Petrified by a spell, over many centuries the spell wore off. What was thought to be a fixture carved by an artist on the pylon of a bridge began to disintegrate, and beneath it a 17th century frog came to life.
“What wazzat” it thought to itself. The last thing it remembered was a burst of red. It was night and the moon was out and in the reflection of the pond below he saw his family. How did he get on top of this bridge you may ask? On the far side a collection of stones on a high outcropping rose to the level of the other pylon near a tree. As part of his exercise, he would risk jumping up here despite predators.
Meanwhile approximately 10 minutes earlier a witch was walking home in a huff. She had just been stood up for a date. Before she crossed the bridge, she paused to collect her thoughts but instead she had a date with a frog which she didn’t really like. With an evil smirk, she cast a petrify spell on this harmless frog. Not thinking of the repercussions of this she only thought of herself, she vowed she would stay single and not pursue anyone until she felt differently, and left.
At first the monument was a sad reminder to the family. They believed that he had in walks done the wrong thing or crossed the wrong person. Then came anger. “Who was going to catch flies?” How was getting turned into a statue helpful at all? Overtime they forgot his personality and believed him to be a vain frog, that only cared about prestige. Like a frog on a stone this frog became stone. The highest and most still of frogs. The one that got himself turned into stone. To passersby it was a curiosity. Most were pleasantly surprised or perplexed. Most assumed that the man who paid for the bridge without telling anyone had a pylon replaced.
Over the next 50 years, torrential rains pushed the frogs downstream and growing settlement encouraged more foot traffic. The descendants of the man, their estate in ruin, saw an opportunity as technically they owned the bridge as it made up part of their estate and the acreage of verdant land through which the river flowed that the descendants of the stone frog lived. They decided to charge a toll, but as the county had paid the better part of maintaining the bridge, they knew they couldn’t get away with a full toll. The idea was the brainchild of the grandson of the man who constructed the bridge, whom noticing the trend of cottage industries dotting the lands, hatched a plan. On weekends, they would block traffic to large vehicles and opening the upstream area for fishing. Additionally, the side with most traffic coming up became a campground. At first, merchants were upset, but the older ones understood the money was for repairs and instead of selling that family had to do something. When a merchant came, he would ring a bell, and the second youngest child would unlatch the gate and take a toll. They also had a few regulars that would fish on the weekend. Overtime, they built a small store where they sold preserved foods & sometimes the catch of the day. Often you could see an eagle or two perched on the bridge or even the frog begging for food. With the number of homesteads expanding, they had a few customers, making the whole endeavor worthwhile. Generally it was peaceful on the weekends and many fish were caught. It had even gained a bit of a reputation from city folk as a place worth staying for the weekend as a place to get some fresh air and gather ones thoughts, as there was now a cabin built not too far off, and one could take a half-a-days walk to the destination, and stock up as needed passing the sage frog on the way to the store.
Remembering the past, and how much had changed, the grandson now in his old-age, how he had pitched the idea and slowly built rapport with the many passersby that could have easily overtaken him, the ideas of the store and noticing the desire for the countryside in the books he had read in the city, he built his entire life around this bridge, under which he used to put his feet in the water as a boy. He did not know the story about the frog. That was a family story he wondered about, but during these times as a boy, there was no time for reminiscences, instead he remembered a great deal of arguing and grief. A large portion of shipping stock was lost. The sea captain was a rationalist with a fair temper, a hire of the family, after the ship was lost a detective was hired to determine anything about what might have happened. Apparently the night before the voyage, he was at a bar boasting about a new nautical timepiece. He had presented it at the bar and the following conversation occurred between him and a woman of mystical aspect:
“By calculating temperature, humidity, keeping abreast of the latest meteorological data, and with this timepiece I can chart any path across the ocean depths. You are in safe hands. I am looking for some seaman that will man the ropes and take on other responsibilities as needed under my command. You will take a share.” Several of the patrons stood up to approach the captain when a woman with flowing hair spoke, “The sea has an energy & spirit of its own. Like a tempest her moods shift and living creatures around her heed this shift as we embody similar power with the ocean. Heed my warning captain, do not depart, or at the very least take me and I will assist you on your travels. I’m looking for safe passage.”
“What signs do you see?”
“The turtles emerging from the sea are fewer in number. And those hatched are fewer.”
“I don’t take you for a scientist to know the exact number of turtle hatched. You would need a proper survey & statistics. Additionally the reproductive cycle does happen every several years as you note. Although it might be earlier or later this year.”
“Later.”
“That might be so. But I’m looking for practical help like two guys that can rig a mast. What do you say?” Between the captain & the men, their mind was already on adventure, the chance to explore new lands, trade & meet new people.
“No. You don’t understand. You shouldn’t trust that instrument over a fellow human being. I know the sea. Understand it. I suspect also that that timepiece might not function properly.”
“You understand time too? I paid gold for this. If you want passage, you can pay like anyone else.”
Placing a single finger on the instrument she departed. “No thanks. Good luck.”
