A natural quiet set over the pond in the wee hours that morning. The gentle rustlin’ of the reeds, the water flickin’ the side of my boat, and the cooin’ of a few birds in the shoreline bushes all reached my ears, but you don’t pay much of a mind to little noises like that. They’re supposed to be there, like creaks in the floorboards you know too well and you forget to hear them. That’s what got me so rattled about this. I was sat there with my rod, fixin’ to put another cricket on my hook. So far I’d caught nothing, and lost three crickets already. I remember ‘cause I only took six to begin with. Right before I cast it, this duck swoops on in and landed maybe twenty feet from me. Now, I could see it for sure, only it didn’t make any sound. I know owls can fly silent like that, but I ain’t never heard of such a duck. That ain’t what bothered me, though. It didn’t have its wings spread, and there wasn’t any sound when it touched into the water, neither. Again, I could see the waves, and hear every other little pin drop around, but not this duck. I almost yelled out right then just to make sure my ears worked. I didn’t. Maybe I was worried about scarin’ the fish. I think I just was well was wary of that duck. So I just sat and stared at it. Looked like a regular mallard, green head, white collar, brown body, but it seemed awfully stiff. Not even a twist of its neck to preen itself. I set my rod down, slowly. I didn’t want to take my eyes off of the duck, but a slight motion caught my eye. Some water bugs were skatin’ around near the duck’s tail. A thin line in the water divided the crowd of skaters. I followed the faint division across the water, and my eyes landed on a thicket of reeds by the edge. I could just make out where the line lifted from the water and into the reeds, about five or six inches I reckon. I finally decided I better make myself heard, seein’ as I wasn’t wearin’ orange.

I yelled “Hey! Can you move your decoy? I’m fishin’ here!”

There was no answer. I waited. Then, the line went taut and I watched as the duck slowly slipped backwards into the reeds. I looked long and hard for any sign of the bird hunter, but saw none. Just wisps of fog playin’ in the grass. My gut was tellin’ me to get out, but I couldn’t move. If it was a person, they were playin’ me for a damn fool. Hell, I almost called your name, thinkin’ you’d pop out holdin’ that stupid duck and wearin’ your usual smacked grin. Before I did, though, the duck came back. Only this time, I saw it come from my left side. I had my eyes on those reeds and for the life of me have no clue how they managed to get all the way around me like that without makin’ a sound, let alone me seein’ ‘im. Then I heard it. A voice that sounded just like me. Like, exactly like me. It said “I’m fishin’ here!”

Boy, I cut my engine on real quick when I heard that. I turned out to the right and went around the duck, so I could get back to the boat ramp. As I cut left, I came about two feet from it, and I got a real good look. It was covered in hooks. Like a giant lure. I almost stopped to look again, but I guess the wake tugged the line ‘cause next thing it zipped back on to the shoreline. I wasn’t waitin’ around for it to get cast again. Charlie was still waitin’ over by the truck and helped me get the boat out of the water. I almost felt relieved as we pulled out, but I just had to look back out to the water one more time. It was back out there, maybe fifty feet from the ramp. It’s been two weeks now and I can’t get it out of my head, Ray. When I sleep, I think of the water there at Camp Twin Lake. I can’t go back there. Look, you go fishin’ there all you want, but I ain’t gonna go.