A Catfish Tale

There's a stretch of road that runs between Grantsburg and St. Croix Falls in Wisconsin that I've traveled over at least a hundred times over the years. It runs parallel to the St. Croix River with lots of little dirt side roads that will take you to any number of small boat landings. As a kid my Dad brought my us boys on canoe and fishing trips every summer. Each one of us got a camping trip alone with Dad the summer after our senior years of high school. I think all four of us stayed in school and graduated partly to get that solo trip with the old man.

I'm number three of Jake McCarty's boys. Our Pops was one of those tough outdoors guys who lived for every chance he got to hunt or fish. No Golfing on the weekends for our Pops that was 'fer sissy city boys' as far as he was concerned. He drove a Ford truck with one of them fish decals on the back window and always had a Marlboro cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. He kept the red box rolled up in the sleeve of his trademark white tee shirt and wore his hair slicked back with pomade until the day he died.

He died quick from a heart attack at age 58 just two years after the last of us, my younger brother Tommy, graduated high school. Tommy was our Ma's reaction to my oldest brother John graduating from high school, they call it empty nest syndrome now-a days, back then we just called it oops. I was the baby until Tommy was born, but at fourteen I was too busy struggling with raging hormones and fitting in at school to get jealous. Oh yeah, I'm Luke and between John and me is Pete, there was just two years between each of us older kids.

Anyway back to why I'm even writing all this down in the first place. More than anything else I suppose it's because even though I spent a good part of every summer of my life on that patch of the St. Croix River, either with my Pops, brothers or even friends as I got older, I can't imagine any reason on Earth that would convince me to ever go back there ever again. At least that's how I feel now that it's all still fresh in my memory.

See the problem with a man's memory is that with time all things tend to fade and take on a dreamlike quality. Things we did as kids seem funnier, cooler, scarier or way less dangerous as time passes and the memory goes to that place in the back of your head where it lays sleeping until you're having a few beers in the back yard and reminiscing and shooting the shit with the guys. Then that memory comes out in tall tales that seem way more exciting then it ever really was.

Now what happened last weekend up on the St. Croix River already has that dreamlike quality, except more like a nightmare where you close your eyes and ask God to please make it a dream so you can wake up home in bed and laugh at yourself. Except that when you open your eyes again, it ain't no dream and knowing that it's real don't take away that dreamy nightmare feeling. So more than anything I'm writing this all down so as time passes and the memory fades, I can pick up this notebook and read this to remind myself exactly why I'm never, ever going back there again.

I'm gonna have Sarah type up three copies of this too, so I can give one to each of my brothers in the hope that they don't ever go back there again either. They can take it however they want, laugh at me or call me a crazy sissy, but in my heart I'll know I warned them. Then if they choose to go up there anyway, at least I did my part by telling the tale. Mostly it's a fish-tale and I'm well aware that most fish-tales are more fiction than fact. Only this one has the fish to prove it's real, a monster 75 lb. Flathead catfish that is at the taxidermist right now getting stuffed. Another thing I'm doing just to remind myself that it really was all too real.

Like I said before I've been going on river trips ever since I was a kid, so after I had been dating Sarah for just over a year I wanted to share it with her. I was starting to feel really serious about her maybe being the one and I just wanted to see her out in the woods. We'd been fishing on my brother's pontoon a few times and had spent a couple of weekends at her parent's cabin, but we'd never really roughed it together before. You can tell a lot about a person by how they act out in the woods.

We both took Friday off work so we could make a full weekend of the trip. We packed up my Ford Explorer with fishing and camping gear and then tied my canoe to the roof. Sarah was in charge of food for the weekend and had packed a cooler and one of those short Rubbermaid keepers with dry goods. One of the things I love most about Sarah is that she's one of those natural beauties that doesn't need to lug around a suitcase full of makeup. We traveled light with just a backpack each of clothes and essentials.

The drive up from St. Paul was uneventful and we drove straight through to St. Croix Falls without stopping. Then we made a quick potty break at the Holiday station in town and another quick stop at the DNR to get a map of the river before heading out for Cushing. I had told Sarah about a little town diner there where my Dad would stop for lunch whenever we came out this way. We had planned on stopping there to eat, but now as I think back on it a bit, things first started getting weird as we pulled into Cushing.

First off the diner was closed and had really bizarre hours posted on a little hand-lettered sign in the window. Then Sarah said the whole town was giving her the creeps. That the place reminded her of one of those spooky towns that Stephen King writes about where everyone turns into vampires or something. Since that was the only restaurant in town I asked Sarah if she wanted to double back to St. Croix Falls to eat, but she said we could nibble on jerky and chips until we got to the boat landing and then she'd quick make us a couple of sandwiches.

