For generations the legend of 'Jenny Greenteeth' has haunted the imagination of the children of Benton. The tall tales of the malevolent water hang with green, mottled skin, long hair and sharp, pointed teeth. That is supposed to lurk out of sight beneath beds of duckweed in ponds, canals or gravel pits. Biding her time, waiting for her chance to rise up and snatch from the banks careless children or the elderly that had strayed too close to her hiding place. And with an almost supernatural strength she would then reach out, quickly wrap her longer fingers around their legs and with one quick jerk, she would drag them into the water and under a floating mass of duckweed. Once they had succumbed to drowning and had stopped struggling. Jenny would then proceed to devour them before returning to her hiding place.

Stories like this are common to very young children to scare them straight if you will and to warm them away from dangerous places. But the story of 'Jenny Greenteeth' stands out to me. I was never told the legend growing up, nor did my older sister ever mention it to me. I only happened upon it late one night while I was browsing the internet. When I first came to Benton about a year and a half ago. I was really digging the supernatural scene, I would spend all of my free time down at the local library. There I would pass the time by reading dozens upon dozens of cheap, paperback books that focused on like myself encountering the supernatural. In fact, I was becoming so much of a bookworm that my older sister, Kayla, was quite alarmed at how much time I was spending inside my room and stuck in front of the computer booting me out of the house one morning.

I mean, what she did was this, she packed me a lunch bucket, a very big lunch I should add, two peanut butter sandwiches, a few snack cakes, a big chocolate car, she also filled a tiny cooler with crushed ice and filled it with a few can sodas, a few bottles of water, a juice box. She loaded all of this stuff in the back of my Schwinn Meridian Adult Trike. She then told me to get some sun. I honestly felt like Bilbo Baggins being hurried out of his nice warm Hobbit hole by the meddling wizard Gandalf the Gray in the opening stages of 'The Hobbit'. And so with thirteen hours of sunlight ahead of me, plenty of provisions and not a care in the world, I started to roam the countryside.

By chance I ended up peddling down this lonely section or road. And by lonely I mean both sides were surrounded by tall trees that cast shadows down upon the pavement, the many potholes that had formed as one season melted into another had been filled in with very rough white stones. The trees that grew on both sides of the road also grew so close together that it blocked out the gentle wind that was blowing that day. There must have been some houses nearby because there was a power line running the whole length of the lane. A dozen or so years must have passed since anybody had been out there to tend to them because the power line drooped down and hung low to the ground. So low in fact that one could stand flat footed on the side of the land and if they so desired reach up and touch it. I know I could, and I'm far from the tallest person in the world.

The whole area was pretty eerie too and really put me on edge. But I pushed those thoughts away from me and pushed on anyway, you know how the old saying goes, curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back. And I knew myself well enough to know if I turned back now, I'll be kicking myself later that evening. So I peddled on and soon I came to the end of the lane. The lane all of a sudden opened up to this big, wide, open space. From where I was standing I could tell the road once made a circle around a pond. Then I noticed that there were a few old houses here as well.

The houses themselves seemed abounded, the two front yards were choked full of weeds and nettles and the grass had grown to the height of the old mailbox. The drain gutters were likewise choked with leafs, sticks and stuff. The driveway was starting to crack and the window of the house to be dirty with cobwebs growing in their corners. Across from the two houses there could be seen what I thought was the remains of a pond.

I think at one time it might have been a duck pond or a fishing pond. My eyes were drawn toward the tiny dirt island that stood in the middle. The pond though had silted in and was chocked full of duckweed, its banks overgrown with cattails, water reeds and other water dwelling plants.

As I drew closer to the pond, I noticed that floating upon the beds of duckweed were about a dozen children's kicking ball. A few orange and black basketballs floated next to a few brown footballs, and a few white soccer balls. The balls floated toward the center of the pond. There was nothing odd about that, as one could say a careless child had kicked the ball too close to the edge of the pond or a bully had tossed a young child's ball into the pond.

My curiosity piqued, I started to walk toward the edge of the pond. As I did so, I started to feel like the whole world had shifted its attention toward me. I felt like I was being watched, like somebody was taking note of every step I took. A sudden silence fell over the whole area. The surrounding woodland that had been just a minute ago filled with the sounds of nature had fallen silent. The gentle breeze had fallen. I felt like I was being judged, sized up if you will. And that feeling of being watched grew stronger and stronger with each passing second and the closer I drew near to the edge of the pond, an overwhelming feeling of doom started to shadow my heart. I drew toward the edge of the pond. Finally I reached the edge of the water and I felt a sense of dread overcome me. I could see three children's trikes half submerged in the water. Then it happened. I did something I could not explain, it was like that idea just clicked in my head.

I started to search the area for a stick, I wanted to see if I could pull one of the balls that floated close to the shore toward me, I wanted to take one of those toys home with me, a souvenir if you will. A memento to remember my travels that day by

In short order I found a stick a very long stick. Stick in hand, I carefully started to make my way down to the edge of the pond. I then leaned out with my stick In hand, then something happen, a hand, a green h and reached up from the bed of duckweed and took hold of the stick. It then started to pull upon the stick, quickly I dropped the stick into the water and without thinking I started to scramble quickly up steep banks and onto the remains of the old road. Stunned and frightened, I ran toward my own trike and started to peddle away as quickly as I could.

I peddled for what seemed like hours. And to be honest, I was too afraid to turn around and look behind me. I was scared out of my mind, afraid that if you will that you know what ever had reached up and latched onto the stick might be behind me. I reached the front porch of my house a few minutes before the streetlamps came on. I can remember parking my trike on the front porch, chaining it up quickly, once my strike was secured. I bolted into the living room and locked the door behind me. That night around dinner, I told my sister about my encounter on the pond bank. Kayla being Kayla the down to earth farm girl she was just shrugged it off and warned me about reading too many horror stories, telling me I was going to scare myself silly one these days. And with that she returned to her dinner.

I later learned of the legend of 'Jenny Greenteeth' a few nights later while doing some research on water dwelling spirits that I came across a mention of her. All the stories I read on goggle that night matched that encounter I had at the pond bank a few days ago. It matched it so well that those tiny hairs that grow on the back of your arm stand straight up. And I felt a cold chill run down the spin of my back. I swear, I considered myself to be alive.