Richard was lost in a place all too familiar. For the first time since he began hiking, he sensed he'd lost his direction. He'd hiked up mountains from Maine to West Virginia and never lost his way. Now, in this forested parcel, located between two highways in the town of Haverton, everything in sight seemed alien.
It was mid-afternoon and there was still enough light to assuage any anxiety about finding his way back to the dirt road named for the Duke of Marlborough. It was still a dirt road due to it not being recognized on the local town map. Uncertainty as to whether it was private or state property had never been clearly defined. Since it bordered a thicket of woods and was comprised of Resick's Brook and a depth defying stream known as "Deep Run" it wouldn't be the prime rib land developers had the option of salivating over and destroying. Bog Hollow was the part of this forested area that had an odd echo and land that seemed scooped out, like a soup bowl. The interior of the woods was actually an idyllic place for its isolation and scent of scrub pines. The floor of Bog Hollow was littered with pine cones and a thick layer of pine needles. In warmest weather, the scent of pine wafted its way out of the forest and into the nearby residential area where Richard had recently purchased a home.
Richard lived all his life in Haverton. Or, most of it, until he went to college upstate. A tall, thin, dark-haired man with chameleon green eyes, he preferred his solitude to rabble rousing, parties and crowds. Now and then, he trotted into New York City as part of his job responsibilities in organic chemistry research and development. Before he returned, he longed for the quiet of Haverton.
When it was time for him to buy his own place, no housing complex would do for this studious man. He bought the last home on the end of Belleview Avenue, a half mile from Bog Hollow. He bought that particular home because it was built long before the rest of the residences on that street. He was an inveterate do-it-yourself handyman who didn't mind saving on the price of a home in exchange for having to pay out for a few repairs. It was actually the property that caught his eye. It was the largest on Belleview Avenue, nearly two acres to the other residences' half acre properties.
The other feature he loved about it was the stream that run along the back of his property. At night, he could hear the gentle babble as water trickled along to other destinations. He loved the sound of the frogs croaking their symphony in early spring through the late summer and the crickets that lulled him into restful sleep.
The first week after he felt settled in his home, Richard, ever the adventurer, decided to check out the stream. He discovered the water was pure enough for fish to occupy it. A decade later, Richard would make another more terrifying discovery.
This day, Richard followed the scent of the pine into the woods. As he padded through the dense pine needle bed, he found Resick's Brook connected to the stream behind his house. This kidney-shaped pond was named for one of Haverton's councilmen.
There were many such streams in Haverton, pockmarked here and there, with only a smattering of main arteries to allow residents to enter or leave town.
He knew this brook as part of a fishing hole he'd fished more times than he could count as a young man. He and his friends would dig for worms along the way and attach them to their fishing hooks.
We must have looked like pretty silly little adventurers back then, he thought.
The route of the path of water traveled mostly a straight line until it ended in this brook. Beyond Resick's Brook was another smaller pond, green and swampy with cattails poking out of the soupy water.
That's odd, he thought.
Why should Resick's Brook water be so clear and pure and that pond be so full of algae bloom?
He kept walking further into the woods along a narrow pine needle path. He mused that others must have trod this same path for hundreds of years. A second path veered off this one. This time of day, noise from traffic had become more audible during hours when town roads brought the working populace home from their jobs. The further Richard walked, the less he heard the sound of traffic and the deeper into the woods he trekked. Now, there was no path to follow. Just the bed of pine needles beneath the pine trees.
The main depository of Resick Brook, he realized was Deep Run. From Deep Run, a series of narrow streams traversed north and south through the entire town in a stripe-like pattern. He reasoned that all of these waterways were part of Mid-Atlantic wetlands. He walked on until he again heard the sound of running water. Daylight was beginning to fade. His plan was that these streams had to somehow take him back to a main road where the woods ended.