Mostly she just wanted to get the Hell out of Cushing and by then her heebie-jeebies were starting to infect me too because I was feeling pretty anxious to leave myself. As we drove out of town it seemed like the few people we passed stared at us in a strange way, but I figured it was just my imagination running wild. I didn't ask Sarah if she felt the same way because one glance at her pale and worried face spoke volumes.

As soon as the tiny town was in the rearview mirror that creepy feeling went completely away. Soon we were giggling and seeing who could spot the most wildlife. Sarah had two deer, a rabbit and a lump of road kill that might have been a woodchuck before a dozen cars had smashed it flat.

Since I was trying to concentrate on driving I was losing with just one deer and a turkey buzzard. We had gone out of the way to get to Cushing, so I was trying to circle back to Nevers Landing, but realized that I had missed the turn when we came to the Trade River Horse Camp and the Old Settler's Cemetery which are only about 30 yards apart.

I pulled partly into the driveway of the cemetery to turn back around as Sarah dug out the River map we had picked up earlier. She tried to figure out the map while we both laughed like teenage girls at a slumber party. I remember thinking that I had better hurry up and marry her, because any woman who wasn't bitchy by this point in the trip was a real gem. I remember sitting in the back seat of my Ma's station wagon whenever we had to go anywhere as a family. That was the only time my Pops would drive her car, because he wouldn't ride with a woman driver. When he drove her car she spewed a constant string of insults at him and he barked right back at her.

She'd say, "Jake, you're going to fast," then a minute later he was going to slow. He was riding the brakes or took the wrong turn. Then he say, "Woman, I don't tell you how to cook so don't you tell me how to drive." They would go on and on like that the whole trip, whether it was the five-mile drive to church on Sunday or the seven-hour drive to Aunt Paula and Uncle Joe's farm by Rockport IL. The thing was that as long as they bickered back and forth like that, they never got bitchy with each other. It was like their bickering kept any real tension from developing.

Even though Sarah and I were acting all silly and laughing, it reminded me of my folks, because either way, bickering or laughing, it was the distraction that kept the tension from building. I figure we missed our turn on account of our goofing around, but I was sure I'd find it on the way back. Then all of a sudden Sarah squealed and said, "Oh look a yard sale, let's stop."

"What the Hell?" I said slowing down, "that wasn't there before."

"Of course it was silly, we just missed it like our turn with all our giggling," Sarah said.

The thing was that even then I didn't believe we could have missed it. The Yard had brightly colored balloons attached to about a dozen fence posts and two big wooden signs that had 'YARD SALE' painted in fluorescent orange paint. It was also a gigantic sale set up on a couple of dozen of those big school lunch folding tables that were set out between the house and the barn. The big weathered barn also had it's huge front doors open and there were even more tables inside.

It was a typical yard for that part of the world. A trailer sat back a ways between the house and the barn and there were half a dozen broken down vehicles decorating the lawn. Some with plants growing up around them and one, an old green Willy's truck had a family of cats living in it and Mama was nursing her litter on the hood. There was at least ten dirty-faced children running around and playing while a dozen or so adults rummaged through the goods on the tables.

Now that I think back on it, none of the cars or trucks parked along the side of the road was newer that the tricked out 68' Charger parked in the drive. It was like we had driven into a time warp or something. At the time I think we just wrote it off as being out in the country and thought it was quaint and old-fashioned. Sarah had said something about how the people out here lived in their own time zone and we'd giggled at that. It doesn't seem very funny anymore though.

Sarah dashed out of the Explorer as soon as I turned off the engine and practically skipped to the first table with childlike excitement that was contagious. She never looked more beautiful to me than she did at that moment. I looked up to see her putting a big yellow straw sun-hat on her head. She smiled at me and the sun sparkled in her honey-gold hair as she twirled around and asked me if I liked her new hat. A tired looking old woman as thin as silk held up a sundress of a perfectly matching yellow shade. "It goes with the dress miss, they're a set," the woman said to Sarah.

Sarah took the dress that the woman was holding out to her and held it up in front of her while she did another quick twirl. "It suits you real good, a purdy gal like you shouldn't be running 'round in dungarees like a boy no how," the woman said to Sarah.

"I keep telling her it ain't lady-like," I said conspiratorially to the skeletal woman who graced me with a big toothless grin and a nod.

