Frogs of the Dark River Read online

despite the protests of the other women. The bullfrog was a little bit heavier than she thought it would be, and it was as large as a birthday cake, the kind that Eva bought for her Grandmother every year. It uttered a pained “Ghhharruuup” when she picked it up. The ridges of the large bullfrog were hard and slippery. The area between the ridges was soft though, which allowed her to get a better grip. As a whole, it felt like a pliable plastic turd, one that you could buy at a novelty shop. This is so gross, she thought. This is so ridiculous. She uttered a nervous giggle as she made her way through the river and to the opposite bank. Her black robe was soaked and threatened to drag her down further into the water. She was conscious of the robe and her nightclothes beneath dropping and creating a little too much cleavage than she was comfortable with, as the passing water’s current threatened to carry her away.

  “Take it into the woods on the island between the streams,” the old woman had said. “We will do the rest.” Was that really how the old woman had said it? Eva wondered.

  She held the bullfrog out in front of her and grimaced at it as she dragged her burdened legs through the water. The black robe had suddenly become three times as heavy on her and threatened to make walking that much harder on her. Any minute now, she might trip, causing her to fall face first into the muddy embankment. Eva watched the bullfrog as she struggled to the beach. The water was just shallow enough now to let her walk through while holding the rubbery-feeling bullfrog in both of her hands. Its little eyes were looking into hers. “Grrrrup,” it uttered. It looked surprisingly calm, despite the fact that she had picked it up roughly and carried it away from its comfortable spot. The way she held it, like her life depended on it, would have caused an ordinary frog much pain.

  This was no ordinary frog.

  “Will you kiss me, my sweet,” she thought she heard. Where was that coming from? She stopped walking. Nothing but the sound of water, and the sound of other frogs, assailed her ears. She looked at the bullfrog again.

  “Ribbit,” it said.

  She could hear the other women as they chanted repeatedly: "Frogs of the dark river black, come back, come back. Frogs of the dark river black, come back." Eva looked back toward the others. She could not see their faces. Their hoods provided too much shadow. She had not known any of them personally, yet she wondered at what they were thinking of her as she carried the bullfrog deeper into the woods.

  The further she went into the woods, the louder their chanting got. "Frogs of the dark river black, come back, come back. Frogs of the dark river black, come back."

  She started to feel light-headed. Any minute now, she could trip and fall. She would drop the specimen, and maybe it would be ruined. She had to keep going. She had to. She had to get to the middle of the island.

  The ground of the island was not dry. It was muddy, as if the island had been recently underwater. Somehow she still had her shoes on, but now her shoes threatened to leave her feet with each step. It had rained earlier, but Eva didn’t remember it raining hard enough to create this much mud.

  "Frogs of the dark river black ..."

  Her head started pounding as a sudden headache took her. The chanting continued behind her, but now her own breathing and the sound of the blood running through her veins in her neck and skull drowned it all out.

  "... come back, come back."

  She felt sudden warmth in her thighs and her lower abdomen. Her eyes went wide. Heat. She knew what that heat was, but she didn’t want to think about it. She looked again at the bullfrog in her hands, just as it was looking back at her, with its beady little black eyes.

  The clouds overhead were gone. All that she could see were the stars overhead. She was far from the city, so more stars were visible than she usually saw whenever she looked up into the night’s sky.

  The further she went, the drier the ground became. It was easier to walk, though most of her robe was still soaked and was still heavy. Her legs were tired and burning. Some of the burning was from the effort to get to the center of the island. But the rest was something else.

  “Will you kiss me?” she heard. They were words on the wind. Where had they come from?

  “Evangeline Portincort, what on Earth are you doing?” Eva said aloud. It mirrored what her Grandmother had asked her a long time ago, when her Grandmother had caught Eva touching herself when she had slept in on some long ago Sunday morning. She could hear her Grandmother echoing the words again, “Evangeline Portincort, what on Earth are you doing?”

  “Nothing, Grandma. Nothing,” Eva had said, as she had hurriedly covered herself up. “I’m – just getting dressed as all.” She remembered the intense heat, that strange intense feeling that had led her to do what she had done, and the panic that it led to, and the shame that followed.

