Here's another very long story—number 32—in the same format: dark, atmospheric, and deeply steeped in English legend.--

# **32. "The Keeper of Dartmoor's Black Pond"—The Story of a Being Who Watches Over, But Not the Living**

Dartmoor—a harsh, windy land in southern England—has always been a strange place.

Unpredictable.

Wild in a way that defies description until you stand on its marshes and feel the earth...breathe.

In the heart of the moors lies **Blackmere Pond**—the Black Pond.

Unusual because its waters are as dark as obsidian, even in full sunlight.

Legend says that a being dwells in the pond. Not a ghost, not a demon—something much older. Something that remembers a time when humans still walked the earth.

They call him **The Guardian**.

But no one can explain who—or what—he was supposed to protect.

--

## **I—The Fenwick Brothers' Oath**

In 1911, brothers **Arthur** and **Henry Fenwick** decided to explore Black Pond.

Arthur—the younger, braver one—believed the pond held a geological secret. Perhaps an underground cave, perhaps a mineral anomaly.

Henry—the older, more cautious one—knew that the legends of Dartmoor didn't just come from nowhere.

But he promised his mother he wouldn't leave his brother alone.

And so he went with him.

When they asked the locals for directions, they heard only one sentence:

"If you see mist over the pond... back off. It's not mist."

The brothers laughed.

Few people returned from Black Pond, but they were scientists, after all. They didn't believe in fairy tales.

--

## **II — First Approach**

They reached the pond late in the afternoon.

It was calm, still, though the wind blew everywhere.

Arthur noted:

> "The surface is like glass. No waves, no movement. As if the water were dead. But I can see a slight pulsation—as if something was breathing below."

Henry felt a chill.

Not from the air—a chill within.

At one point, the water moved slightly, as if something were flowing beneath it, but it didn't cause any ripples.

Arthur leaned closer.

Henry grabbed his arm.

"Stay away from the shore," he hissed.

"Or what?" Arthur smiled. "I'll prove it's just a trick of the light in a moment."

He didn't.

Then, for the first time, they both heard a sound.

It was neither a whisper nor a murmur. Something deep, rhythmic, something no animal could make.

Henry wrote down in one sentence:

> “It’s not a sound—it’s a warning.”

--

## **III — Night on the Moor**

The brothers set up camp near the pond.

At dusk, strange sounds began to come from the area:

* crackling sounds, as if someone were walking on dry branches, though there were no trees there

* soft whistles, audible only when someone turned their head

* the lapping of water, though the surface of the pond remained still

After midnight, Arthur woke Henry.

“Something is standing by the water.”

Henry sat up and froze.

Mist hung over the pond—but it wasn’t white.

It was black.

Black as ink.

And in that blackness stood a silhouette.

Thin, tall, disturbingly still.

Arthur whispered,

“Is it a human?”

Henry shook his head.

“A human wouldn’t be that… long.”

The fog parted for a moment.

The creature had no face—only a smooth surface, like a mask of dark water.

But its eyes…

They weren’t eyes.

They were two vertical streaks of light.

The Guardian watched.

--

## **IV — Escape and Return**

The brothers fled.

They almost lost their way, stumbling over uneven terrain.

Only at dawn did they return to Stonethirst, where the local herbalist, Mrs. Kellon, whispered,

“He came to you.”

“What is ‘it’?” Henry asked.

“What was here before we were. He guards.”

“What?” Arthur demanded.

“What’s in the pond. And so that nothing can escape.”

Arthur wanted to return. He wanted to see it up close, take photos.

Henry forbade it.

But the younger Fenwick had always been stubborn.

--

## **V — The Last Descent**

That same night, Arthur slipped away.

Henry ran after him, but found him only at dawn—right by the water of Black Pond.

Arthur stood waist-deep in water.

He looked down, as if something were calling him.

Henry tried to pull him out.

But the water was icy—not like an ordinary lake, but like metal.

Arthur didn't react.

His eyes were wide open, like a man hypnotized.

Then the water stirred.

The pulsing grew stronger.

And something emerged right next to Arthur.

First, a long, thin hand—too long, inhuman.

Then another.

Then the Keeper's face, emerging slowly, as if stretching after a long sleep.

Henry screamed.

But the Keeper hadn't hurt Arthur.

He simply… covered him in mist.

A black mist that swallowed him silently.

Arthur vanished underwater, as if drawn by something in the depths.

Henry would never forget the last sound:

a soft, moist sigh.

As if the pond had breathed a sigh of relief.

--

## **VI — After All**

Arthur's body was never found.

Henry returned to London, but he was no longer himself.

In his notes, the following sentence was found:

> "The Keeper doesn't protect people from the pond.

> He protects the pond from people."

And beneath it, written in shaky handwriting:

> "What took AArthur…

> …maybe it was too old to allow itself to be studied.

> Maybe it was too hungry.”

--

## **VII — Blackmere Pond Today**

To this day, locals avoid Blackmere Pond.

Because sometimes, on very cloudy nights, you can see the fog—black, pulsating, unnaturally thick.

And if one gets too close, they might hear a whisper coming from the water.

A young man whispers:

**“Henry… pull me out…”**

The locals know it’s not Arthur.

The Keeper plays the voices of those he took.

As a warning.

Or as bait.

No one knows what truly lives in the pond.

But everyone knows the Keeper still watches.