"Well, I will take both, a gal has to be lady-like fer her feller," Sarah said giving the granny a wink. That made the old gal let out a cackle that still sends shivers up my spine. Partway through her laughter turned into a horrible hacking cough that caused the woman to reach into her apron pocket. I stared with my mouth open in shock as she pulled out a pack of filter less Lucky Strikes and seemed to shake one out of the pack into her waiting cadaver lips, and light it with a match that magically appeared in her other claw-like hand, in one fluid motion.

The inhalation of smoke seemed to cure her coughing fit rather than make it worse. She pointed to a withered old man in bib-overalls who was sitting behind a card table and said, "Look around some and then go pay Barney."

"Thanks," Sarah said grabbing my hand and leading me away from the woman. Sarah started to giggle and soon I was laughing along with her. We did look around at all of the other tables and Sarah talked me into buying an old green fishing hat that was liberally decorated with hooks and flies. We took our intended purchases over to Barney who was sleeping sitting up with his chin to his chest and a corncob pipe dangling from the corner of his mouth. We knew he was really asleep because of his loud snoring.

We stood in front of him for about five minutes just holding our stuff and feeling silly. I looked at Sarah once, but had to look away quickly, because her grin gave away the giggling fit that lay just behind its surface. I knew that if our eyes met we would both start laughing again. I was just about to leave the money on the table or go looking for the old woman when the man who must have owned the Charger came out of nowhere and gave the old man's chair a swift kick. "Wake up Paw-Paw! You gots customers!" the man said loudly.

"Just resting' my eyes boy, you kick my chair agin and I'll kick yer ass!" Barney said with a grin. Then he looked up at us and smiled wide as he pulled the pipe out of his mouth with one gnarled hand. His mouth was almost as toothless as the old woman's, except he still had one front tooth and a couple of bottom ones. Sarah set the dress and two hats in front of him on the card table.

"Now ain't that a thing, how'd dat hat git here?" he asked no one in particular. The younger man, who reminded me of old photo's of my Dad because of his slicked back hair and the cigarette pack rolled up in the sleeve of his dirty white T-shirt, picked up the fishing hat and held it up for inspection. "Ain't this Catfish Charlie's old hat?" the younger man asked.

"Shor'e'nuff looks like it, but it can't be. Must be one of yer Daddy's old hats," Barney said to the man. The younger man tossed the hat back on to the table and then actually made the sign of the cross like an old woman trying to caste off bad luck.

"Well good riddance I says grandpa, that old thing still gives me the creeps even if it was my Daddy's" the man said.

"Naw boy, tain't nuthin', time was when yer Daddy went fishin' wiff Charlie near 'bout every day. Yer Daddy had three or four hat's rigged up to look like old Charlie's," Barney said and then added, "run to the house boy and fetch an old dog a beer." The young man dashed toward the house and Barney picked up the hat. "Sides, it cain't be Charlie's hat, cuz his hat tweren't never found," he said turning the hat around in his gnarled old hands and inspecting it.

"You kids city folk? Gonna do some fishin'?" He asked us. I told him how I was showing Sarah some of the places my Dad used to take me when I was a kid and that we were headed to Nevers Landing to set out our canoe so we could camp on one of the islands. "Whatcha tryin' ta catch?" he asked.

"Walleye, Muskies or Cats," I said.

"Well, then you point that canoe upriver from Nevers and paddle out to where the Trade River flows into the St. Croix. There's a couple of islands there, one on each side of the Trade, you go to the bigger one and just stay off the littler one completely. Some folks say the smaller island is haunted, but boy oh boy the fish is big 'uns right about there and it's a nice enough island fer camping out. Camped out there quite a bit in my younger years myself," Barney said.

Then to my surprise and delight Sarah asked the question that I was dying to ask, but to polite to put into words. "What happened to Catfish Charlie?" Sarah boldly asked.

"Well now girly, don't no one rightly know fer sure, but one night he went fishin' with my oldest boy Zeke and they dint never come back. Zeke was that boy's Daddy and I s'pose Junior still kinda blames old Charlie fer his Daddy dying young, but I don't blame Charlie on account that Zeke was a grown man and made his own choices right or wrong. A man has to live or die by the choices he makes in this life and my Zeke had the fever. True e'nuff he caught that fever from old Charlie, but catfishin' tain't ta blame fer whatever happened that night."

