The stories about Carson’s Pond had been around for years. It was stinky, dangerous and harboured evil creatures that if they caught you would eat out your eyes.
It was all part of the myth of the pond. Crazy Colin had fallen in as a child and was never the same again.
It was a shame that over the years people showed their contempt by throwing things into the pond. It was thought the bottom of the pond was a treasure in itself.
Despite its foreboding reputation, it was a place we liked to picnic at. There was never anyone there. It was very relaxing even though at times there would be the odd burst of bubbles from its depths, followed by a curious bit distinct burp and a more than audible “excuse me.”
We would munch our sandwiches and pretend we hadn’t heard anything.