The cool chill in the air makes my skin crawl. I wriggle in my boat to get more comfortable, watching the worm on my fishing hook do the same.

The moon had an orange glow, its shape abnormal, it was as if it had been dragged towards our now blackened sky and stretched out like dough. My mind raced with many things at once. Then suddenly… quiet. My mind became calm and still like the waters surrounding me on this huge lake. Funnily enough, I came here for the exact opposite thing. I wanted commotion, thrashes and flails which made the waters throth a white in the shade of darkness. Alas, after all this time sitting in this wooden boat, it seems that moment may never come.

The hook seemed to wane for a moment, and eventually, after some time focused on the worm hanging and thrashing about. The hook broke and the worm crashed into the dark waters below.

I let out a sigh, my breath curling in the cold air like smoke. Just as I move to grab another worm from the tin at my feet, the boat lurches. Not a wave, not the wind—something beneath me. A deep, slow pull against the current, like an unseen force dragging at the hull. My fingers tighten around the edge of the boat.

Then, the net yanks. Hard.

I hadn’t even realised I’d set it down, the empty mesh floating lifelessly in the water. But now it’s taut, trembling as if caught on something below. My heart kicks against my ribs. I reach for the rope with numb fingers and give it a slow, cautious tug. It resists. Heavy. Not the sluggish pull of a sunken branch, nor the erratic fight of a fish. This is something else entirely.

I heave, and the net begins to rise. The lake gurgles, the water thick like sludge as something breaks the surface. A mass of tangled limbs—no, not limbs, tendrils, slick and writhing in the moonlight. The thing moves in slow, deliberate twitches, its form half-shrouded in dripping darkness. And then, as the water rolls off it, I see them—eyes.

Too many eyes.

Blinking, shifting, sliding beneath translucent skin like trapped marbles. They don’t just look at me; they see me, peering through flesh and bone, burrowing into the quiet corners of my mind where my worst fears lurk like forgotten things.

The boat sways as I stumble backwards, my pulse, a drum in my ears. The net sags and the creature slithers forward an inch, then another.

I should let go. I should escape.

But I don’t.

I just stare as something deep within me—something I don’t understand—begins to pull back.