The old man tamped some tobacco into his pipe from a leather pouch he had strung around his neck and lit it. He drew in a deep puff and then blew a perfect donut before continuing on. "Old Charlie t'was about a year or two younger than me and was one hell of a catfishin' fool. Oh, he had caught him some whoppers over the years and my boy Zeke had took up with him about seven or eight years before that night. Them two was thick as thieves when it came to catfishin' and spent just about every night from first thaw to first freeze on that river chasin' after a monster cat they had named Deadeye."

"Now as the legend goes, old Charlie had caught old Deadeye thrice before, but every time that wily cat somehow broke loose and got away. It got its name the second time old Charlie caught it with my boy Zeke in the boat with him, Zeke helped him haul it on up and over the side and into the boat. They knew it was the same cat as Charlie had caught before because of its milky dead right eye. See old Charlie had somehow snagged it through that eye and that's how he'd caught it the first time. That's also how it got away that first time."

The old man paused and opened the bottle of beer that Junior had brought him and took a big swig. A small group of folks had gathered around the table and five or six children were sitting in a half-circle around Barney to listen to the tale. After taking a second swig from his beer Barney continued on. "You see the first time Charlie had caught that cat he was alone and fishing from the bank of the river right about where the Trade flows into it. He was all by his self and fought that bugger fer over'n hour. When he finally landed it he was in heaven, course back then old Deadeye was only a fidty pounder."

"But even that is a big honkin' flathead. Well, Charlie held that cat under one arm and used a pliers to try to work that hook out of the fish's eye. When the hook finally popped out, Old Charlie was so surprised that he lost his balance and him and old Deadeye both slipped down the bank and landed in the river. In the tussle he lost his grip on the cat and old Deadeye swam away. Well, Charlie musta tole that story a hundred times at the bait shop, the barbers and even at the tavern. Mostly folks just laughed cuz it was a purdy funny story, but dint no one really believe it."

"Then a few years later him and my boy Zeke catch a sixty pound flathead and damned if it's right eye ain't all milky, blind and half hangin' out the socket. Well, After they got it in the boat, old Charlie was feeling superstitious and just cut the line and left the hook in rather than try to fight that fish agin. Zeke started the motor and they was bringing Deadeye in when the boat hit a rock or sumpin' and tipped. More than likely they was drinking and driving too fast for river boating in the dark, but a fish like that tends to make men do foolish things."

At that point I realized that Sarah was sitting cross-legged next to the children and staring raptly up at Barney. I eased myself down and sat next to her on the grass as the old guy paused to wet his whistle again from his bottle of beer. I looked around and it seemed like everyone that had been previously rummaging around at the yard sale was now either sitting and listening or standing behind where we had sat down. Even the old woman was sitting on an upturned five-gallon bucket and smoking a Lucky Strike.

"After that my boy Zeke was hooked on catching old Deadeye agin, and damned if he weren't the one to hook that bastard the third time. Him and Charlie was fishin' off one of the islands that time and they took turns fighting that cat fer over three hours by the tale they told later. Old Charlie was the one that finally reeled him in and that time they had wised up and had taken to bringing a Polaroid with 'em whenever they went fishin'," Barney continued.

"Well dem pictures they took was dark and grainy, but you could shor'e'nuff tell it was a big ugly flathead they was holding up. In one of dem pictures Zeke is holding the flashlight so it glows on that cat's face and damned if it don't show a bulged out milky-blind eye. Don't matter no how anyways, cuz that devilfish managed to get away agin. As they was lifting it into the boat to head back over the river to the landing, it wiggled around quick as can be and bit off one of Zeke's pinky fingers."

"Well, he let out a howl and dropped his end of the fish and that was all it took fer Charlie to loose his grip on his end. That cat flopped itself back into the river faster than old Charlie could chase after it. The whole time poor Zeke is screaming about how the damned devilfish ate his pinky finger. So then Charlie took Zeke all the way to St. Paul in Minnesota to git his finger sewed up, but the next day they had a new story to tell in the taverns and this time they had the Polaroid's to prove it."

Barney took the last swig off his beer and looked up just as Junior handed him another. "Thankee boy," Barney said before going on. "Well, after that there was just no stopping them two from spending every free hour they had, together or alone, out chasing after old Deadeye. See they both had the fever so bad by then that they barely ate or slept anymore. If'en they weren't working at the factory they was at the river fishing. Got to where they were putting out lines in the dead of winter, standing in snow drifts up to their knees."

"They chased that damned flathead for four more years before the river took them and by then they were both more than half crazy. Then one hot summer night going on eighteen years ago now, cuz Junior was about seven years old then, them two went out fishin' and never come back. Old Catfish Charlie's boat come to ground two days later down by Taylor's Falls, but they dint find Zeke fer over a week. His poor old bloated body was found floatin' way down by Stillwater on the Minnesota side. I went down there in that Willy's over there and identified him so as the women folk wouldn't have ta see him like that."

