The Enemies

the Pond in the Park

Rhea

In the heart of Moneree is a vast park with large oaks, black spruces, and old cedars. The intricate statues of ancient heroes heave in roses, tulips, and orchids and the avenues of lilacs run in various directions. Still, all the roads debouch into the enormous green pond. Protected by shore rush, its peaceful waters are home to ducks and swans. The memory of the pond brings a smile to my face. I used to come there to watch the birds and read.

When I turned thirteen, my father took me there for a completely different reason.

'Do you know the story?' he asked.

'Of course. Everyone does.'

They said the pond was leading to the system of flooded catacombs built in times of the Great War. It was only one of the entrances. Of course, no one ever bothered to check. There were just too many things to take care of. The risking someone's life to prove the myth was at the bottom of that list.

With shy tenderness and silent admiration, my father touched my hair and kissed my forehead. We did it anyway, my father and I. We went to check. One of the few fun things we did together. As I put the air caps on, I felt like a fish with gills. A fantastic device copied from nature. Unbelievable. The shiver runs down my spine at the memory, how the black water covered our wet suits when we submerged. As if we were never there, we dived and disappeared. In the center of the park. At night. The thirteen-year-old rebel in me rejoiced.

We found nothing but the oozy and gloomy bottom. Patiently, we explored, until we finally saw a large iron handle, covered with sand and seaweed, almost invisible in the green abyss. I can still remember the thrill and anticipation in my every move, while we dug the sand with our hands. Finally, we reached the bottom of what looked like a round hatch. Six feet in diameter, black and rusty.

Just when I thought my father would give up, it yielded and started moving under pressure. It opened into a dark tunnel with the walls made of stone. I was so excited I wanted to squeak. We descended down the shaft, my father leading the way. As the darkness thickened, the lighting equipment became brighter, illuminating the walls and the way ahead.

The whole thing felt like an adventure, dangerous but fun. At first, there was only water and darkness. After what felt like an eternity, the tunnel widened into a room. We were swimming at the sealing. The stone walls were covered with a green moth, and four closed iron doors felt like too much in a tiny space. Only one of those had a handle. Obviously, someone did not want the intruders to use the pond as an entrance. Was it even a pond at the time of the Great War? After my father pushed the door with enough force, the stiff thing gave in with a loud screech.

When I first saw it, I could not understand what it was. Unwillingly, the hesitant, weak light brushed the darkness, as it was something there. My head bumped into something solid, making a quiet thud. I was not frightened, only surprised, as I stretched my hand. It landed on the cold glass. A black wall ahead of me. My father motioned to swim down, and I obeyed.

I still remember the control panel with only two handles and unpleasant distant noise behind the wall, when my father pulled them. The door we used to enter closed with a muffled metallic sound. The bubbles floated around it. I knew that instant, the room was watertight. We were carefully lowered onto the floor as the water disappeared through the small holes.

Being able to breathe freely, I realized the air was stuffy and moist. But to me, it was the smell of ancientry. With a click, the door in the black wall pushed back. A place behind was even smaller than the one we came from. Gruesome stone room with a grey iron table and a chair, both old and dusty. Another door with a regular doorknob, at the opposite wall, led to the long dark tunnel. Its slimy wet walls were shining in the light, making me shiver.