The Angler

He wanted more time at the cabin however now he had everything he needed. It was his final day of driving and he decided to continue into the night to finish the last leg of traveling. Sleep was creeping up on Casper which caused his graying head to bob from time to time. His headlights shined upon the road in a near hypnotizing manner. He just had a few more miles to go.

Casper came to an old bridge that stretched over a river that would eventually feed into the elongated lake near where his cabin was located. The bridge barely fit one vehicle at a time, so Casper slowed down. He rested an arm outside of his window and gently tapped his truck door. He could’ve sworn he heard the bridge creaking if not for the sound of water rushing below him.

Something caught Casper’s eye and he looked out into the night. Off in the distance, he saw it: a dimming green light. Casper couldn’t make it out exactly, however, he could tell it was near the water. A screeching sound pierced Casper’s ears and the truck rocked and lifted on one side. Casper’s attention was forced back to the bridge where he had accidently hit the side. He whipped the wheel to the side and the truck aggressively returned to the bridge which worked well in waking Casper. After shaking his head, he looked back to the river in search of the light. It was gone.

Now that he was fully awake, at least for a little while, Casper crossed the bridge and finished the last few miles of his journey. He rolled up to a dark, empty cabin. The nearby trees were finely pruned to keep them clear of branches near the ground and few sticks littered the area.

Not bothering with unloading everything, Casper only grabbed an old sea bag. He moseyed to the cabin door and fumbled with his keys, sleep regaining its strength in its battle against Casper’s will. The correct key was found and jammed into the door. He leaned into the door to open it and nearly fell to the ground had he not still been holding the door handle when it swung open. Casper spotted his cot. He closed the door, dropped the one bag he brought in, threw the keys towards a table, and fell face first on the cot where sleep finally prevailed.

The sun peeked through the trees and shed light on the campgrounds, the morning dew glistening throughout the area as morning finally arrived. Casper slowly sat up and stretched out his arms, releasing a loud, drawn-out yawn. When he finally convinced his body to obey his commands, he brought in the other luggage from the truck. He placed a few bags in the kitchen, some clothes next to the cot and his fishing gear on the table. He poured himself some cereal to have a quick breakfast as well.

The last thing to organize were his clothes. There was a drawer at the end of the cot which he opened and pulled the final bag closer to him. He reached in and grabbed some of the clothes and transferred them to their new home for the time being. He reached for another set of clothes. As he was picking them up, a picture fell facedown from the jumble of clothing. Casper halted what he was doing and gently placed the clothes down. He carefully picked up the picture and flipped it over. The picture was fading to a brownish white and its corners were curling but he could still see his younger self posing near the cabin alongside his wife and two children.

Casper’s mouth tensed as he stared at the photo. His hands trembled. He missed them all so much. He took a deep breath and looked up as a tear crawled down his cheek. He shakingly placed the photo on his pillow and put the rest of the clothes away. He grabbed his keys and went to his truck.

Casper drove a few miles down the main road and stopped at a Bait ‘N Tackle shop. Above the store name was a wooden cut-out of a fisherman reeling in a large mouth bass. Casper walked inside and was greeted by the clerk who knew him well. Only a couple other patrons milled around the shop, looking at lures or little blue containers in the refrigerator to find the right worms. A CRT television was mounted in the corner, offering a hazy picture to the local morning news.

“Another missing persons case has opened up in the county,” the anchor recited. The store clerk picked up the remote and jammed a few buttons, but it wouldn’t work. He reached up to the television. “All victims were last seen near the river, so if you’re nearby--” the channel was changed.

The patrons were unfazed by the news, including Casper. They made their selections and patiently waited in line to complete their purchases. Casper had one container of nightcrawlers, a couple bobbers and hooks as well as a shiny new lure.

Casper returned to the cabin. He checked over his rods and reels. He restrung what was needed and did any other maintenance checks. He came to the new lure and freed it from its packaging. Casper gently rocked it back and forth and flicked the little frills attached to it. He leaned over to the side and placed it next to several other lures that lay untouched, except for the gathering dust, on a countertop next to a picture of a little boy holding a tiny bluegill. Lastly, he came to a small wooden crate he had pulled from his sea bag. Carefully, he unlatched and opened the small container. He looked at the contents, nodded and shut it once more.

