This is The Tarn. It needs no other name.

It is a small lake, but looms large in the souls of those who dwell near it. Its waters are dark in the brightest sunlight. The strongest winds barely disturb its surface. Its depth is unknown; a man once rowed out to plumb it, stories say, and fell from his boat and vanished without a cry or a bubble. It is said to reflect alien stars in bright daylight; it is said that those who peer at those stars will rise in the night and walk into the water and never be found. It is said to be a gateway to spaces beyond imagining; it is said to be a gateway to Nothingness.

A Mr Ducky is floating on it.

Mr Ducky ™ is canary yellow with cherry beak and chirpy smile. Mr Ducky ™ is the most radioactively cheerful plastic duck in production. Its fluorescent colors force toy-store employees into wearing shades. Bad executive choices have created a Mr Ducky ™ market glut, and the little unbirds are a common litter item. Mr Ducky ™ is made from an obscure plastic resin that does not biodegrade, does not break down in ultraviolet, toughens with age.

Mr Ducky ™ will float on the Tarn for ever.

The Tarn tries again and again to pull Mr Ducky down, sullen swells of viscous water dragging on the moulded plastic. Mr Ducky sinks an inch and then bobs back up, the jolt activating its handwavium-powered music box. A pseudorandom algorithm chooses between "Spitting Image Chicken Song", "Bright Side of Life" and "Now You're A Luvver-Duvver". The Tarn roils with despair and impotent rage. Mr Ducky beeps, and beeps, and beeps.