"They done one of them there autopsies on him, but never did come up with a cause of death other than to say he dint have no heart attack and he dint drown. They never did find old Catfish Charlie's body, some say he just floated all the way down the St. Croix to the Mississippi and on down yonder all the way to the Gulf of Mexico. Don't much matter one way or another cuz old Deadeye won and he's still out there just waitin' to be caught. Just about everyone that lives in these parts has gone out trying to snag that damned devilfish, except fer Junior who won't go anyways near that river or a fishin' pole."

"Folks around these parts say old Charlie's ghost is still out there trying to catch that damned fish. Lots of city folk like you come back and tell tales of an old guy they met out there that was trying to catch a big catfish and gave them directions or just shooting the breeze with them for awhile while they were out hiking in the woods. Don't you worry none about old Charlie's ghost though, he ain't ever spooked anyone. He's just still trying to catch that fish, see he had the fever way longer and even worse than my boy Zeke did and I guess his old soul just can't rest until that bastard is caught,"

Old Barney finished off his second beer and the people who had gathered around started to shuffle back over to the tables again. "Well kids, that'll be two dollars and fidty cents fer the dress and both hats. It sure does look like old Charlie's hat, but I'm purdy sure it's one of Zeke's," Barney said. I handed Barney a five-dollar bill and he opened the old cigar box in front of him on the table and fished out my change with his gnarled old liver spotted hands. "If nuthin' else maybe that old hat will bring ya some luck," he said handing me my change.

We turned around and started to walk back to my Explorer when old Barney called us back. "Now you kids remember ta go to the bigger of them there islands the one the kids call Catfish Island. That's where Zeke and Charlie caught old Deadeye the third time, when they took them Polaroid pictures. The kids call the smaller island Devil's Rock cuz of the big fork shaped boulder that juts out the East side of the Island. They say that Island's been haunted since long before Old Catfish Charlie was even born. Since way back when wasn't nuthin' but Injuns out in these woods." Barney said

Well we thanked him again for the story and the hat and finally made it to the Explorer without being called back again. Sarah put the dress in the back seat and grabbed a couple of Grain Belt beers out of our cooler. She handed me one as she slid into the passenger seat and pulled the tab on hers. "We can't have an open bottle," I said as I opened mine. "They're cans," she said as she took a big gulp and I started the engine. We didn't talk for quite awhile, I just drove and this time didn't miss the turn.

As we passed the Wolf Creek Tavern, Sarah started giggling again and pointed at it. "That's probably where old Deadeye Charlie and my boy Zeke brought their Polaroid's," she said. "Catfish Charlie, Deadeye was the fish's name," I corrected her and then started giggling myself. "What was that shit?" she said no longer laughing.

"Just an old fisherman's tale, probably more than half true and the rest exaggerated to tell the story better. It was a good one though, my Dad used to tell us kids stories like that around the campfire at night," I said.

"It was a pretty cool story, but those people were all so creepy, even the kids, they all looked kinda inbred or something," Sarah said.

"That's just your imagination, because that old fart was one hell of a story teller. He's probably been tweaking and changing that story for years to get it all just right, for maximum effect," I said.

We both spotted the sign for Nevers Landing at the same time and I pulled in and drove down to the boat landing. "Now we'll have something to tell our grandchildren someday," I said and realized that we'd never even discussed marriage or children before and here I was talking about grandchildren. "We're gonna have grandchildren?" Sarah asked with a big bad wolf kind of grin.

"Well, at least as many as old Barney had sitting around his knee," I said.
"You're a nut Luke McCarty," Sarah said and hopped out of the Explorer and started to unload our gear. Half an hour later we had the canoe off the roof and just about everything loaded into it. Sarah pulled two ham sandwiches out of the cooler that she had made before we'd left home. "You had sandwiches hidden all this time, while I've been starving to death?" I said.

"I told you that we'd have sandwiches when we got here," she said slyly.
"No, you said you'd make them when we got here," I said.

"No, I said I'd make them quick," she said giggling.

The sun had grown hot and high in the sky, checking my watch it was only 2:30 in the afternoon. We still had plenty of time to paddle upstream and set up camp on the Island before dark. I parked the Explorer in one of the overnight spots and had just locked it up when Sarah came running up. "Wait! Get the hat out!" she hollered.

