Dr. Pretorius's Palpably Pulpy Pish-Posh

Dr. Pretorius’s Palpably Pulpy Pish-Posh

Or is it?

I promised, dear readers, to outline for you a conversation I had back in March with a Mr. Jeffords who lives on New Balch Street, not far from the pond in question. After making the acquaintance of the two boys in late January and seeing minor evidence of what they said they saw my trips around the pond became more frequent, even with the blistering cold and constant snow storms.

It didn’t surprise me that I found no further signs of the creature. In the midst of Winter it seemed to me—hypothetically of course—that if there were something living in the pond abutting Business Park X, it must have taken tremendous effort on its part to break through the ice that day. And, given the constant onslaught from Mother Nature, another attempt would for the thing to double its efforts.

So, no, I wasn’t surprise that during the month of February and much of March not only did I find no sign of the creature, but I found no one stating that they’d seen anything unusual near the spot.

Then I stumbled onto Mr. Jeffords one afternoon. While I didn’t formally know the man we were acquaintances as people who live in the same neighborhood often are. Older, with a shock of white hair and a full beard just as white if he were heavier one might mistake him for St. Nick. He walked with a limp, from time to time, needed the use of a gnarled limb that served as a cane. The day I found him he was standing on McKay Street, staring off towards the pond. He had a camera in hand and, as I approached, he went from taking pictures of the pond to the fence line on the opposite side of the street where the local golf course could be found. As I grew closer he gave me a tentative smile and nod and I returned the gesturing, stopping near him and peering out at the newly thawed and revealed surface of the water.

“Taking some pictures, I see,” I said.

“Yes, sir. Last few.”

“Last few? Pictures?”

“Before we move.”

“I hadn’t realized…”

“This Winter was too cold. Wife and I decided during the last storm. It’s time to make for warmer climates.”

“I can’t argue with that,” I said, then nodded at the fence across the street. “Why so interested in the golf course fencing? I can’t imagine that makes for good photography.”

He chuckled then, and stowed the camera in his pocket. “Ah, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me,” I said, and composed my face in the most serious of manners. When he saw that I was listening—truly listening—he began.

“About a week ago I’m on my walk around the pond. Easier now that the sidewalks are cleared of snow. I came up to just about where you first saw me a few minutes ago and heard someone screaming from the golf course. I looked across and saw that a large hold had been torn in the fence. Something had scored it and fold it back to create an opening.”

At this I looked across, but I saw no hole.

“They fixed them. A lot of the fences were torn or knocked over due to the massive amounts of snow the plows pushed into them. But this fence here,” he said and pointed at the short line of fencing that ran along the golf course, “there was no snow damage to it. I got out a few times after the storms had subsided, and this fence was intact. Intact until the day that I heard that scream and came upon it torn open.”

“What happened,” I asked.

“I went across the street, peeled back a few of the branches that were on the otherside of the fence and I saw one of the men that worked for the course running like his pants were aflame. That and…”

He paused and shook his head. “Nawp. It’s too crazy.”

“Nothing is crazy.”

“I had a brother lived in Florida years ago. Left because of the heat. We’re moving to Vegas. It’s a dry head there they say. But my brother, when he lived in Florida, he always said don’t go down there. Between the humidity and the goddamn gators it’s not worth it.”

He nodded then, as if to himself. “That’s what it looked like. It looked like a gator was chasing him.”

“A gator?”

“Yeah, a gator. Only on two legs. And twice as big as a man.”

The Beast had emerged once again.

After listening to Mr. Jeffords’s other minor details about how the Beast and the golf course employee disappeared over the muddy hills and valleys beyond I decided to take some time and track down the employee in question.

The details of that, though, must wait for another day.

If you or someone you know has information regarding or has seen said Beast in Beverly please email the pertinent details to drpretoriusofbeverly@gmail.com