The early morning sky was a silver purple as the boat gently glided through the still lake. The sound of crickets and frogs pervaded the foggy air, lending an exceedingly serene quality to the already tranquil morning. Aboard the vessel were two young men, their eyes mixed with a sense of wonder and crusty exhaustion. One of them, with shaggy hair and clad in shorts despite the chill, piloted the boat. The other, hair long and dressed far too warmly, sat at the bow and squinted as he looked ahead.

“Is that it?” John asked, pointing through thick fog to what appeared to be a structure on the side of the lake.

The man steering leaned forward and squinted, then looked at a printed out map. “Ye-es, ‘John’, that is the cabin okay?” Micahl said, smiling when he noticed John wasn’t looking at him.

“Wow, we are making good time, do think we are too early? Should we cast out some lines while we wait until 5:30?” John asked, earnestly.

“No-oh. I’m not casting a-thing until we get the good bait. This guy, ohhh, this guy has the best bait. The fish will lit-ruh-lee dive headfirst into our boat. Just to get a whiff of the stink. Ohhh, the stink,” Micahl said, the bottom of his jaw jutting outwards.

John shook his head, and then pointed towards a small glow in the distance. “That must be the dock, pull in and I’ll tie her up,” he said, already standing to get the rope.

Micahl stuck his tongue out and tilted his head as he pulled up to the dock, perfectly parallel to the old wooden landing. John hopped out and hitched ropes to the cleats, stomping his foot twice to indicate it was safe to disengage the engine and disembark. Now that they were both on the creaky dock, they realized how terrifying the structure actually was.

The dock was half rotted, soaked through and blackened. Planks were missing, and clearly the poor thing needed some desperate attention. Luckily, that was not their problem, and they would go about their life only mentioning how badly it was constructed, never having to lift a finger to better it in any way. The actual bait store, or home, or whatever the building was, looked just as poorly kept. It was covered in algae, moss, nailed on rat-tails, and even had a dead deer carcass on the roof. The windows were stained brown from the inside, and the door looked like more blood had been spilled over it than had spilled during the entirety of World War I.

“So… You’ve been here before?” John asked in a whispered voice.

“Well, when I was a kid, my dad and grandpa brought me. It… didn’t look like this,” Micahl said with a touch of shame.

“Are you sure it is still open? It looks like pure hell.”

As John uttered the sentence, the door to the musty cabin exploded open, nearly coming off the hinges as it slammed into the front wall. Dog growls and yaps came loudly from within, before a grotesque man walked out, a mutt under his right arm. He was wearing only decaying overalls, completely worn through, colors of tan, brown, green, yellow, and black dominating what once had been dark blue denim. His feet were bare, the nails so thick and dark yellow that the men could see nothing else before they had to look away. His skin was covered in a thick, oily grime, only outdone by his hair which looked like it had been freshly dipped in pure vegetable oil. The dawn sun shone off his hair bright enough to light kindling. The man’s teeth, or what was left of them, were dark orange, and looked as soft as boiled carrots.

The dog had not stopped violently growling at John and Micahl. It was desperately trying to break free of its owner’s grasp, but could not manage, even with the slick, slippery skin. The man hawked the largest, juiciest loogie that could be conceived, even larger than that of the 2002 world record book, and spat it into the lake. “Well now, what can I do for you two squirrelly fellers? I’ve seen you here before, haven’t I, boy? I SAID HAVEN’T I, BOY?”

Micahl opened his mouth and moved his head around, pure shock on his face. “I, I, I came here as a boy, with my-”

“Yeah,” the man said with an enormous sniff, “I’m not like to forget a face, no sir, you’s was here when you were no more than, oh, knee-high to a grasshopper.”

“Uhm, yes, haha. We loved your bait so much, I was wondering, do you still-”

“Yeeeeeeessir, I’ve still got my liquid gold, them lunkers can’t get enough of my chow. Drives em crazy. You won’t be getting a single dinger off this stuff. And you won’t get skunked, that’s damn well guaranteed, y’hear?”

“Great, that sounds amazing, how much do you charge,” Micahl asked, his head tilted in such a way that the discomfort was plainly visible.

“Look at you son, all nervous-like around your Uncle. For you, boy, the bait ain’t a damn dime. This here bait is yours for the takin’. All I ask is that you and your hippy friend there bring me your biggest, fattest catch of the day. Now that ain’t askin’ much, I’m not wanting both your biggest lunkers, just the whopper of the day. And trust your Uncle… You’ll have plenty of whoppers to go around.”