He shivered. The air in the woods was getting cooler even though sunlight was still dappling through the tall pines. He thought about back tracking. He glanced through the trees. He was certain he remembered the exit to the woods had to be close by. After all, the entire swath of woods was not more than two miles wide and a half mile long.
He remembered the old boy scout adage about following the sound of water to find the way back. He worried he might not reach the exit back before dark. Trying to find his way in pitch dark without a flashlight could be a problem. He wasn't worried about animals attacking. Haverton had virtually wiped out any of the animals that might occupy wooded areas by allowing over development of land.
The sound of running water was nearer now. He stopped, surprised by what he saw. The sound of running water was suddenly explained. In the middle of a ring of lush green pines, Richard saw a fairly large bog. He didn't remember seeing it before. But then, he'd never have been allowed to venture this far into these woods as a child. The bog was concealed by a thick growth of shrubbery that encircled it.
The scenic beauty of the bog was awesome. It was as if a famous artist painted the entire scene Richard saw.
There was silence and tranquility and serenity about the bog, broken only by the sound of woodland creatures that interrupted the peaceful stillness of this ethereal place.
Richard, ever the lover of nature and beauty was so overwhelmed by the sight of such amazing scenery, sat down on a fallen tree trunk that fell conveniently near the edge of the bog, precisely where water met land.
He noticed here it was a bit more shadowy and the sunlight was much dimmer.
In his momentary reverie, he imagined the first natives to the area fishing here for their food with their tents not far from the banks of the bog.
A tiny frog startled him. It hopped from the water to the tip of his boot where it remained for some time. Frog and man eyed each other carefully for what seemed like a very long time.
Richard noticed the frog had rather large, sapphire eyes.
Startled again, another larger frog, with unusual striped markings on its back, hopped out of the water and sidled up to the smaller frog as if both were on some unknown mission. What Richard would learn to his shock and terror is that they were.
There are many things humans can't know. Sometimes, these things happen in plain view. Other times, there's a realm of creatures living among humans who know a different world, called "Nature." Humans try to control it, often with disastrous effects on themselves and the creatures working hard to maintain the delicate balance between Human World and Nature.
In Bog Hollow, a tiny segment of Nature's world, creatures exist who struggle to preserve that balance, often against all odds and often to the point of extinction.
Bog Hollow existed for thousands of years, full of living organisms and creatures. On occasion, these creatures had the opportunity to observe the most dangerous creatures of all: Humans. A massive fire set by a careless hiker in the woods beyond Bog Hollow nearly killed all of the creatures there, save birds and the kingdom of Rana Sylvatica, woodland frogs who escaped into the waters of Deep Run. Now, Deep Run was no longer safe and the royalty of Rana Sylvatica gathered to save their community.
In the kingdom of Rana Sylvatica, there was one woodland frog, Morphus, whose ancestry granted him the rights of leadership.
The cold, crisp spring morning of Morphus birth signaled a significant, albeit, subtle event in the kingdom of Rana Sylvatica. Born to an ancient hierarchy, he could not be part of the lower peerage. His father, Lord High Prefect Gremnon and his mother, Lady Wyldnor were the purest of their breeding.
Morphus was raised to take his place as a leader when his time came.
All during his youthful days, he was trained in the skills needed to lead his kingdom.
"Morphus, it is time to go down to the hollow," he heard his father call.
"I am ready, sir," Morphus replied.
Gremnon beamed at the royal demeanor his offspring displayed.
They made their way to Bog Hollow as the sun peered through the tall, cool, green forest.
This was Morphus second spring in the Hollow. No longer an infant, he spent more and more time in Gremnon's company. He was eager to take his place in the rituals of the Bog.
Each member of the community of Rana Sylvatica had a special place all their own. Each enjoyed crystal clear water in which to soak or to bask in the warm rays of the sun on the golden sand of the Bog banks.
In spring, Rana Sylvatica began an ancient tradition known as the "Chanting of the Vitas."
The forest remained quiet most days until the sun dimmed in the late afternoon sky.
