What Goes on at Hammond's Pond

I'm sharing this story for a friend. It's a confession of sorts. Her confession, not mine. I really shouldn't even be telling you this, but it feels important. I have to get it off my chest.

Standing here, Hammond's Pond looks nearly perfect, frozen over like glass, with only one small imperfection, a tiny ripple, more of a bump, almost dead centre. It catches the sunlight just right and glistens like a diamond. I haven't seen this place in almost 19 years. The thought of it, along with the December wind, makes me shiver.

The pond was more than just frozen water. It was a place where secrets were buried under layers of permafrost and ice, and where they came to light, miraculously rising to the surface as the spring's sun coaxed them out. It was named Hammond's Pond after Wilhelm Hammond, a local sheriff, and part time bootlegger, who had mysteriously disappeared in the fall of 1873 only to turn up floating in the pond the following spring. And that's only 1 of a series of strange deaths, disappearances and just plain weird stuff that's happened here.

It's nestled neatly in a grove of trees, surrounded on 3 sides and has that look and feel of an old horror story that begins, "it was a dark and stormy night..." It has a sinister vibe about it that always gave me the creeps. It still does, even now.

And the creeps were exactly what my friends and I were looking for the summer after we graduated from high school. We knew we would all be going our separate ways that fall and decided to have a summer to remember, something that would bond us together for life. Mandi, Jake, Ben and I were like the 3 Musketeers, only there were 4 of us. All for one and one for all. We'd grown up, dated each other in various configurations, made up, broke up, fought, cried, laughed and did pretty much everything else in between together.

We devised a game, Play or Pay. It was a twist on truth or dare, but with money. Each week, we put $25 in the kitty, and each week, one of us was chosen to take on a challenge. The challenges ranged in difficulty. Whoever was up that week could choose a small, medium, large or an ultimate challenge. The amount of the payout depended on the difficulty of the challenge.

The ultimate challenge was worth whatever the entire amount of the kitty was that week. Anyone who refused or failed to complete their challenge had to pay a sum equal to the payout amount into the kitty and the money was then rolled over for the next week. Aside from that, there was only 1 rule, once a challenge was complete, it, along with anything else that happened, was to remain secret and never be spoken of again.

We always played at Hammond's Pond. It was the perfect spot. Not only did it provide a sufficiently ceremonial and spooky atmosphere, but it was at least 10 minutes out of town and out of the view of our parents.

Most of the challenges were harmless. Eating something gross, mooning a passing car, feats of bravery or physical strength, silly kids pranks. My friend, we'll call her Jen, was up for her turn the last week of August. I remember it like it was yesterday. She decided to take the ultimate challenge. I couldn't blame her, she needed the money for her wedding in October and the kitty was up to $225.

I remember the panic she felt as Jake announced the challenge, "you have to go over to that shed, with Ben, stay 20 minutes and you have to come out wearing each other's clothes." He giggled as he said it, as if he'd come up with the most hilarious and brilliant thing his mind had ever devised. He began to chant, "play or pay," over and over, getting louder and louder as the others joined in.

She looked over at Ben. He looked horrified. Even by the dim light of the campfire, she could see his crimson cheeks, burning so hot that the colour seemed to bleed into his soft blonde waves. It made him look small somehow, like a scared child and not the 6 foot 3 inch, 250 pound star football player he was. She snapped her fingers in his direction, "come on, Ben," she ordered, "we're playing!"

She wasn't crazy about the idea either. She knew her fiancé, Jason, wouldn't like it at all. He'd always accused Ben of carrying a torch for her. And he wasn't wrong. But it was $225, and it wasn't as bad as some of the challenges. All she had to do was go into the shed, switch clothes with Ben and sit there for 20 minutes. He'd never find out, not with the vow of silence they had taken. Anyway, by the time he returned from basic training the following week, Play or Pay would be a distant memory.

Ben got up and followed her toward the shed, snatching a full six pack as he passed by, "refreshments," he grinned meekly.

It's hard to believe it was so long ago. So many things have changed. Mandi became a teacher and moved to Australia. Josh is some sort of high tech computer genius type. That's all I know about him. We lost touch several years ago.

Ben drowned right here, in this very pond, almost exactly 4 years after our Play or Pay summer. He was at a college graduation party from what I heard and broke his neck diving into the shallow water. I didn't go to the funeral. I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I can't explain why, except to say that I felt like if I went, it would be real somehow, like I was saying goodbye. And I didn't want to. 22 is too young to die, especially for someone with so much to live for, more than he could have ever imagined.

As for me, I married a wonderful military man. He's sweet, kind, steady and dependable, with dark hair and the most piercing brown eyes I've ever seen. And we have a son, Matthew Benjamin. He's tall and fair with deep green eyes and a mop of blonde waves. He's 18 and received a football scholarship to Notre Dame. We're very proud of him.

It's a funny thing, but as I think about Matthew, and I look out at Hammond's Pond, it's frozen surface still glistening as the winter sun begins to set, I can't seem to get Ben out of my mind. I can't help but wonder if my secret will stay frozen or eventually come to the surface with one of the spring thaws. Well, that's what my friend, Jen would wonder, don't you think?