Duck Pond

There are three constants in the Missy Lee Park. First is that Mrs. Flora will always be sitting on the only park bench at exactly two o'clock, ready to feed the pigeons. Second is that all baseballs will eventually be stolen by the White Sox hound, who is quite friendly unless you try to reclaim your baseball from his collection by the pond.
The third thing that never changed was the duck.
Rain or shine, middle of summer or dead of winter, the duck would always be swimming at the center of the pond.
Nothing could entice the duck from its spot. Not breadcrumbs, dogs, fireworks, or even the rest of the pond freezing. The duck never flew away, and was never seen anywhere else.
And just like people learned not to bring baseballs to the park, they eventually stopped wondering about the duck swimming at the pond's center.
Until one day, one of the townsfolk were visited by their cousins from the city.
As it was one of the few places for fun in the town, the entire family gathered at the park. One child decided to show his cousin how to use a slingshot, as he didn't think they had such things in the city.
The city kid's aim was horrible.
So horrible, in fact, that she hit the duck.
And for once, the duck moved.
The stunned duck drifted a little to the left, the the ground shook.
People shouted and darted away from the pond as a sickly greenish light shot up from beneath the surface.
The duck stirred, but far too late.
The water churned a frothy white that hid the duck from view, and then a head almost too large to fit in the pond broke free from its watery prison.
The duck made a satisfying breakout snack.
As people fled the park, the monstrous creature pulled itself free from the pond, teeth chattering in anticipation as the lizard breathed in the dry scent of freedom.