At twilight, the Kingdom of the Ranas would start a virtual orchestral choir chanting in their low basso tones. A first, there was only a faint, steady stream of notes. As darkness fell, the Rana chorus grew louder and echoed throughout the forest and beyond, especially on a clear spring night.
Gremnon motioned to his son to take his place among the others.
"You may join your friends, Morphus. There is still time before chanting begins. Look...over there...Radnor's son, Tefla has joined us," Gremnon said.
Gremnon sensed his son's shyness. This was his first entrance into the community. He nudged his son along.
"Yes, father. I would like to join Tefla and perhaps, become better acquainted," Morphus said.
Morphus made his way to Radnor's place where Tefla sat beside him.
"Good evening, Morphus," Tefla croaked.
"Good evening to you as well, Tefla," Morphus replied.
"Shall we see if we can do some "fly" fishing?" Tefla asked.
Morphus agreed.
Gremnon cautioned his son about spending too much time near the water before chanting began.
"I won't father. I'd like to try fly fishing," Morphus.
Gremnon nodded his approval as he turned his attention to Radnor.
"Let's see how many flies we can catch. The one who catches the most can keep the fattest ones," Tefla said.
"Okay. But, remember, mosquitoes don't count," Morphus said.
It was, after all, still only twilight. The best flies were plentiful.
The familiar "bzzzzz" overhead and swift greenish-black wings were no match for Morphus' lightening fast tongue. In seconds, he wound his tongue around a fat, horse fly. It was no longer in flight.
Morphus grinned, mighty pleased at his increasingly advancing talents. As the hour passed before chanting, Tefla and Morphus began their count: Morphus - eight, Tefla - seven.
"The Lifferand Kingdom, upstream, just a few miles, are talking of strange bouts of illness among those in their community," Radnor said.
"Nothing fatal, I hope," Gremnon replied.
"It seems to have passed...for now," Radnor said.
"Let us hope it was only a case of soured salt marsh silt," Gremnon said.
Soured marsh silt was mildewed, sand silt that occurred after long periods of rain. Ranas were always careful to protect themselves from it by instinctively moving their community to the opposite side of the Bog until the silt returned to its natural color.
Gremnon and Radnor tried not to show the depths of their concern. Gremnon's large, liquid brown eyes did his fears, as he glanced out at Tefla and Morphus frolicking at the Bog's edge.
The sun grew ever dimmer now. Morphus rejoined his father. They settled into a soft, moist niche of swamp grass with an air of expectation that pervaded the whole, tranquil Bog.
Then, Agropomen, Serene High Prefect of the Kingdom of Rana Sylvatica, began to intone the words of the ancient Chant of the Vitas: "Vara, Vara, Rooma, Rooma, Mecka, Mecka."
The chant always started slowly by the highest members of the Rana Kingdom until the sound became a musical rhythm.
When all of the Ranas chanting blended into a single, unified chorus, the whole of Bog Hollow, sounded like an enchanted cathedral.
The fervor with which the Ranas chanted was a proclamation of their regal existence among all of the creatures in Bog Hollow, like the brown, long-eared rabbits, beavers, chipmunks, groundhogs, moles and squirrels on the ground. In the air, colorful blue jays, red crested robins, scarlet cardinals, tawny sparrows, white crested nuthatches and black and red feathered woodpeckers hugged the tall trees throughout this wooded area.
For the first time, Morphus joined in, unsteadily reciting as much of the chant as he could remember. Gremnon smiled down at his son. Now, he was certain Morphus was the future leader of the Ranas. He beamed with pride.
Gremnon and Radnor had to do whatever they could to preserve the Bog for their sons and daughters, long into the future.
As the final notes of the chant faded, Ranas retired into the blackness of night. Darkness was the way all Bog creatures restored themselves.
When morning came, Gremnon knew he must go to the Kingdom of the Lifferands. He must see for himself if illness was truly past. Too much was at stake to ignore the warning signals of impending danger.