So I unlocked the door and reached into the back seat and pulled out the big floppy yellow sun hat. As I was handing it to her she gave me that look that every woman is genetically born with. The one that tells you that you're being an ass without the woman ever having to say a word out loud.

Trying to redeem myself I handed her the sun-hat and said, "You have to wear yours too." Hoping she would believe that I had intended on wearing the fishing hat all along. Then she gave me that other woman look that says she knows I'm full of shit, but she doesn't say so. Instead she puts on her hat and smiles and waits for me to get mine. Women have a way of putting their man in a corner with no way out, so there I was putting on that old ratty hat and feeling foolish.

Once we were out on the water under that hot sun though, we were glad to have both hats. We paddled upstream and Sarah handled the canoe as well as any man I'd canoed with. She had two older brothers and her folks had a canoe up at their cabin, so it wasn't her first time out. We got to where another River, that was more like a creek, flowed into the St. Croix and we hoped it was the Trade like old Barney had said. There were two big Islands, one on either side, just like he had said, but we couldn't tell which one was bigger.

"Does it really matter which one? Besides being on a haunted Island sounds kind of cool," Sarah said.

"It would give us something else to tell the grandkids," I said and then Sarah did the eeny-meeny-miney-moe thing and we ended up with the Island just South of where we were, which actually was the closer of the two. Besides, that where I figured that any fish coming out of the Trade River would swim to since it was downstream. We paddled out to the Island and Sarah jumped out first to guide the canoe in since her jeans were rolled up to her knees and she was wearing rubber sandals. We pulled the canoe up on shore and then took a quick look around.

Less than forty feet downstream from where we'd landed the canoe was a pretty decent campsite. There was a picnic table and a fire pit that even had some wood stacked up by it. Off to the West of camp, more toward the center of the Island was a jimmy-rigged outhouse. Previous campers or maybe area teenagers had strung up a tarp that looked like a shower curtain in the woods. Inside was a makeshift toilet over a deep stinky hole. The toilet was just 2x4's nailed into a square and then nailed to four legs that were made out of 4x4's.

Outside of the tarp was a piece of plywood nailed to another 4x4 that had been pounded into the ground. Someone had painted 'BIFFY' on it with white paint. Under that someone else had written a message with a black magic marker that said; 'Please be considerate of other campers and cover any number two with dirt and leaves, when the hole gets full, please dig a new one and move this outhouse.' When I got back to the picnic table to tell Sarah about the 'BIFFY' she had already hauled our backpacks to the site.

Instead of lugging all of our gear to the site we got back into the canoe and paddled down to the campsite and then pulled the canoe up onto shore there. Within an hour we had the tent up and a nice fire going. I traipsed around the Island foraging for a supply of firewood while Sarah got the coals started on the little travel grill and started cooking us dinner. Even though it was barely five o'clock when we sat down at the picnic table to eat, we were both ravenous.
Sarah had outdone herself by cooking two small rib eye steaks with grilled asparagus and grilled Texas toast. For desert she had strawberries dusted with powdered sugar. It was my first gourmet meal in the woods, nothing like the hotdogs on sticks my Dad made. After eating we spread a blanket out on the grass and worked off the meal by making love in the shade. I must have dozed off because next thing I knew it was dusk and I could hear Sarah screaming from the other side of the Island.

I jumped up and into my jeans and struggled with the zipper as I ran toward where the sound had come from. I could hear the flies buzzing as I dashed past the BIFFY and proceeded to trip over a stump and land face first in mud. I was getting back to my feet when Sarah squealed again, but it didn't sound like a scary scream like when I'd been still half asleep. As I ran again toward the sound I could hear her cursing like a truck driver at someone. She was saying; "C'mon you nasty bastard, I'm going to get your freaking ass so just come on!" and then she squealed again and cursed some more.

As I burst through the bushes and came out on the other side of the Island I saw her standing on a big rock that jutted out over the water. She had her fishing rod and it was bent all the way over as she fought what had to have been a whopper of a fish. She plopped her but down on the rock and held fast as she tried to slowly reel it in. I was next to her on the rock in moments feeling both relieved and excited. "Maybe it's Deadeye the catfish," I said reaching my arms around her slim waist to help her gain leverage over the fish.

"Naw, it's a Muskie, I seen it jump," she said as it suddenly jerked her line so hard it almost pulled us both into the river.

