Chapter 3: The Price of Mockery

Chapter 3: The Price of Mockery

Fear, Leo discovered, had a texture. It was like the fine, gritty dust that settled on every surface in the maintenance shop, a constant presence you could feel on your skin and taste at the back of your throat. In the week following the discovery of the mutilated deer, the easy camaraderie of his crew had evaporated, replaced by clipped sentences and a constant, vigilant scanning of the tree line. Every snap of a twig, every rustle in the undergrowth, sent a jolt through the crew. Work was done with a grim efficiency, everyone eager to get back inside the perceived safety of the trucks and buildings before dusk could bleed through the trees.

The webbed tracks by the creek had been dismissed by the remaining authorities as a misidentified bear print, a convenient explanation that explained nothing. But Leo knew what he saw. Jedediah’s story about the Toad King had taken root in his mind, a thorny vine of folklore twisting around the hard facts of a missing boy and a savaged animal.

The only one who seemed immune to the creeping dread was Zach. If anything, the tension amplified his need to be the loudest voice in the room. He deflected the palpable fear with a shield of relentless mockery.

“You’re letting that old drunk spook you, Leo,” he’d said that morning, leaning against the workbench while Leo tried to tune a chainsaw engine. “A crazy deer and some big frogs. This place is a state park, not a horror movie. Jed’s been breathing gas fumes in this shop for forty years, of course he’s gonna spin some yarn about a ‘Toad King’.” He puffed out his chest and put on a deep, booming voice. “I am the monarch of the marsh! Pay me tribute in lost children and busted-up Bambis!”

Alex, who was quietly sorting bolts, flinched. Leo’s hands tightened on the chainsaw. “Knock it off, Zach.”

“What? It’s ridiculous!” Zach laughed, but his eyes were a little too bright, a little too manic. It was the bravado of a man whistling past a graveyard. “We’re grown men, scared of a bedtime story.”

“A boy is gone,” Leo said, his voice dangerously low. “Show some respect.”

“I am! It’s tragic. Kid probably just wandered too far, and the animals got to him. It’s sad, but it’s nature. It’s not some… amphibious boogeyman.” He clapped his hands together decisively. “Now, what’s on the docket today? I’m hoping for something far away from the water. Maybe we can go count pinecones up on the ridge.”

The assignment, pinned to the corkboard, felt like a cruel joke. Beach House – Repair storm shutter, check for drainage blockages. The beach house was the most isolated structure in the park, a lonely clapboard building at the far end of the public beach, the same stretch of sand where Ethan had vanished.

“I’ll do it,” Zach said immediately, snatching the work order. “Get it done quick. Unless you think the King of the Lily Pads is gonna drag me off for fixing a drainpipe?” He shot Leo a challenging grin.

Leo felt a cold premonition, a knot of ice forming in his gut. “We’ll all go.”

“Nah, it’s a one-man job. You guys can handle that fallen oak on the west trail. Don’t worry,” he added, slinging a toolbox into the bed of a small utility cart, “If I see the three little green guys, I’ll be sure to give them your regards.”

Leo watched him drive off, the electric cart’s whine fading down the path. The feeling of wrongness was overwhelming. Get your crew home safe. His father’s words echoed in his head, a mantra turning into a curse.

Two hours passed. The work on the fallen oak was heavy, a welcome distraction that allowed Leo to pour his anxiety into the physical strain of muscle and machine. The roar of the chainsaw was a comforting noise that drowned out the park’s unnerving silence. When they finished, the sun was past its zenith, and the woods were sinking into the heavy stillness of late afternoon.

Leo’s radio crackled to life on his hip. “Hey Leo, beach house shutter is fixed. Drain’s cleared. Heading back.” It was Zach, his voice tinny and distant.

“Copy that, Zach. See you at the shop,” Leo replied, a wave of relief washing over him. The premonition had been nothing. Just nerves.

There was a pause, a burst of static, then Zach’s voice came back, different. Quieter. “...Hey, you’re not gonna believe this.”

Leo froze, hand on the truck’s door handle. “What is it?”

“The unholy trinity is here,” Zach said. The mockery was still there, but it was thin, brittle. “Sitting on the damn porch railing. Just like you said. Big, ugly suckers.”

The ice in Leo’s gut reformed, colder and sharper than before. “Zach. Listen to me. Get out of there. Get in the cart and drive. Now.”

He heard Zach let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, yeah, I’m going. Stupid… slimy things… It smells weird out here. Like a swamp after a hard rain. Thick.” There was another pause, longer this time. Leo could hear the faint, rhythmic lapping of waves in the background. “God, it smells…”

The transmission was cut short by a sharp, wet gasp, a sound of air being punched from lungs. It was followed by a scrape of metal—the toolbox hitting the wooden porch—and a heavy, dragging sound through sand.

“Zach!” Leo yelled into the radio. “Zach, respond! What’s happening?”

Only static answered. A dead, hissing void where his crewmate’s voice had been moments before.

He didn’t remember the drive. He and a pale-faced Alex tore across the park in the utility truck, leaving a cloud of dust and gravel in their wake. They burst from the tree line onto the sandy access path and skidded to a halt.

The scene was one of serene horror. The utility cart was parked where Zach had left it. The beach house stood silent, its newly-repaired shutter perfectly aligned. But on the porch, the toolbox was on its side, wrenches and screwdrivers spilled across the weathered planks. From the bottom of the steps, a deep trench was gouged in the sand, as if something impossibly heavy had been dragged from the porch directly to the water’s edge. The trench disappeared into the gentle, lapping waves.

There were no human footprints accompanying the drag marks. Only a series of massive, deeply-pressed prints that were sickeningly familiar. Three-toed. Webbed.

Lying half-buried in the sand next to one of the prints was Zach’s greasy, sweat-stained baseball cap.

The toads were gone.

Before Leo could even process what to do next, the sound of powerful engines filled the air. Two black SUVs, clinical and menacing, came speeding down the main park road and onto the beach. They weren't state police. Men in dark suits and functional boots emerged, their faces impassive, their eyes missing nothing. They moved with an unnerving purpose, unspooling yellow tape, setting up portable floodlights even though the sun was still hours from setting.

A tall man with a severe haircut and a jaw that looked like it could crack walnuts approached Leo. “This area is now under federal jurisdiction. We’ll need your statement.” He didn’t introduce himself, didn’t offer a badge. It wasn't a request; it was an order.

As Leo numbly recounted the radio call, he watched the men work. They weren’t searching. They weren’t calling Zach’s name. They were documenting, containing. They were treating the beach not as a crime scene, but as an outbreak.

It was then that the full, horrifying truth crashed down on Leo. Jedediah wasn’t just right about the Toad King. He was right about the tribute. But this wasn’t a random tax. Zach had mocked it. He’d laughed in its face. He had seen its harbingers and, instead of showing fear or respect, he had shown contempt.

This thing wasn’t just a mythic guardian. It was a predator. It was intelligent. And it was vengeful. It wasn’t just taking people who stumbled into its path.

It was actively hunting them.