Gremnon and Radnor made plans the night before to see for themselves if illness was spreading and if there was danger to Ranas.
Lifferands were not as hardy a breed as Ranas. Nor, were they as pure a breed, having mixed with their breed with those from the Twerewuper Kingdom barely three or four generations back.
Still, the there remained pervasive talk that other creatures in the Bog were having difficulty with their health.
Gremnon was annoyed and alarmed. Bog creatures were only able to control their immediate environment, not the entire of the Bog. He and Radnor worried that Morphus and Tefla and the future of all Ranas was at stake.
When Gremnon's rule ended at his death, he extracted a promise from Morphus to do whatever was necessary to keep the Kingdom of Ranas from extinction.
Morphus never forgot the promise. As leader of the Ranas, he charged Tefla with the duty of creating Rana warriors who would protect the future of the Kingdom. For Morphus, this often meant keeping a watchful eye on younger Ranas who lacked the discipline needed to be Rana warriors. Already, Tefla gathered several younger Ranas and prepared them for their future duties as warriors.
To Morphus, some of these younger warriors were too playful and preoccupied with a desire to have fun and play games. He knew his experience as a Rana leader meant keeping the less disciplined in line. One of the younger Rana, Rorph, was the subject of Morphus attention of late.
He was displeased with Rorph. He was behaving in an annoying, aloof manner, as if unaffected by the problems that lay ahead. Morphus instinctively viewed Rorph as too rebellious for the good of the community.
Before things got out of control, Morphus planned to deal with the matter swiftly and...immediately.
Bog Hollow must be protected. It was Morphus responsibility as the leader to see it was done.
Wasn't it bad enough when those giant creatures began encroaching further and further into their community? he thought.
Now, bog water upstream had begun to turn.
Morphus remembered how Bog Hollow had once been. Water was cold, clear and the lifeblood of their community. The memory of that awful discovery when a strange reddish-brown liquid began trickling into the water upstream and turned it murky and oddly warmer on the surface.
For the community, air beneath the surface was limited and made breathing difficult.
At first, some of Morphus people became ill and their lungs deteriorated. The weakest of the breed suffocated. Those with damaged lungs maneuvered about and learned to adapt with limited air in bog water.
After a longer period, horrible painful deaths occurred regularly.
The hierarchy of the community no longer traveled upstream or streams to the east where bog water turned bad. That meant certain death.
Morphus called a meeting of the entire Bog community. Something had to be done and very soon. The sound of the Chanting of the Vitas ritual was heard by all the other creatures on land and in the air. In winter, when the forest was cold, dark and silent, it was the memory of the chanting and the coming together of the Ranas that restored hope for the coming of spring.
Now, because of the imminent danger to the water, the ritual changed. It became a rite of survival. He knew what must be done and it meant everyone in the Rana Kingdom, include Rorph, must do their part.
"It's time Rorph played a heavier role in the community," Morphus told Tefla.
"He's young, strong and capable," Tefla responded.
"There's no better time than this very evening to being to advance Rorph in the Rana Sylvatica hierarchy," Morphus said.
At the gathering for the chant that evening, Morphus called Rorph to his side. Rorph spent the afternoon lazing in the sun along the Bog's edge. The Ranas took a part of their day to shore up their energy for the busy evening ahead of them.
Rorph responded to Morphus with trepidation.
His large, sapphire eyes darted back and forth.
Morphus explained why he'd summoned the younger frog.
"Rorph, I grant you the privilege of preparing the ritual for this evening," Morphus said.
Rorph shifted his rotund body from one short leg to the other lackadaisically. This aloof response annoyed Morphus more than ever.
"Why me?" Rorph asked.
"You know the survival of this community depends on each one of us...and on the Ritual," Morphus said.
Again, Rorph's eyes darted to and fro, increasingly frenzied.
