Down the Rabbit Hole

Devonshire Continued

Martin picked his way down toward the water's edge. He parked himself a large tree root that had long ago burst through the ground, and begin to work on setting up his fishing rods. His big fingers were surprising nimble as he re-linned them with 12lb test and tied on the delicate lures. He baited his favorite fishing rod with a shiny, silver flashing lure that caught what little light filtered down through the canopy. Martin baited the other rod with a lure that was made to look like a fat, juicy tadpole then outfitted the line with a standard red and white bobber. He took off, navigating along the shoreline until he found a place where the vegetation thinned enough for him to make a cast. He drew his arm back over his shoulder and set the lure and bobber sailing out over the water's rippling surface in a smooth and graceful arc. The bobber hit the surface about 200 yards out with a pleasant "plop". Martin set the rod down, wedging the end of the pole between an exposed root and the heel of his boot. He picked up his favorite rod with the shiny silver lure and begin the process of casting it out and reeling it back in, the lure looking very much like a bait fish, sparkling just below the reservoir's rippling surface.

He passed the better part of an hour in this steady rhythm, pausing only one to check the other line when the bobber suddenly bounced on the surface. It was only just nibbles he decided, after having reeled it in to check that the tadpole was intact. Martin was just about to call it quits when he felt a telling quiver in his rod. He jerked it back sharply and there it was, the insistent tug of a hooked fish. He began to quickly reel the line in, it whistled down the rod throwing droplets of water off as it collected on the spool. At last the fish broke the surface about 50 yards off, a small mouth bass it looked like, and a decent size one at that. Martin whooped and continued to bring the fish in at a steady speed. Finally it was below him, slapping about in the shallow water at his feet. He reached down and grasped the meaty fish in both hands. He gently pried the hook free with his pliers and held the bass up, inspecting it. It was thick-bodied and beautifully colored, Martin rotated it, examining the lines of its body, the pulsating gills. It was a beautiful fish. Sighing contentedly, Martin planted a big, noisy kiss on the fish's head and released it back into its watery world. He watched it make off toward safer depths. He bent down again to pick up his rod and the hairs at the base of his neck stood strait up. The world had gone eerily silent, even the swarm of black gnats, his constant companions, suddenly vanished. No more than 20 feet directly in front of him, something else had broken the surface and it was looking right at him.

No sooner did the image had registered in his mind, it was gone leaving nothing more than silent ripples on surface. Martin, sweating and feeling a little sick, hastily grabbed up his gear and dashed up the bank. Fighting the urge to look behind him but terrified it would slow his escape, he stumbled back through the fence, tearing both his shirt and the flesh beneath on the jagged metal. Back in and his car and breathing in painful gasps, he dared look up and out at the reservior before him. With the exeception of some low flying gulls, it was devoid of any activity or movement. Still feeling the prinkling of panic, Martin pulled back out onto the road. When he was safetly out of the forest and back on 701, he rummaged in his pockets for his cigerettes and lit one with shaking hands.