The river.

The black, icy water shivered in the wind, sending hundreds of ripples lightly across

the surface. The river stretched for miles, meandering slowly towards Kingfield

Reservoir. Most of the fish had left the safety of its glassy depths, migrating to

warmer spots for the cold Winter. A lone fisherman sat out on the river in a rather

small Bermuda 420, slowly drifting on the surface. His name was Dale Collins, a

former boat hirer and regular fisher. He had bought the 420 in 2007, the year it had

first been released on the market. The boat was great for fishing, skiing and taking the

family out on a cruise. Sometimes when he felt like it Dale brought it out onto the

river to fish, this was one of the rare occasions.

Mist spiralled off the waters surface, making it difficult see. You wouldn’t know if

there was a fallen tree sticking up out of the water, ready to snare your boat and toss

you overboard. Dale had left in the early hours of the morning, determined to make a

catch and bring home breakfast in a bucket. He sat patiently, reeling and casting,

reeling and casting, hoping to snare a fish with his fathers old Bazun fishing rod. Back

in its day it was one of the most expensive and popular rods, topping all the others by

miles. It was his lucky rod, and this would be the last time he ever used it.

Dale stared down at the waters surface tracing its depths with his well trained eye,

hoping for the glimmer of a scale or the swish of fin. He watched with alertness at

first, scanning the water. But the longer he sat the less he paid attention and within

half an hour of watching patiently he fell asleep.

He drifted for a long time, unaware that his sleep had brought him far down-river. He

dreamed he had caught a massive fish that he had never seen before. It was the most

beautiful fish he could have ever dreamed catching. He presented it proudly in front
of his family, telling them that he caught it with his fathers Bazun all by himself. They

were congratulating him on his marvellous catch, shaking his hand and telling him he

did a good job. He presented it to his friends as well, that pride welling up inside him.

He wanted to tell the whole world, that he, Dale Collins had caught the most beautiful

fish ever to have lived. Everyone was applauding him and yelling praise, one man

went as far as to shake him roughly. Dale looked down at the man about to tell him to

back off, when he realised it wasn’t a man at all. It was his fish. The fish was different

now, it had turned mean, its red beady eyes gazed hatefully at him. Its massive jaws

over-extended revealing large razor sharp teeth. It towered over him huge and

foreboding. Dale looked around wildly yelling for help, looking at his friends and

family pleadingly. They looked right back with their benign smiles still applauding

him, their faces betraying nothing of the situation. The fish stared at him with its

hypnotic gaze pulling him against his will towards its jaws, shaking him violently,

bringing him closer and closer to those jagged, razor sharp teeth, closer…

Dale woke up with a start, the boat was shaking roughly on the surface, making a lot

of noise and scaring off all the fish. Dale cursed himself for falling asleep, his heart

was racing recklessly threatening to send him into shock. He calmed himself down,

shaking heavily, feeling as if he was going to vomit. His boat was still rocking, now

starting to relax itself.

Deep beneath the water, something stirred. It caused vibrations in the water as it

wriggled free of its hibernation. It was massive, dark black with red beady eyes. It

swam, moving its body in fluid curvy movements.

Dale felt these vibrations in the boat and he didn’t realise what was causing them. He
steadied himself, feeling the vomit work its way back into his stomach. Dale cast the

Bazun out one last time, promising that this would be his last of the day. The small

lure plunked into the water sending miniscule shocks all throughout the river. Dale

slowly reeled it back in gazing strangely at the water. Something had caught his eye.

Dale stared at the waters surface blankly, trying to comprehend what he had just seen.

The tail… it had been a tail. Definitely. But it was massive…

He pondered this for a moment … trick of the light perhaps? But as he looked around

himself he realised there was no light. The mist made sure of that. He was alone. Out

on the isolated river in his small 2007 Bermuda 420 fishing boat. The boat rocked and

the vibrations grew stronger, sending pulse-like waves to the surface. He saw it again

this time, a massive dark outline, passing underneath his boat. He never noticed, but

the lure was still in the water, plodding out on the surface by itself, bright red and

tempting, just waiting for a fish to take it…

Suddenly the lure bobbed out of sight, sending slight ripples out on the waters surface.

Dale stared at where the lure had been, something had took the bait and it was going

fast. The fishing line was being pulled out infinitely quick, Dale barely had time to

react, grabbing the rod and attempting to pull back on it. Then when all of his weight

was set against the fish, the line went slack, it just stopped. Dale, confused, leant over

the side, believing his line must have snapped. How wrong he was.

The line picked up again, and pulled so hard it yanked Dale off the boat into the

freezing water. Dale was dragged under, all his breath was gone and adrenaline

pumped through his veins like blood. He stared out in front of him and saw nothing

but black water, his first thought was back to the boat, quick! He turned as fast as he
could and paddled for the surface. He could see a faint light above him, the sun had

broken through the mist. He swam upwards almost grasping the sunlight with his

hands. Then everything above turned black. He stopped in mid-stroke. What could

possibly be so big as to block out the sun? before he could react, something brushed

against his leg and he looked down. What he saw sent him into shock, his heart was

overloading it would surely burst soon. The fish was swimming up towards him,

worming its way slowly up. its head was the size of his entire body, its jaw was even

wider opening up and over-extending, ready to seize him and drag him down into the

dark. Its jaws closed around him…

As the sun broke the mist, a few oxygen bubbles floated peacefully toward the surface

of the water, making a gentle popping sound as they broke. Dale’s 2007 Bermuda 420

fishing boat drifted on the river, the only proof that Dale Collins had actually been

there. The water gleamed beautifully in the bright, frosty sunlight and if you look real

close, you can see a bright red lure, sinking slowly toward the bottom of the river, lost

forever in its dark depths.

The end. By Remy Linhart.