"Lord Morphus, I realize that. You choose me at this time because you know my distaste for changes that have taken place in the Kingdom of Rana Sylvatica. I'm certain you are aware that I prefer the life we inherited from our ancestors, than the warrior breed we've become," Rorph said.
Morphus grew impatient with Rorph's impertinence.
If I relax my control, Rorph's attitude could destroy us and...hasten our doom, Morphus thought.
He glared at Rorph.
"I have spoken. As your leader, this is my decision for the good of all," Morphus said.
Digusted, Rorph hurried off to join the others.
If I must, indeed, lead this evening's Ritual, I choose Antla for my lieutenant. At least with Antla as lieutenant, the Ritual will be done swiftly and quickly without resistance, Rorph thought.
Thus began the Ritual as twilight deepened. The legion of Rana headed for the banks of the Bog, settling in their usual places. They intoned the ancient chant that instilled unity and strength among these Bog creatures.
Morphus caught sight of Rorph speaking with Antla.
Good, Rorph has accepted my command, Morphus thought.
He felt a greater sense of stability for it.
As darkness fell, the Rana chanting grew louder, more shrill and hypnotic.
Rorph and Antla mapped out their plans.
Morphus observed the two as the rhythmic chant of his people filled the air,
"Vara, Vara, Rooma, Rooma, Mecka, Mecka."
Part of the Ritual was the passing of bog water from one to the other. As the chants grew frenzied and angrier, the shrill sound rose high in Bog Hollow with echoes louder and louder.
The late summer moon cast an eerie silver shadow. The Rana sense the scent of their prey in their midst. It inflamed their now tainted blood.
Rorph and Antla gathered their warriors and pursued the scent relentlessly. Their plan was to mass at once
around their prey.
Closer and closer they came, chanting wildly.
Rorph's duty as leader of the Ritual was to identify the precise location of their prey like one of the forest hunters.
"Cursed Morphus. We were not bred for stalking prey and hunting" he said to himself.
Yet, somewhere deep inside he knew it must be done.
The moon rose high over Bog Hollow as Richard realized he'd have no chance to find the path back to the road.
How stupid of me to go hiking alone, even in such a familiar place, he thought.
He stared down at the two swamp frogs positioned near his hiking boot.
He realized he'd have to sleep in the wooded hollow all night and find his way back in the morning. Suddenly, an uneasy feeling come over him. He told himself he should relax and rely on his camping expertise. He'd slept in remote areas before.
The sound of the bog creatures was beginning to be unnerving and seemed to emphasize his predicament.
He looked down at his boot. The two frogs remained there silent and motionless. He decided he'd remain at the site of the fallen tree trunk at the water's edge.
The frogs seemed to stare up at him. He was amused by their expression. He rationalized that at least he wasn't along. At least, he had these two little frogs beside him.
He noticed they seemed to barely take in air and remained stock still. In fact, they hadn't moved in more than a half-hour.
Oh well, at least I have company until morning, he thought.
He heard more distinctively the sound of bog creatures in the dark forest. The highway traffic noise was less audible now, making the sounds in the forest clearer.
He wondered if any passing by on the highway knew Bog Hollow even existed. A dread thought crossed his mind. Would I even be missed?
He realized, being a bachelor, there was no one at home to worry about him or wonder about his return.
It was hours since he'd eaten lunch. He would rather not be reminded of that. He thought if he quenched his thirst, it might fill the hunger pangs he felt in his stomach.
He rose to fill his canteen.
"Thank goodness. I always have a canteen with me," he told the two frogs.
As he spoke, it startled them.
They watched cautiously as he bent over the water's edge and filled his canteen. The thought that the water might be tainted crossed his mind.
Oh well. I'll just have to take my chances. What's the worst that could happen? I'll have a stomach ache in the morning, he thought.