“Don’t worry about her. A difference in opinion. She won’t cast a curse upon us. Ha! Let me buy you two a drink. What’s your experience…” And the night proceeded normally afterwards based on different reports. A week later a high choppy wind and great bouts of rain pounded the shore. The nights were significantly colder and rain did not let up in the countryside for several weeks which was how it was like if remembered. These were the remnants of the storm that toppled the ship, the timepiece crashing into wooden panels. Several hundred kilometers south, taken by a current, some bolts of cloth washed up and were found by some young girls and worn as scarves, a nice memory borne out of tragedy.
That same cloth had gone to moths. Another 100 years past. The automobile had been invented. There was no longer a toll, but a small town bordering the old estate, where a well-to-do family lived, and the forest. Locally, the bridge had attained some historical significance. Over the past century several pieces of work, books, art, music could be traced to the idyllic setting which was provided. In the horror short story, “Apparition of the Manor,” in which a seaman after a long voyage returns to his old town, crosses the frog bridge when he sees a large house that was not there before. He finds lodgings with the place in mind, as he goes to bed. The next day he sets out to find an old flame. He finds the townspeople changed distrustful and skeptical of his travels comparing his claims to the record of the old man that lives in the manor, whom they speak admirably of. No one thinks it strange that such an old looking manor is here in 10 years. He goes up to the old manor to investigate when he sees his old girlfriend on the crest. They meet and she is warm unlike all the other people. She is so excited to talk but first he has to meet her husband. She takes him up the hill, a low voice, “Honey,” “Yes, dear,” it is not a man but a large frog man. The seaman is so revolted he nearly gags. Later on, we find out the frog is a collector of sorts, he has a nice car, “I’m a land creature. We go for wonderful trips. Leaps & bounds.” When he relates her stories, her reactions are not what he hopes. He’s filled with grief. By looking around, he determines that the frog is an inter-dimensional being, a traveler, and this world was tagged, for collection, colonization. He takes his oyster knife and goes in the back to look for spawn but he is confronted by the frogman and stabbed in the back by his old love, who feels no love for him. “What a pity. Well, it will make a good story, for the kids.”
In the present, the frog jumped down the rock steps and no tree. The ground was black and what looked like stars shown brightly to the surface. His skin reacted to the new air and surroundings and his eyes dilated. “Water” he thought. Under the bridge he slept and woke the next day.
“What had happened to the world?” He could not imagine how these humans in wood carts had become so advanced. Although he felt certain it had nothing to do with the magic that trapped him. Having some acquaintance with this he knew this was another power more closely related to the sun & earth than the mystery of bio-stasis being trapped in the amber of time.
He set off downstream into the forest wary of eagles. What he didn’t realize was the eagle was no longer the top predator around. Eagles ate mainly fish. Due to all the fishing, the Eagle population had receded. The top predator was now snakes.
As he hopped off deeper into the forest, the townspeople assembled on the bridge. A sense of sadness and anger was present. “Someone took the frog.” “Whoever took the frog is going to pay.” The mayor announced, “There will be a criminal investigation. It was one of the beloved landmarks of our town. If anyone has any information please come forward.” A boy spoke up, “As strange as this might sound, I was here last night walking back from the park, when I saw the stone around it crumble, and a perfectly green frog reveal itself.” People traded looks. “I know what you are thinking but I’m serious. It turned around and hoped off those rocks over there like it had done it a thousand times as a form of exercise.”
A young woman spoke up, “There hasn’t been a green frog here since the 17th century. Hi. I’m a naturalist.” “When was it carved again?” “Sometime in the 17th century. The person who carved it is unknown but it is speculated that it was the person who lived in the estate here originally.” People began to smile. “You know maybe it was a petrified frog. They say there used to be witches in these parts.” “The craftsmanship was very high. And it was strange how it was only on one pylon.” “Why do you think the witch turned it to stone though?” “Maybe she was corresponding with some handsome guy and it turned out to be a frog.” The people laughed and dispersed preferring greatly the fantasy as the young naturalist headed downstream.
It was getting dark. He didn’t know what he was looking for, his family, or another frog. He hadn’t seen any frogs. He had seen a skeleton holding a knife. “Hey, who are you?” “I’m from yonder stream.” “Yonder? Never heard that one before.” She was a gray frog elegant and blending in nicely with the stones underbrush. She started, “Never seen a green frog like you before. It makes sense that you are not familiar with this area and that you come from upstream. There is a legend in my family that the frogs upstream are very fancy. Are you a fancy frog? I’m a gray frog as you can see, well mostly anyway.” As he was processing this, her eyes grew wide, “Watch out!” she said. A snake was slithering up behind him, when suddenly, the naturalist deftly picked up the snake by the neck and released it further away. “Well well well,” she picked up the frog. “The magical green frog.” She inspected the body. “Our frogs here used to be green as they would blend in with the foliage from above but as they moved further downstream they began to shed their green and stay gray in this woody & rocky area. Functionally, they are the same species.”
“I’m going to take a quick DNA sample.” She retrieved a vial and implement. “Ow.” “That’s it. And a picture. Okay all done.” She lay her by the other frog and left. Both relieved they began to hop along.
“Let me show you our place. It’s a pond that diverges from the stream. I’ll show you how to survive out here.”
“How come you were by the stream?”
“Just for exercise. If you cover yourself in slime the snakes won’t eat you.”
Somehow he thought they were related that she was his distant ancestor and that she was smarter than him. “I should have made myself look more like a stone.” “What?” and with that he began his story and together they put the many pieces together.