"Damn, it must be a whale," I said just as her line snapped and we both flew backward, me with a big thud onto my tailbone and her right onto my lap. She hit my crotch in just the right way so that I wasn't even aware of the pain in my ass anymore due to that certain pain only another man knows. Tears ran down my cheeks even though I couldn't stop laughing. She kissed my forehead and the stood up reaching out a hand to help me up. Holding my knees together I said, "give me a minute," and that's when she realized where she had landed.

Well, that got us both laughing again and I got to my feet on my own in a lame attempt to salvage my pride. Sarah was already gathering her fishing gear together when I realized that the rock we were on was just one of three large points that each jutted out over the water. "Shoot, we're on the wrong Island," I said.

"Yeah, this is the Devil's pitchfork, pretty cool huh?" Sarah said excitedly.
"You don't want to move to the other Island?" I asked her, secretly hoping that she did. The old guy had spooked me worse than I had realized, but I had my male pride to protect too.

"No way! This is too cool, and like you said before someday we can tell our grandkids that we spent the night on a haunted Island. Besides the campsite pretty much proves it isn't really haunted, there's an out house," Sarah said. Her argument made sense, someone had gone to a lot of trouble to build the outhouse so obviously other people had spent the night safely. Sarah smiled at me in that way that makes my knees weak and then punched me below the belt by saying, "But we can move to the other Island if you're scared."

Now looking back on it all, I wish I would have punked out and said I was scared and did want to move, but once again Macho pride ruled over common sense. We made our way back to camp holding hands and giggling over how I'd been freaked out by waking up to her screaming, which was probably why I wad the Willies in the first place. When we got to our camp Sarah fed the fire to get it going again while I set up our poles for some good old-fashioned late night catfishing.

There's an art to fishing the rivers for cats and we had come prepared for just that kind of fishing. We had two of our four poles rigged for big fish with 40 lb. test line and a bucket full of big shiners. I searched around for two sticks that had a 'Y' end to hold our poles, baited the big hooks and cast each one out before setting it to rest on the sticks by the bank. Then carefully attached a little copper bell to each line so we could play cards and roast marshmallows while we waited for the bells to ring.

That first night went by with out anything spooky or weird happening. We made s'mores, played cribbage and caught half a dozen small cats and a couple of big carp. Threw them all back in and called it a night just after midnight. We were both pretty tired and fell asleep almost as soon as we cuddled up together in the big double sleeping bag inside the tent. I woke up the next morning to the smell of coffee and bacon. There just isn't anything better than waking up in the woods to those smells.

After breakfast we took the canoe and paddled over to the other Island. Once we'd landed and explored a bit we realized that it really was a much bigger Island. It wasn't just longer, but thicker too. We were glad to have accidentally picked the other Island after seeing the mess local teens had made on it. There were beer cans and broken beer bottles strewn all over and areas filled with trash. Some joker had taken a shit on top of the broken picnic table and there wasn't a 'BIFFY' like on our smaller Island.

Sarah and I spent a couple of hours cleaning up the Island as best we could. She found a box and filled it with broken glass and trash while I crushed beer cans and put them in one of our garbage bags that I had in my backpack. Even with the cans crushed I filled a 30-gallon trash bag. By the time I'd worked up the courage to get the shit off the picnic table, Sarah had already dug a hole and taken care of it. We knew that our efforts were probably in vain and that the local kids would probably be back that very night to trash the area again, but we just couldn't leave it the way it was.

By the time we were done it was past noon and our stomachs were grumbling, so we canoed back to our little Island to make some lunch. As we paddled back I couldn't take my eyes off Sarah. She was still wearing that floppy yellow hat with her long golden hair flying in the breeze. She was wearing a pair of khaki shorts and a gauzy white top over her little black bikini. Watching her paddle the front end of the canoe I hoped we could get a little frisky on the blanket again after lunch.

I knew something was wrong as soon as we landed the canoe, but Sarah didn't seem to notice because she was excitedly talking about how she was going to go back and try to catch that Muskie again. She was knee deep in water and guiding the canoe to shore when she looked up and saw my face. "What's wrong?" She asked.

"Junior is in our camp," I said.

"Who?" she asked, even as she was turning to look behind her. She let go of the canoe and I almost tipped it trying hop out before it floated away with the current. I was wearing jeans and got soaked to my thighs. I felt my canvas high-tops squishing down into the soft riverbed. I pushed the canoe up onto shore with one hard thrust and followed Sarah who was already halfway up the bank and heading toward Junior, except it wasn't Junior. He did look a lot like him, but at the same time different. He was sitting on the picnic table smoking a cigarette and watching us. I was looking around for the boat he must have used to get to the Island, but it must have been on the far end of the Island.

