Kaufman Lake, a hop, skip, and jump away from Parkland is holding a dangerous secret, and the caretakers of the lake don’t want you to know it. This is a personal story of what I have experienced.
School isn’t easy. Especially while I was preparing for Midterms, I was feeling stressed and needed a place to walk while I waited for my next class to start. My routine is a large black coffee and Boston Crème donut from Dunkin. I enjoy my treats as I walk around Kaufman lake: the walking allows me to feel less guilty about the donut.
It had been the week of 70-degree weather, teasing our jackets away, and breathing life back into the outdoors; birds were chirping, geese were hissing, fish were warming up, it was wonderful. Feeling better already, I broke from my concrete loop and headed down the railroad tracks looking for something new. I came up to a graffiti farm, under an overpass, where a couple of herbal hippies were enjoying the weather too. As I was admiring the art, I couldn’t help but notice one strong phrase, spray-painted in red: IT COMES AT DUSK. I didn’t think too much about it outside a chuckle, realizing I was enjoying my day too much and had class.
The class went as well as it usually does, the poor teacher begs us to reflect any charisma, while we avoid eye contact. It was a little after 6 when I finally got to my car; class ended at 5:50, but the donut and coffee wanted an encore. I turned on NPR and left the C parking lot to go home down Duncan road. It was after checking myself out in the golden hour light at the Springfield intersection that I remembered the graffiti. Being almost dusk, why not.
I pulled up to my usual spot, backed up on the hill, but this time I wasn’t accompanied by a lake view neighbor with tinted windows; I was all alone, perfect time for a walk. I didn’t even bring my air pods, I wanted to listen to the symphony of nature. The second act came with a clashing cymbal, a splash from the waterfront. It wasn’t too dark, but I couldn’t see a duck or goose, so it must’ve been a sizable fish showing off. As the band started up again, I heard the soloist start his song, an owl! Excited, I reached for my phone in hopes to catch this rarity.
That’s when I saw it, just a flash, or more accurately a shadow. All I captured was a branch in mid-fall on my phone. But what I saw was a serpent-like figure eating an owl whole, then flying/slithering up in the air, then back down to the water. All I could do was laugh. Laugh my ass back to my car, get in and lock it. I didn’t know what to think. The only thing I could think of was to call my old friend from the Champaign Park District and see if she’s ever seen a snake of any kind at the lake.
I worked at the Park District from 2018 to 2019 as a flower worker. It was a cool gig, I got a solid tan and made good friends: people my age who love sustainability and old farts who love euchre, so do I. I called Bailey, one of the full-timers, and told her my story, but she had no information. She’s a logical person and tried to reason that I hadn’t seen what I thought. I respect her opinion, but I wasn’t going to drop this, I’m a journalist and this is a story.
I searched on Reddit for anything, but nothing could be found. I had to wait from dawn to dusk, to try and solve this mystery.
Dusk came again, and so did I, but with a friend this time. We weren’t alone either: there was an older lady with teal activewear and a labradoodle with booties doing laps with smug faces, a couple eating Taco Bell at a picnic table, and some a car with tinted windows rolled down to hint their scent. My friend Noah is a natural skeptic and loves when I’m wrong, so this was a natural vacation for him.
As we begin our walk, I am not letting my eyes off of the lakefront; I’m using my full ADHD powers to search from spot to spot, trying to spot anything. Noah is trying to enjoy the walk, trash-talking customers from his work. As we walk, I ask everyone we see if they have seen anything weird? Guess what, someone had! The couple eating at Taco Bell told me the last time they came to the park they brought KFC and something stole the man’s chicken. His girlfriend was saying he didn’t know what he was talking about, referencing that SpongeBob episode, but the man was adamant about his chicken thief. While he didn’t see any flying snakes, he did feel a gust of wind right before he turned his back and noticed the missing chicken. His girlfriend had gone to the car for some extra napkins, conveniently, so she couldn’t corroborate. But now I’ve got at least one more set of eyes watching for my mystery snake.
As we walked around towards the shed in the back, that’s when I heard it, a splash! The splash of a duck landing next to its friend. Naturally, I took a picture, if for any reason because ducks are cool, but I was a bit disappointed. Starting to come out of my hyperfocus, I hear another quieter splash, looking back at the duck more casually, to see just one duck, just one single duck in the same position as it was before, but no second duck. I didn’t see it fly, I didn’t see it swim, I didn’t see it at all.
Before I could say anything to Noah, I saw its head. Not the duck’s head, the snake/serpent/lake demons. I swear it looked exactly like those infamous Loch Ness Monster pictures, but with a thicker neck; like comparing Ali to Tyson. I snapped a picture so fast that I should have focused more but was too hopped up on adrenaline to even think. Just as fast I felt a hand on my shoulder. I was about to yell at Noah when I notice it isn’t his hand, Noah is on my other side, looking at the stranger with a scrunch-up face.
I see the man’s jacket and it says Park District. Finally, someone of consequence! I start to rattle off, trying to tell them to look at the lake, but before I can the man says declaratively, “It’s past hours, you need to leave!” I try to explain what’s going on and show him the picture I just took, but he interrupts again that we need to leave. Nowhere did I see any signs for a curfew, and it was only 7 pm, with other people around too, so why was this guy up my butt?
Well, it’s all or nothing at this point, time to pull out the pedigree. “You know I used to work for CPD too, right?” (CPD is lingo used by the worker) But he remained unphased, staring us down with his opaque lenses. “Okay, you work Bailey? With Don? We all go way back, softball team and all.”
He pulls out a gun. “Woah! Hold on!” Noah is finally in the conversation. “Yeah, chill out, Burt Macklin! You’re going way too far. Do you even work for CPD?” I’m just trying to stall at this point.
He tucks his top lip into his bottom and irritatingly turns his head, “Why did you have to go digging around here like that? Could have just left, but no, so give me the phone, or…” he points his lip to his gun with a shake of his head. I started to reach to give him my phone, but at that second Noah and I gave each other glances, and he knew, as if we had practiced it before, what to do. He runs like a chicken. The man, distracted, lowers his gaze and gun for just a second, enough time for me to do what I need to do. I charge, wind up a kick, and sweep the leg. The man was well trained. He stops my attack, retorts with a kick of his own, Kobra Kai style, and repositions himself to shoot. “I’ll get the tall after you’re done.” I am about to die, I feel it, I’m just proud I didn’t piss myself. Expecting the shot, sounding like the doldrums of my life, I close my eyes, and wait for the bang. I heard a big splash and struggled to grunt. There she is in all her glory, my Nessy, the serpent monster of Kaufman eating the man whole, saving my life. As it finishes its meal it slithers back to its home, but not before opening its fang mouth and roars, “April Fools.”
