Fishing horror style.
“Just one more and I’ll have my limit,” old Herb chuckles.
The large pond sitting in the northwest corner of the cemetery is off-limits for fishing. To everyone except Fred that is. He doesn’t know the meaning of the word. The spring-fed pond is there, loaded with tasty Largemouth Bass waiting to jump on the surface plug he works through the shallows. Night: the best time to catch them because they hit with abandon, and no one can see him as well.
“If God didn’t want people catching these tasty critters, why did he have someone stock them here?” Fred muttered. “The dead can’t fish, but I certainly can.”
The Ghoul watches with amusement. To him, this man is playing with his food. A cat and mouse kind of game.
He smiles. ‘I suppose that’s what I do now that I eat the flesh of the living,’ he thinks…
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