The One That Got Away (standard:horror, 1145 words)
Author: Chris Craine	Added: Sep 08 2006	Views/Reads: 3451/2157	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
It's a helluva fish story!

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

Bubbles began coming up rapidly from the center of the lake 

like a boiling pot of water. An unsettling mist began to form all 

around the lake from seemingly nowhere. 

John gaped open mouthed at the middle of the lake. His pole 

hung forgotten in his hands as his mind tried to grasp what it was he 

was seeing. 

Water shot straight up from the center of the lake, nearly 

twenty feet high. Followed by a high pitched gurgle, that caused John 

to drop the pole and hold his hands over his ears. 

Something began rising to the surface of the water. John 

squinted trying to make out what it was through the spraying water. At 

first it looked like a man, except there was a greenish tint to his 

skin and large slits in his neck that resembled gills. It's hands were 

webbed and it was holding a rope in it's right hand. The creature 

continued to rise until about mid ankle and then just seemed to hover. 

It raised it's arm and began twirling the rope above it's head in a 

cowboy fashion. A murky grin spread across it's face. 

John held it's gaze for a moment. His heart had jumped to his 

throat and he turned and ran. As a police officer John had always 

relied on his quick reaction time to get him out of tight spots. This 

time it didn't pay off. 

The rope launched from the fish man's hand and caught around 

John's ankle. He was sent arms flailing towards a face full of dirt. 

He then felt a sharp tug as he was pulled towards the lake. 

John's mind drifted towards his service revolver. He was one 

of the best shots on the force. He was also the one who left it 

stashed in his truck's  glove box, not more than thirty feet away. 

John tried to claw his way back towards the truck. His hands 

seemed to only come up with dirt and loose rock as he lost ground 

towards the lake. He looked around franticly searching for something, 

anything to grab a hold of. His hand wrapped around a rock the size of 

a football, half buried in the ground and for a moment he was secure. 

He glanced back at the fish man. It opened it's mouth and let out a 

piercing sloshing scream and then jerked on the rope with both hands. 

John's fingernail was torn off as he was wrenched from the rock. Cold 

water seeped into his shoes, then covered his knees, and next 

swallowed his chest all the way to his neck. 

“Somebody help me,” he screamed. He knew it was no use. There 

was no one for miles. It was one of the reasons he had picked this 

spot. 

John struggled to keep his head above water. It splashed under 

once and he came back up choking on the water. It went under again. It 

looked like he was going to give up his pension, when John's luck 

began to change. 

He raised his head out of the water just enough to cough and 

spit more water out, but was not pulled any farther into the lake. He 

reached down and tried to pull the rope off his ankle but it wouldn't 

budge. 

The fish man jumped up and down, splashing water all around 

it. It made loud squelching noises and it's grin was now pulled back 

into a vicious snarl. It gave the rope one final jerk, when John felt 

the rope snap. He was thrown back under the water for a moment but the 

pressure around his leg was gone. 

He fought his way out of the water, pausing only long enough 

to pull the severed rope from his ankle and then high geared it to his 

truck. He could still hear the creatures warbled cries but wasn't 

going to stick around to see if it was an apology. 

John's truck tore off down the dirt rode towards the safety of 

civilization, swearing off fishing for life. After all this would be 

one fish story he would never top. 


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