I found the thing on the east shore of the river one cold morning in January. Since my wife had passed away, I had taken to these sunrise walks as a way to do something to occupy the hours before lunchtime. I loved the way the rising sun would flood the river basin with shades of yellow tinged with orange. The light flickering off the ripples in the water, shimmering with radiant colors too numerable to count here. These times I would watch the sun rise above the mountains like a soldier, rising for it's daily march across the Southwestern sky. I enjoyed the feeling of its warmth on my face mingling with the cold air of the earliest part of the day.
In these early hours, I would leave my house and walk to the gate that led to the ditch bank. I lived in a cul-de-sac and the gate was practically right next to my house.
On this particular morning I left as usual, grabbing my pistol due to the dogs that have been roaming the area in uncontrolled groups. Even though I had not been attacked, I still felt that it would be in my best interests to be armed; if Animal Control wasn't going to do anything about it, I would.
I made my way along the ditch and though the aforementioned dog pack was present, I was not disturbed. The ditch itself was dry as a bone, the bottom being littered with old tires, a car door and various other bits of human flotsam. It was colder than usual, I felt as I walked along. The sky was slightly overcast and the weatherman was predicting snow for later on in the afternoon. Still, the sun was already cresting the mountain as I made my way down the path I had made to the riverbank. I figured it was public land and I wasn't doing anything worse than clearing pesky underbrush.
The Bosque was unusually quiet this time. Normally the cranes would be squawking overhead and the trees would be overrun with the myriad of species that called this area home. I soon arrived at the clearing where I got the best view up and down the river. A cold breeze blew over me and I shivered and drew my jacket closer. I always stayed on the west side of the river, for some reason I had always been afraid to cross the many sand bars and islands that made up the majority of the river basin scenery. Today was different and I found myself searching for a means to cross to the other side.
The breeze continued to pick up. I could hear the leafless tree branches rubbing against each other like old dry bones and I finally pulled my hood up. Briefly I considered turning back and going home, but felt compelled to continue. It was a feeling I had never felt before, as if something, some unseen force, was directing me across the river. A slight feeling of dread overtook me at this point, a feeling that my actions weren't my own. The air was getting colder, I could see my breath billowing in front of me. My feet were encased in heavy, insulated rubber wading boots, recently purchased from Wal-Mart.
The sky was getting increasingly overcast, the clouds were gathering more and more and soon the sun was hidden behind an immense wall cloud that spread out for miles. I began to make my way across, moving from sand bar to sand bar with a sure footedness that shocked me, especially since I had surgery on my back when I turned sixty-five. I plowed through stands of river weeds that were as tall as I was; at 5'9" I had not yet succumbed to the osteoporosis that ran in my family. I avoided the worst of the spots where the water was running briskly, my feet seeming to know where they were supposed to go.
As I reached the middle of the river I was overcome by the unmistakable odor of rotting fish. I stopped and stood on the small island that I was on that wasn't overgrown with weeds and scanned the bank, trying to find the source of the stench. I spotted something near the bridge but couldn't make out what it was. I continued on, arriving presently on the east side and began making my way towards the bridge, fighting through scrub brush and river weeds.
As I approached it, the smell got continuously worse. I approached it with caution, unmindful of the traffic noise and distractions that filled the pocket under the bridge. I walked right through the remains of what had been a campfire, ash kicking up around my ankles. Underneath the bridge it was deathly cold, there was a ringing in my ears and I seemed to have tunnel vision. I had reached the thing and stood looking at it.
It was maybe six feet long. The head was an odd cross between a fish and a frog, it having long whiskers, almost tentacles, protruding from the chin of the creature. Its white belly was smooth and the gills around its neck were oozing a noxious black ichor that seemed to be the source of the smell. I noticed that the gills were moving slightly. It had long forelegs with what appeared to be human hands, webbed human hands. The legs were heavily muscled and the feet were webbed as well, between the stubbed toes. Its skin was scaly and an iridescent shade of green; its scales shimmered and the wind blew its tentacles about. I could see a row of fins growing out of its back. Its bulbous eyes were closed and its pale white belly rose and fell erratically. I picked up a piece of felled tree next to it and poked it in the arm, the eyes sprung open and fixated on me. They were bright yellow, resembling those of a cat and they squinted at me as if studying my face.
I kneeled down for a closer look. The head was huge and flat with a crown of tentacles growing out from around the ears and around the eyes. Its mouth opened, showing rows of tiny, yet apparently razor sharp teeth. It spoke, or rather made a noise that sounded like speech. I indicated that I didn't understand what it was trying to say. It closed its eyes again and raised its arm, pointing towards the river. I realized that it wanted me to help it into the water. I knew there was no possible way that I could lift it. Even though the thing was clearly not of my world, I had been brought up to help all living things and this one needed my help, regardless of its hideous appearance. I stepped over and behind it and sat down with my back against the wall of the bank and pressed my booted feet against its back. It grunted and I felt it begin to slide through the mud of the riverbank. My back was on fire by this point and I knew that I would be paying for this for the next few days.
I soon got it close enough to the water and with a stupendous effort, I shoved it with all my might. It slid into the water and disappeared beneath the surface. It came back up a few feet down river. We were sheltered by the bridge and this prevented any looky loos from seeing what had transpired. If anything, they would've seen a crazy old man crossing the river on the sand bars.
The creature raised a hand above the water line as if to wave and I lifted my own in response. Something passed between us as we stared briefly into one another's eyes. It glided beneath the surface in a deep grotto and all that remained of it was the ripples in the water.
I stood and made my way up the small incline to River Park and rested on one of the benches before crossing the river by way of the bridge. The promised snow had begun to fall as I turned down my street and by the time I stepped through my dooryard gate, the flakes were huge and already sticking to the ground.
Its still snowing as I write this, three days later. I don't know what it was that I saw, what the thing on the riverbank was or where it had come from. Nor did I know what had drawn me to it, yet I knew I would not soon forget it.