John and Micahl looked at each other, lips pursed and heads nodding. “Well, that sounds great, thanks Uncle!” John said, true enthusiasm in his voice.

The man did not even glance towards John. “I wasn’t talking to you, hippy. Don’t ruin this now, y’hear. Go on and wait in that dinghy until I’m done with your friend here.”

John looked at Micahl, both of their eyes immediately wide with fear. John said nothing else and got back into the boat, back facing the dock. “That’s more like it, alright boy, come on into the shop and help me load up your chow,” the dirty man said.

Micahl stepped carefully so as to not break any more of the rotted dock, and not fall into the lake himself. Not even two feet from the door, the most foul, rotten, rotting carcass, molten sewage smell washed over him. His eyes were immediately filled with tears, bile filled his mouth, and he was unable to breathe. “Get your ass in here, boy!”

Micahl closed his eyes tight and stepped into the cabin. The inside was an unspeakable horror. There was literally a pile of guts and excrement on the couch, covered with rabid squirrels fighting for the biggest chunks. The floor and ceiling was covered in black mold, the kitchen was a pile of hardened brown grease, and the rest of it was slightly moving, either with bugs, vermin or worse. In the corner of the cabin, next to the fireplace, was a huge bucket, its color indecipherable after years and layers of dried muck. The man stood next to the vat, and then removed the lid, releasing a strong hissing sound, like an aircraft door de-pressurizing. At the sound, the dog finally broke free of the man’s grasp and ran behind Micahl’s legs, whimpering with fear. Even the squirrels dove behind the couch.

“Here we go boy, some fresh chow for the pigs of the lake. They will be biting today, I can feel it,” he said, his toes squirming around with pure delight.

The man thrust his hand into the pot, and horrible squishing sounds filled the room. Micahl was sure he heard chanting. The filthy man started to laugh, his body swayed, and he took in the smells with heavenly joy. After a minute of this behavior, the man’s head snapped towards a cabinet in the kitchen. “Yindy! Get yer ass over here, now, right now! Bring me the sack,” the dirty man bellowed.

The cabinet burst open, and a sickly boy with translucent skin ran full speed towards the pot. He was covered in chicken pox, and also wore a filthy pair of overalls. “Here you go, uncle papa,” Yindy said with a monotone, slow voice.

The man grabbed the burlap sack from the boy and began putting bloody, muddy, tomato shaped balls into the sack. When he finished, he shoved the sack into Yindy’s chest. “Give the boy his damned bait, boy!”

Yindy clutched it to his chest and sprinted at Micahl, who stood there in awe. Micahl’s jaw would have been on the floor if the cabin hadn’t been so disgusting, so he kept it clenched and was trying as hard as possible not to breathe. Yindy slammed himself on the floor in front of Micahl and lifted the bag above his head, completely bowed before him. Micahl used two fingers to delicately take the sack from Yindy’s hands. The moment it lifted from Yindy’s grasp, he ran on all fours back to his cabinet in the kitchen, slamming the door behind him.

“Well, this has been great, umm, Uncle. Thanks again, we can’t wait to use the bait!” Micahl said, darting for the door as kindly as he could.

“All flattery aside, boy, I expect your biggest ol’ whopper inside the ice chest on my dock by sunset. Y’hear? I want my fish, and I want it FAT!”

With that, Micahl nodded and dashed out of the cabin. Carefully but quickly, he stepped across the broken dock, and jumped into the boat. John looked at him, as if he saw a ghost. “What in the absolute HELL just happened? What was it like in there?” John asked frantically.

“Get out, and untie the ropes, now,” Micahll said cooly, sweat covering his forehead.

John didn’t think twice, he dove to the dock and undid his knots, returning to the boat with haste. He ducked, and didn’t know why. The second John sat down, Micahl pushed the boat to full throttle. Both of them tilted back but regained their balance as they zoomed away from the traumatizing bait shop. After they were a few minutes away, John asked, “What happened in there? Did you get the bait?”

“I got the bait. I can’t talk about it right now, I just can’t. I’ll tell you when we are back in the car.”

That was the end of it. After they cooled down and took a breath, they stopped the boat near a promising patch of lily pads. They baited their hooks, and cast their line. Before the lines hit the surface, dozens of fish were diving towards the bait. As soon as their hooks entered the water, they were in. The rods bent downward and both men reeled in enormous, perfect trout. They looked at each other giddily, and slowly the terror of the bait shop faded away. They had the greatest day of fishing of their entire lives.

