and awakened my cousins. My aunt came down the stairs a few minutes later and sat at the table.  Our meal began in silence, but after a while, turned to pleasant conversation of careers and foreign events. For a short time the terrible events of the night before were almost forgotten. That subject, however, could not be avoided and we decided to take a walk to the graveyard.
    On the walk to the ancient cemetery, my aunt became more and more distressed. As we reached the gate her mood seemed to change from hysteriato a deep calm. My attention was turned to a dark spot among the sickly green pools of ichor, and laying there was a hand, fingers  beginning to curl in the warm sun.  It appeared to have been chewed off, and had become bloated and sickly with dark purple blotches under the skin.
    Three screams split the air.  Not screams of panic, but screams of realization.  My aunt slumped down upon the wet ground, shuddering uncontrollably at the thought of her husband's severed hand lying there. My cousins and I quickly took our aunt away from the horrible thing in the cemetery and although we were relieved, our poor aunt was not.  It was decided that, for her own safety, she should be taken to the St. Michael Hospital in Cincinnati.  My cousins, worried about their mother's safety, agreed to go at once, so the three got in the carraige and left promptly.  I was left at the farmhouse alone and unoccupied, so naturally I began to think of things to do. As I looked around the farmhouse, it was impossible for me to keep my eyes from being drawn to the cemetery, and thoughts of investigation entered my mind.

    Into the lonely little town I walked, past the small farmhouses on the outskirts, past the homes, and right down to Main Street, where I located a hardware store. As I entered the store, I  immediately noticed the counter that the man was standing behind contained several pistols and although I had a pistol at home, I had no way of getting it here. Then a terrible and fascinating idea came to mind; I would search into the woods for my uncle's body.  I would track down that awful man, if man it was, that had exhumed my uncle's body from the earth on that stormy night. I would bring the dead vengeance. As I was soon to discover, the swamps were no place for mortal feet to tread upon. I would soon see death cast it's eerie and bent shadow upon my face. Soon I would fear the sewers and serpents. Soon I would meet theOthers.
    A rugged kerosene was purchased, and so was a .38 service revolver and shells. My bill of sale read about thirty dollars, and as soon as it was paid, I bolted out the door.
    Back to the graveyard I walked and noticed that the footprints that were around the place of rest were definitely not human. Odd webbed feet had trodden upon the ground that I stared at in shocked disbelief.  The creature that had taken my uncle's body had definitely been humanoid, in this I was positive, but what had webbed feet and walked upright? The being must have also weighed quite a bit for the footprints were deeply sunk into the earth.  I tracked the prints back into the woods, past tangled vegetation and messy underbrush until finally I reached a ramshackled building at the edge  of the swamp.  It was a very small building with only one window, a red roof, and natural wood sides.  Although the tracks led past the building, my eyes were drawn toward it, and since every clue was to be investigated, I went in.
    The door seemed solid enough and it opened with a high pitch squeal.  As I stepped inside a strange surprise awaited me. A man sat huddled in the corner, with a grizzled white beard and eyes like coal.  At first he tried to squeeze himself farther back into the corner, but after I reassured him that I meant no harm, he seemed happy to have company.  I was hesitant to bring up the "creature" that had taken the body. When finally I asked, his voice grew to a desperate whisper.

    "You're talkin' about them frog-men are you? Well the story goes like so: It seems that shortly after they settled here, a group of frog-men was seen and that a few of the settlers went with them to live in the swamps.  Rumor has it that they married each other and had kids, so the things that you're seeing are half-man, half-amphibian. You be careful noz'in around. Somethings just wasn't made for men to mess with."
    Slightly shaken, I left the house and began walking softly down the moss-covered path, cautious of the creature that could be anywhere. The pungent odor of wet earth hung heavily in the air, along with the moisture that is always present in these abhorrent swamps.

    A dark pool loomed placidly in front of me and the smell of rotting flesh was carried to my nostrils by a gust of wind.  As I moved closer to the pool I saw a twisted and tangled mass of legs, arms, and torsos. Bite and claw marks adorned the appendages while the intestines looked as if they had been scooped out with a ragged ladel.  The humans had been feasting upon the flesh of our dead and they felt no remorse, for their darkly alien minds had no concept of guilt or love. They would continue to survive, until stopped.
    Suddenly, a dark shape loomed out of the vegetation and a hideous mockery of a human stepped forward.  It stood upright as if a man,  but had an amphibian-like head, and was covered with slimy green skin.  Six shots pierced the creature's head.  I turned and fled from that horrible place. Alien beings attacking my mind all the way back.  I do not know where I ran to.  All I know is that I was found on the road in front of my aunt's house the next morning.
 
    The year is now 1930 and I  have not returned to Loveland since. I fear the Others, and I fear what might have seen that day in the swamps. Was it all just a nightmare, or the beginning of something much worse?

END 
  
Image Copyright © 1997 by Corey Whitworth
"The Dark Pool" is Copyright © 1996 by Frank Marciante