The sun had done its duty for the day and was beginning to retreat behind the mountains. Stray golden beams of light found their way over the tops until at last the sun was hidden from view and the remaining light made began to take its leave. The waning moon clocked in and took over the lighting. Casper grabbed his fishing equipment and wooden crate before walking to the river.

Casper was met by a collapsed chair along the shore. He grabbed it with one hand, forcefully threw it open which also kicked off most of the collected dirt and set it on the ground. He took a seat. Casper looked up and down the bank. The water was smooth and undisturbed except for the gentle current downstream. The evening wildlife soon began a mesmerizing melody in the night. This went on for hours and Casper never moved from his chair. He merely looked left and right. Upriver and down. Never once did he set a worm to his hook or attach a lure or even look at his fishing pole. He only watched and listened.

In time, the world started to brighten. The moon was long gone, and Casper was fighting sleep once more. The sun was on its way. As he leaned forward out of his chair, Casper heard it. A call. An echo, almost. It was a woman singing, or humming. It was difficult to describe but Casper knew it was there. He slowly peered downriver just as a green glow was extinguished. Casper grabbed his nightcrawlers and removed the lid. He churned the soil within using his free hand, revealing all the worms inside. He continued doing this as he waded into the water to about his knees. He took the soil, worms and all and poured it into the river. Casper then thoroughly rinsed his hands of the dirt in the river water, peering downstream as he did so.

Once he was finished there, Casper gathered his remaining belongings and returned to his cabin where he had a quick meal and caught some shut eye. He continued this ritual for a couple days: new worms, checking his gear and waiting at night by the riverbank. Some days he caught a glimpse of the light. Some days he didn’t. But those that he did see it, the light drew closer and closer to his cabin and the echoes grew louder and louder.

New moon. The woods forbid the presence of any light and Casper sat in his chair with only the darkness to welcome and embrace him. He had no candle, headlamp, or other means to illuminate the area. What he lacked in sight; his hearing made up the difference. If he thought the creatures of the night were loud before, tonight was an orchestra. A cacophony of sounds rang through the air. Casper’s ears twitched with everything remotely close to him. A twig snapped from a tree and fell to the ground. Casper only lightly grunted in response to the twig, and he heard a raccoon scuttling away soon after.

Then the insects stopped. The owls stopped. Any other living creature deferred to the most dreadful thing Casper had heard during this trip. Silence. Even Casper’s breathing was halted for a moment as it, too, was deafening with nothing to overtake it. An ominous, foreboding silence descended upon the bank. It was difficult to pick up at first but dripping water threatened the quiet.

A woman’s voice. The echo. It called to Casper. His hands slowly reached for the wooden crate while the song grew louder. He unlatched the crate as softly as he could but even that noise caused the voice to stop momentarily, as if reacting to him. It resumed its eerie, melancholy song as Casper opened the lid and grabbed the contents, putting them in his pockets. He stood up and approached the bank.

That’s when it welcomed him. The green light started as an ember but grew and grew in luminosity until Casper could make out the vague figure of the woman in its brilliance. No other creature still dared compete against her song as Casper was drawn into the river by the illuminated woman that seemed to float backwards as he approached. Each step seemed to be relieving him of some unseen weight and became easier and easier.

Casper was nearly waist deep when she stopped fleeing from him. Casper closed his eyes, and he was flooded with emotions. He tried to hold back the tears, but they flowed right out of him. He was soon crying uncontrollably as he reached for the objects in his pockets. He opened his eyes and smiled. The light held no resemblance to a woman and lifted out away from him. The last thing Casper saw was the outline of a monstrous mouth bearing down on him while he held up two grenades, pins removed.

The light quickly dimmed from view as it retreated deeper into the river. A few seconds later, a deep, concussive blast rumbled to the shore. Silence. Wearily, the wildlife restarted their symphony.