  Something was making her feel that same kind of heat, right now.

  In the center of the island was a clearing where the soil wasn’t so wet. In fact, the further into the center of the clearing she walked, the drier the dirt became. The clearing was surrounded by trees. All of them rich with many thick and green leaves. All of the branches were moving as if the wind was stronger than it was.

  It was all lit up by the stars above in the moonless sky.

  “It is so beautiful out, tonight,” she whispered. She still held the large bullfrog in her hands. She looked into its small beady black eyes. “You are as innocent as I am, aren’t you?” she asked it, half-expecting some kind of answer.

  “Grrruuup,” the frog said, as if in answer.

  It couldn’t possibly have answered her. She smiled and giggled a bit. This animal wasn’t judging her, not like people would, their judgments all based on appearance. Even here, in this most bizarre of places and this most bizarre of circumstances, she could perhaps be herself, and not put on the mask of ‘I don’t care what people think.’ Here, she felt like she could let her guard down, despite that nagging feeling in the back of her mind, that this was perhaps just an elaborate and cruel joke. Maybe this was the cruelest and most elaborate joke of all time.

  Any minute now, the lights would come on and the cameras would come out.

  “So beautiful, all of these stars,” she whispered.

  She could almost hear the other women chanting in the distance, “Frogs of the dark river black …” but most of it was lost in the shifting of the leaves in the wind.

  “… as beautiful as the stars …” came a voice. She did not know where it came from.

  In the center of the clearing was a large boulder. She set the bullfrog down on the cold surface of it, and then sat down next to it. “Okay, I’m here,” she said as she looked upward. “What do I do now?”

  Nothing happened.

  She sighed. “You said to take the specimen to the center of the island, old woman. You said that you would do all the rest. Well, where is this ‘rest’ that you spoke of? Because I sure don’t see it.”

  She heard the sudden crack of thunder. It made her jump. She looked up, suddenly far more frightened than she had been. No clouds littered the sky. The whole of the sky was black, with billions of points of light.

  She gazed up at the stars. What am I doing? She sighed again as she waited. It is beautiful out here. The light breeze caressed the exposed parts of her skin. The breeze was still chilly, for now, since she was still quite wet from traversing the Western side of the river to get to the island, but it served to dry her somewhat. The drier she was, the warmer and more inviting the breeze became.

  Another loud clap of thunder. The wind picked up, and almost picked her up. Her footing slipped and she fell to the ground. The ground began to hum. Then it began to shake. Her skin began to feel numb. She looked at her hand. It looked different.

  Then … nothing but the blackness of unconsciousness.

  Evangeline Portincort’s last roaming thoughts were of that crazy old woman who had put her up to this and dared her to take the specimen to the center of the island. Damn her. Damn her all to hell. And then all of her thought
s were gone. And then she was gone.

  Her next thought was: warmth. The air was warm. She felt naked, yet covered by some heavy, wet blankets. She felt a bit cold, but this wasn’t an ordinary kind of cold. This was a far different kind of cold than she had ever known. She resisted opening her eyes, almost terrified at what she might find.

  What happened?

  She freaked.

  “Oh my God, I’m a frog. A frog! No, no, no.” She tried to run, but her legs were not built like they once were. Her long springy legs pushed, and she flipped. She was on her back. Her arms and her long legs flailed as she panicked as she tried in vain to right herself. “No, how could this be? A frog. I don’t want to be a frog.” She felt tears come. Do frogs cry? She thought. She heard herself say, “Ribbit, Ribbit, Ribbit.” She tried to scream then, but it just came out as, “Grruuup.”

  She felt rubbery hands grip her. It was the bullfrog. It was now bigger than she was. He was manhandling her. “No, no, stay away,” she cried out as she tried to fight him.

  “Easy, easy,” the bullfrog said, “I’m trying to help.” And then, he grunted, and with a strength that she did not know that frogs could possess, he pushed her, flipping her back onto her stomach.

  When she was righted, she collapsed into the dirt, depressed. “I don’t want to be a frog,” she whined.

  “Nobody wants to be a frog,” said the big