GOWANUS - I've been chasing this story for over ten years!
Ten years of interviews. Ten years of blurry photographs and secondhand accounts. Ten years of standing at the edge of that canal at odd hours, just waiting for something to surface.
I've spoken to the woman who heard it singing at 3 a.m. near the Union Street bridge. I've interviewed the kayaker who claims it brushed against his hull and left a handprint—if you can call it a hand. I tracked down the man whose roommate went for a walk one night and simply never came home. I believed them all. I just couldn't prove it. I could write a book or director a documentary on what the Canal Prophet has told me and probably will!
During the snowstorm, the F train broke down between Bergen and Carroll. They held us underground for forty minutes before announcing we'd have to evacuate. I had no choice but to walk home to Windsor Terrace in the snow.
I took the route along the canal. I don't know why. Habit, maybe. Or something else.
The snow was coming down heavy. The streets were empty. And there, just past the 3rd Street bridge, and I finally saw it! At first I thought it was a pile of debris. A mound of something dark and wet, slumped against the Carroll Street Bridge. Then it moved. Four tentacles. Slick. Green. Each one as thick as a man's torso. A body like a bloated sack, glistening under the streetlight.
I stopped breathing. This was it. After all these years. The Gowanus Creature. Right in front of me.
I approached slowly. Every story I'd ever heard ran through my head. I knew I should run, so many went missing near the canal but I've waited too long. My curiosity won.
The creature didn't react. It lay there, heaving slightly, like something exhausted. It looked enormous. Bloated. Fat in a way that seemed unnatural even for something that shouldn't exist. I wondered if it was dying. I tried speaking to it. I don't know what I expected. It made a noise—low, wet, unintelligible. Like gurgling. Like water through a clogged drain. One of its tentacles lifted toward me. I flinched. But the movement was slow. Limp. It flopped against the ground a few feet from where I stood. The body fell back like it was exhausted.
Then I heard the voices. Muffled. Coming from inside. I froze.
"Hello?" I called out.
A voice responded. Faint. Scared and weak.
"We're inside! Oh god, we're inside it!"
My stomach turned.
"Who are you?" I shouted.
"We were conducting immigration enforcement operations near the canal. It came out of the water. It took four of us."
The creature shifted. A deep, rumbling sound came from somewhere within its mass. Then it burped. The smell hit me like a wall.
"We're being dissolved," the voice continued, weaker now. "It...hurts. Please. Help."
I didn't know what to do. I looked around for something, anything. A weapon. A rope. A plan.
The creature made another sound. Clearer this time. Almost like a word.
"Yum."
Then it threw up an ICE badge and it then crawled away. Not fast. Not graceful. It kind of waddled. Rolled. Dragged itself toward the edge of the canal with those four useless tentacles pushing against the concrete. I reached out—I don't know why—and it slipped over the edge and into the black water with a tremendous splash and then it was gone.
Gowanus water hit me across the chest and face. I stood there for a long time. The snow kept falling. The canal settled. Nothing surfaced. I didn't call anyone. Who would I call? Who would believe me?
I ran home the rest of the way. I showered for over an hour. I threw my clothes in the trash. I gargled mouthwash until my gums burned. The Gowanus Canal is a Superfund site. The EPA has documented its contents: raw sewage, heavy metals, coal tar, and yes—gonorrhea. I'm not making that up. The canal has tested positive for gonorrhea.
I spent so long chasing this story and I finally found it and I can barely believe it. The mayor's office did not respond to a request for comment. They probably think I'm a kook. Do you?
Anyway, I have a doctor's appointment next Tuesday. Time to get an STD test.