He knew it wouldn't do to avoid drinking an ample supply of water. He didn't want to suffer dehydration in addition to being stranded in these woods. Richard gulped down the water nervously. Then, he felt he was worrying needlessly. It actually had a pleasant taste, almost fruity. He smiled to himself when he considered his earlier concerns about the quality of the water and having to spend a night in Bog Hollow. He realized it was silly and laughed out loud.
He headed back to the fallen log and felt his eyes growing heavy with sleep. He quickly drank from his canteen and as quickly lay his head against the trunk of the tree and stretched his body out to rest. He noticed more swamp frogs seemed headed toward the tree trunk. The two frogs remained in their original place, still with a transfixed gaze on him.
He suddenly felt lightheaded and drowsy. The sound of the croaking frogs were much louder and oddly, nearer.
He struggled to keep his eyes open. Finally, he drifted off to sleep.
Rorph had done well..so far. Everything was going as planned. Rorph chose Antla because he was slightly smaller in size and less menacing. Together, they located the scent of their prey. His pride swelled as the great bubble of his mouth sounded the signal to the other Ranas. He repeated it with the Ritual response,
"Oonfra, Oonfra, Vara, Vara, Mecka, Mecka."
Perhaps, Lord Morphus will be satisfied with us and direct his attentions elsewhere in the future. Surely, our work for the Ritual is complete ," Rorph told Antla.
Slowly, but steadily masses of Rana began to join Rorph and Antla.
They remained in their places as they watch the human make its way to the water and then drink from the Bog's water. They were startled momentarily when the human reclined against the tree trunk. Curiously, the human lay motionless.
"These human creatures are certainly a peculiar lot, aren't they?" Rorph told Antla.
"Very soon, the Ritual will be over. Lord Morphus will be done with me," Rorph said.
The masses of Rana warriors encircled the reclined body of their prey. They waited until Lord Morphus and Tefla appeared. It was the duty of Lord Morphus, as the highest member of the Rana hierarchy to make the first move upon their prey.
"I implore you, Supreme Lord Klork, highest power of our realm, accept this offering in return for our survival. If it be your sacred will, bless the waters of our kingdom with life and purity for all eternity," Morphus intoned.
Swiftly, Morphus sprang upon the creature. The masses of Rana followed, lead by Rorph and Antla. Their chant was a shrill scream now that brought forth inner pain, as if their souls were torn from them.
Richard's eyes half opened. In terror, he thought,
I must be dreaming. This must be a nightmare, he thought.
He felt as if he was suffocating. In his fright, he imagined himself covered by hundreds of swamp frogs!
He tried to calm himself.
It must have been the water, he reasoned.
His heart pounded in his chest and felt as if a two-ton weight lay upon it. Then, everything seemed to fade and go black.
Morphus turned to the Rana warriors.
"By the will of our Supreme Lord Klork, our Ritual is done. With Lord Klork's blessing upon us, we've performed out Ritual well. Bless the Bog Water, Great Spirit. Bless its power to preserve us all."
It was true. Morphus was confident he could rely on Rorph to follow his leadership to preserve the Rana and insure their survival.
Morphus recognized the symptoms from which he suffered and the complications caused by the Bog's water. His own future was uncertain. He saw in Rorph the young Rana he had once been.
After the Ritual that evening, Rorph had a renewed sense of purpose. He hadn't known Morphus' plan for him. If he had, he might not have avoided Morphus as he'd been inclined to do. There had been whispers that Morphus reign of leadership was in jeopardy due to the "illness."
Rorph realized, purely and simply, Lord Morphus only thought was the survival of the Kingdom of the Rana Sylvatica. He realized the days ahead for him would mean he needed to earn the respect and trust of his community.
As the Rana returned to their natural habitat in Bog Hollow, daylight was not far away. The humans would come again and make their roaring noises and fill the Bog with their putrid scent. Lord Morphus settled in the salt grass, closed his large eyes and joined all of the Rana Sylvatica of the ancient past.
Rorph would now replace Morphus. He knew life of Bog Hollow was in grave danger and it was now left to him to save it.
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