When it was almost sunset, they patted each other on the back, looking at their catch. The boat was filled to the brim with gorgeous rainbow trout. They were smiling uncontrollably, and hadn’t stopped talking the entire day about how exciting and great the fishing had been. But no moment had been greater than when Micahl pulled out the largest trout either man had ever seen. It was 42 inches long, and 49 pounds (Or 3.5 stone, as your narrator would prefer to say) and was a trophy fish worthy of a museum. It was currently taking up almost the entire bench.

“We can’t. We just can’t give this to that filthy man. Is he really your uncle?” John asked.

“He’s NOT my uncle. And if you saw what I saw, you’d know we have to give it to him. It's almost sunset, we need to head back now,” Micahl said sternly.

“You can’t give up a trophy like that, we can give him another fish! Look, this guy over here, he is trophy worthy, he probably weighs 18lbs!” (1.28571 stone)

“He will kill us. This man will kill us. I wouldn’t be surprised if he could swim faster than the boat. There is something really off about him, like he is a demon… Faster than the boat… I really think so,” Micahl said, letting out a sigh.

“He looks like he will die if he blinks too hard. What are you saying, a demon? Nah, you’re keeping this fish. I’ll put the second biggest guy we have right in that cooler, then we will floor it away. We won’t even tie up the boat. You can honk once, only after we’ve started driving away. I’ll hide the big fish, these seats lift up, right? I’ll shove him in there!” John said, moving into action.

Micahl looked sick. His head whipped to make sure they weren’t in view of the bait shop, and then nodded his head. There was no way he was going to leave without that trout. It was the catch of a lifetime. Once John had hidden the fish completely, they floored it to the cabin to try to beat the sunset. Micahl pulled up slowly, and John jumped out again, and walked as sturdily as he could on the derelict dock.

Just before John made it to the cooler, he tripped on an exposed nail, and fell, dropping the trout in the process. It slid across the dock, splinters and nails shredding through its perfect skin. He reached for it, and grabbed it, but it was slimy enough to slip out of his hand and off the dock, right back into the water. Micahl winced. John gritted his teeth. “Shoot,” they said in unison, not hearing each other.

Micahl grabbed the next biggest fish, besides the hidden one of course, and groaned as he reached from the boat to the dock to hand it to John. This time, John secured it with both hands, lifted the cooler lid with his boot, and tossed the fish onto the ice. Before the lid closed, he was already hopping back in the boat. Micahl once again pushed the boat into full throttle and took off, but before they were a couple feet away, they heard the bait shop’s door burst open. Both of their heads whipped towards the dock to see the filthy man somehow already opening the ice chest.

“Noooo sir-e. This ain’t it. This ain’t my fish. Where you boys going? WE HAD A DEAL!!” the man hollered.

Micahl couldn’t push the throttle any harder, they both had tears in their eyes as they heard the man wailing. “THIS AIN’T MY DAMN FISH!! TURN YOUR ASSES AROUND, AND GIVE ME MY WHOPPER, I KNOW YOU KEPT IT FOR YOUR DAMN SELVES!”

The men didn’t look back, every hair on their neck standing tall, tears pouring from their eyes, pure fear in their hearts.

“Okay. That's how it is. Now you know what it means to take a life,” The filthy man said it in a whisper, but somehow, they both heard him.

The filthy man slung the false trout over his shoulder, and hobbled back to his cabin. He walked over to the fire place, and tossed the fish onto a metal grate just in front of the flames. He snapped his fingers, and the dog and squirrels ran over and formed a line before him. “Yindy, get yer ass out here.”

The cabinet opened and Yindy walked slowly, much more fear in his eyes this time. “Them boys didn’t hold up their end of the bargain, you know what that means.”

Yindy started sobbing, and turned back towards his cabinet, but it was too late. The man grabbed him by the straps of his overalls, lifted him above the bait vat, and lifted the lid. The steam hissed, once again sending the animals running. Yindy yelled out. “Too late kid, those two did this to you. Killed by an angler and a damned Hippy,” the man said, solemnly.

He dunked Yindy into the bait vat, and sealed the lid.

...

After months of waiting, Micahl was finally able to pick up his enormous catch from the taxidermist. His trophy fish was impressive enough that people had gathered to clap for him when he arrived. Not a lot of people had seen a rainbow trout of this size. When he got home to mount it on his wall, he realized that 90% of the taxidermist's work had gone into making the fish’s anus look as realistic as possible, down to the last dot. Micahl worried this is all people would notice when he showed it off, and it was.

(Illustration by Milo - @crumzonmylap)