Chapter 3: Quantum Amphibians and Other Nightmares

By the third morning, I had accepted two truths:

Elliot will die of old age crouched by this lake before admitting he’s boring.

I will die of boredom crouched by this lake before I get a single usable thumbnail.

Still, I returned armed with my holy trinity: caffeine, eyeliner sharp enough to cut glass, and blind optimism. Spoiler: once again, nothing happened.

“Today’s crucial,” Elliot declared, kneeling dramatically at the water’s edge like it was the altar of Science. “I’ve run calculations all night. The anomalies cluster in patterns consistent with wave interference at harmonic intervals.”

“Translation,” I said, raising my phone: “The lake… sometimes has ripples.”

He glared. “It’s more complex than ripples. We’re talking non-linear hydrodynamic oscillations.”

“Wow,” I gasped. “Non-linear oscillations? Groundbreaking. Meanwhile, I oscillated between TikTok and Twitter for six hours last night. Equally scientific.”

Unfazed, he flipped open his notebook. “Temperature: 12.7 degrees Celsius. Ambient humidity: sixty-eight percent. Amphibian life: seventeen frogs, four toads—possibly territorial. Noteworthy detail: their movement pattern resembles a Fibonacci spiral.”

I blinked. “You are not seriously writing frog fanfiction right now.”

“It’s mathematics,” he insisted. “The golden ratio manifests in nature. Their hopping could indicate a higher order of ecological intelligence.”

“The frogs are higher order than you,” I said. “At least they don’t monologue for hours.”

He ignored me. “Consider the implications. If amphibians instinctively replicate Fibonacci structures, it could suggest—”

“That you need therapy,” I cut in. “Urgently.”

He scribbled harder. “Log entry: subject displays persistent sarcasm, possibly masking fear response.”

“Oh my god,” I snapped, “are you… are you documenting me now?!”

“Every factor matters,” he said calmly. “Even human interference.”

“Well, in that case, log this: Subject Serha displays persistent homicidal impulses toward Subject Elliot, possibly escalating if he says the word ‘Fibonacci’ again.”

He wrote it down. He actually wrote it down.

Hours dragged. Elliot monologued about pH levels (“a delicate balance indicating microbial tension”), dissolved oxygen content (“vital to aquatic respiration cycles”), and—my personal favorite—“the socio-ecological hierarchy of toads.” By the third amphibian fact, I was Googling “How long does it take to drown someone in a Loch without leaving evidence?” purely for self-care.

At one point, he gasped. “Did you hear that?”

I perked up, finally hoping for content. “What? The monster? A roar? A splash? A sign of life?”

“The distinct absence of insects near the pond edge,” he whispered gravely. “It could mean a shift in microclimate affecting amphibian stress patterns.”

I stared at him. “The monster isn’t hiding, Elliot. It moved out because you bored the frogs to death.”

I yawned dramatically, stretching my arms like I was about to conquer a continent. “You know what, Elliot? I think we should call it a day. The sunlight is off by two degrees and it’s clearly throwing off the frogs’ quantum morale. We’d be risking a catastrophic misalignment in the amphibian energy matrix if we stay.” I said, matching Elliot's geekiness about the damn frogs.

Elliot’s eyes widened in solemn agreement. “Absolutely. You’re right. It would be irresponsible to compromise the ecological integrity of the Fibonacci frogs.”

I froze. “Fibonacci. Did you just say Fibonacci again?”

He swallowed nervously. “Well… technically, yes, but—”

“That’s it,” I snapped, shoving my phone into my bag. “If you ever utter that word again, Elliot Marsh, I swear I will—oh, I don’t know—chase you around the village while screaming your social security number at the top of my lungs!”

He paled. “I… I understand, Serha. No more Fibonacci.”

“No more Fibonacci?!” I yelled, grabbing his arm. “No more Fibonacci? I’ll make sure the ducks—or, no, the frogs—hear about your crimes against mathematics!”

He tried to protest, but I was already dragging him across the soggy grass. “Run, Elliot! Run for your life! Or at least for your dignity! I’ll roast you mercilessly on Instagram while I do it!”

By the time we reached the edge of the village, he was panting, eyes wide as if I were a Loch monster incarnate. I finally let go, folding my arms triumphantly.

“Day three concluded,” I declared, “not by monsters, not by science, but by me—mercifully sparing your life from Fibonacci-induced annihilation.”

Elliot nodded weakly. “Absolutely… best… course of action.”

And that was it.

Day three: survived by absurd threats, sanctioned by amphibians, and officially out of patience with mathematics.