In the winter, the pond becomes a mirror of black ice, tempting the children to come and play on its sparkling diamond surfaces.
In winter the pond grows hungry, for no fish swim in its depths. They hang suspended and motionless beneath the ice, staring into the white with wide unblinking eyes.
Winter winds whip across the frozen surface, ice-crystals glide and swirl like ghosts.
The children run out onto the ice, run to play with the other children they think are playing there. The ice cracks. Fissures stretch spidery fingers. The sound of bones splintering echoes in the air.
The pond opens its mouth, a black maw blooming across the ice. The children fall.
Blue corpses hang in the depths of the pond, frozen, arms outstretched as if for flight.