This Pole Wasn't Meant to Catch Fish

           It was nearly dawn when I finally felt a tug on my line. My father never brought home a single fish when he used this particular fishing pole, and now that he was gone I decided to break the curse. I reeled in my line as fast as I could, fighting to bring the fish closer and closer to shore. At any moment I was certain my pole was going to snap or my line was going to break and the curse on the pole would continue.

            Then I saw the shadow in the water. It was definitely bigger than anything else I’d ever caught, bigger than anything I thought I could hook from shore. Finally, something broke the surface of the water. Even in the dark, it was impossible to mistake the object for anything else than what it was – a human hand. Instantly, I dropped my pole and ran into the surf, fighting through the waves. My hands disappeared into the dark waters as I tried to grab onto an arm, a leg, anything my fingers could wrap around. Eventually, I managed to haul my catch to shore.

It was a man. A full-grown, adult man. I looked around the beach, trying to find any sign of where he might’ve come from, or anyone who might be looking for him. Instead I found only darkness and silence.

            “Excuse me, but is this your hook?” I turned to see the man now on his feet, a small piece of metal glimmering in his hand. Before I could respond he pulled the hook out in one motion and dropped it into the sand. Seeing the look of shock on my face, the man just smiled. “Don’t worry. It’s not the first time this has happened.” In that moment he turned and I could see the dozens, if not hundreds of tiny scars pockmarked throughout his body: his arms, his back, his chest, his face were all covered in them.

            “So, have you caught anything else tonight?” He asked, casually as if we were discussing the weather.

            I took a deep breath before I replied. “Nope. My dad used to say that this pole wasn’t meant for catching fish. I guess he was right,” I added with a laugh. After all, if he wasn’t going to make a big deal about being hooked and dragged half-dead from the ocean, why should I?

            The man laughed, an uncomfortable wet, gurgling noise. “Yeah, he did say that a lot,” he said as he pointed to several different scars on his body. “We’d met a couple of times before, but I could never get him to pull me to shore.” He turned to me, his smile now literally spread from ear to ear as rows of pointed teeth filled his cavernous mouth. “‘This pole wasn’t meant for catching fish’ he used to say. But did your father ever tell you what to do with the things that do bite? Did he ever tell you about the things that shouldn’t be taken from the ocean?” As dawn broke and the first light of day shone on the two of us alone on the beach, the man crumbled to sand and blew away in the wind, leaving behind only the sound of his laughter.

            I wish I could say that was the last time I saw the man, but that would be a lie. I see him everywhere, a face in the crowd or a shadow in the dark. I still don’t know who he is or what he wants. I only know that he is always smiling his pointed-tooth smile, his flesh scarred by the hooks of fishers smarter than me, men and women who knew that some poles aren’t meant to catch fish, and that some things are meant to be thrown back.

 This was my entry into this year's newspaper Halloween story contest. And I was a finalist! Top ten isn't bad. If you happened to pick up a newspaper today, you might have seen it (though probably not, who reads the Today section). If not, well, you missed seeing my small moment of fame and glory

And yes, I know they misspelled the title of my story, but I'm kinda hoping they don't correct it. It's a little humbling to know that even though I made it into the paper, something can still bring me down. It's especially humbling because, honestly, for about the past two weeks since I submitted the story, I've been thinking about how I'm definitely going to win this time and about what I'm going to say when they interview me about my inspiration for the story and my writing background and etc, etc. Just to give you a sample of all that hidden (or not so hidden) narcissism, here's where I got the inspiration for the story: I remember reading a prompt on reddit awhile back asking that you look around your house for old things and write a fictional story about it. The thing that I thought of was these old fishing poles in my garage. 

I'm not actually sure if this is either one of my dad's fishing poles or one of my grandpa's fishing poles. Either way, as you can see from the build up of dirt, it hasn't been used in a long time. The other inspiration for this story came from a van I see every once in a while with the words, "Fisher of Men" written on the side of it. It's probably some church vehicle, but the words made me think that, as people fish for fish (that sounds stupid), maybe there's something out there that fishes for us. So, putting these two ideas together, I came up with the third story for this Halloween special. Hopefully tomorrow's story will be scarier. Don't get your hopes up.