The Shadow of the Beavers: A Growing Threat to Crofton's Future?

The murky waters of Crofton's so-called Beaver Creek have long held secrets—some buried beneath its shifting bed, others lurking in the minds of those who remember the past. Once the epicenter of a strange hysteria, this unassuming waterway became infamous in the early 2000s when the monstrous, invasive snakehead fish first slithered into local legend. The town was captivated, tourism boomed, and for a time, Crofton thrived on the fearsome allure of the snakehead.

Now, a different menace stirs beneath the water’s surface. A menace with chisel-like teeth and an ancient, forgotten past.

Children playing along the creek behind Harcourt and Harwell Avenue claim to have seen something. Not the darting flash of a snakehead’s fin, nor the gaping maw of a predatory fish—but something gnawing. Something building. Something changing the landscape of the water itself.

A beaver.

Subijoy Dutta of the Rivers of the World Foundation, along with a group of watchful parents, followed the children’s whispers to the banks of the creek. They found no creature—but they found evidence. Three trees, recently felled with an uncanny precision. The crude beginnings of a dam, forming like a wound over the water’s surface.

It is well known that beavers shape the environments they inhabit, flooding areas that were once open waterways. What is less discussed—perhaps because it is too unsettling to consider—is what this means for the snakehead population. If the beavers claim the creek, if they disrupt the flow of water, if they strangle the oxygen levels and reshape the food chain, what becomes of Crofton’s infamous predator? Will the snakeheads die off, driven to extinction in these parts? Or worse—will they adapt, growing more monstrous, more desperate?

And what of the Mayor’s plans?

It is no secret that Crofton has been seeking to rekindle the tourism boom of the snakehead frenzy. There have been quiet talks of a festival, of themed merchandise, of drawing anglers back to the water to once again hunt the beast that made Crofton famous. But how can that happen if the creek is overtaken, swallowed by an interloper from the past?

The beaver is no harmless rodent. It is an architect of destruction, an agent of transformation. It comes not to share the waters but to claim them. And if it succeeds, Crofton’s most notorious predator—the very thing that could restore the town’s lost renown—may be lost forever.

The question now is simple: what do we do about the beavers?

And more importantly—what will the beavers do about us?