The pond was a sheet of hammered silver under the afternoon sun. Finn knelt at the muddy edge and slipped his toes into the cool water. Something stirred in the reeds — thick, green, and very slow.
Finn's bare toes curled in the cool water when a shadow moved. A thick green snake uncoiled from the reeds, its head rising just above the surface. Finn scrambled backward so fast his heel caught a clump of mud and he tumbled into the grass.
He ran. Sneakers slapping the dirt path, breath coming sharp and fast, each step sending pebbles skittering behind him. Behind him, the water kept rippling. The snake glided after him, steady and silent through the shallow pond.
Finn ducked behind a fallen log and pressed flat against the damp bark. He held his breath. The snake slid past the log's end, its body curving over a patch of clover, tongue flicking once — then it kept going.
Finn peeked over the wood and watched the snake vanish into the reeds on the far side of the pond. He stayed behind the log for a long time, listening to the wind move through the grass, waiting for the rippling sound to stop.
He scrambled to his feet and ran. All the way home. The front door clicked shut behind him, and Finn stayed there, pressing his forehead against the cool wood, listening to the house settle around him.
Later, Finn stood on the porch with a glass of cold lemonade. He watched the pond from far away. Only ripples moved across the surface, and a dragonfly landed on a reed. The sun warmed his shoulders. The marsh was quiet again.
The sun sank lower and painted the water in streaks of orange and pink. Finn took another sip of lemonade and breathed in the warm marsh air. Nothing moved but the dragonflies. The pond was just a pond again.