"Hey, Whatcha doing out here?" Sarah asked. I reached out and grabbed her arm trying to pull her back. "It's not Junior," I whispered.

"Of course it is," she said trying to wiggle away. I tightened my grip.
"What are you doing?" she snapped at me. The man who wasn't Junior just watched us from twenty feet away and continued smoking his cigarette. He was wearing one of those fishing vests with all the extra pockets and grinned at me when my eyes met his. "It's Zeke," I said to Sarah in another whisper.

"Who?" she asked.

"Junior's Dad, Barney's son, you know, 'my boy Zeke," I said. I could hear my voice getting higher and screechier with each word. Sarah broke free from my grip and laughed. "Don't be silly," she said and loped quickly to the table.

"Hi neighbor, beautiful day," Sarah said. I made my way warily toward them.
"Yup," Zeke said.

"Whatcha doing out here? Doing some fishin'?" she asked noticing his vest and the pole that he had propped up next to the table.

"Yup," Zeke said again as he blew a big smoke ring. I was finally to the table and standing next to Sarah. The last ten feet had been like wading through deep water. Now that I was up close to him my fear came out as anger. "Who the Hell are you? Why are you in our camp?" I demanded. Zeke started to ease himself off the table and both Sarah and I took two steps backward at the same time.

"Just a neighbor like Sarah said," Zeke said as he reached for his fishing pole. Sarah reached out and grabbed my hand and held on so tight it hurt. Zeke started to walk away with his pole and then turned around to face us again. "Just stopped by to give ya a little neighborly advice. Pack up your gear and go on home now." Zeke said and turned back around starting to walk away again toward the other side of the Island.

"Zeke wait!" I said loudly, because curiosity killed the cat and I just had to know for sure. He turned around, smiled and held up his pole, with his left hand so we could see that he only had half a pinky finger, and said, "I gotta go meet Charlie, we've got a devilfish to catch tonight. You folks go on home now." Then he turned and walked into the woods.

We stood hand in hand frozen in place for a few minutes unable to move. Then Sarah let go of my hand and to my complete surprise went running after him. I followed her even though all I really wanted to do was pack up and get the hell off that Island. Just before she broke through the brush to the other side of the Island we heard a boat motor start up. I broke through just behind her in time to see the small fishing boat disappear around the Island heading toward the Wisconsin shore.

"See! I told you it was that little freak Junior! Playing some kind of practical joke, trying to scare the city folk," Sarah said with her angry voice.

Without waiting for a reply from me she was already running back toward our camp to try and see where he made land. I chased after her knowing that she wouldn't find him on the other side. The sound of the motor had disappeared as soon as the boat was out of sight. If it had been a real boat we would still hear it. Sound carried longer and louder out here and we would have heard a real boat all the way back to Nevers Landing.

I slowed down to a walk and by the time I got to our camp Sarah was just standing by the shore and staring out over the water. I went to her and put my arm around her shoulder. "We need to walk around the Island, he must have landed again right around the tip," she said still staring out at the empty river. I pulled her closer to me and stared with her for a little while.

"Sarah, we should start packing up," I said. She broke free from my embrace and started toward the shore.

"We're not leaving and wrecking our weekend just because some punk hick is trying to scare us!" she said. She started to walk around the Island along the shore, which was pretty rough in most places, with steep banks and jutting rocks. I followed along behind her, hoping that her search for Junior would convince her that it really hadn't been Junior. When we got to the Devil's fork rock she sat down and started to cry.

I sat next to her and waited for her to get it out. Soon her tears turned to sniffles and she looked up at me. She was pale and trembling and beautiful in a fragile kind of way that made me want to protect her. "There's no such thing as ghosts Luke," she said without much conviction. I didn't argue with her I just took her hands in mine and gave then a gentle squeeze.

"They're playing some kind of trick on us, probably video-taping us right now," she said.

"Sarah, either way we should just go, if it's locals playing a prank they could be dangerous," I said trying to sound more reasonable than scared. She squeezed my hand back and gave me a weak little smile.

"You're right Luke, we should just go home. They're crazy, they might even have knifes or guns. No one would even hear us scream way out here if they came back to rape and kill us," she said with panic growing quickly in her voice. She got up and started back across the Island toward our camp, but even as I followed her I had the feeling that it was already to late for us to leave.

Sarah started packing up our gear right away while I walked to shore. The canoe was gone, somehow I already knew it would be gone even before I looked, but I still had to look just to be sure. I walked back over to Sarah who was stacking our gear on the table. I looked at my watch and saw that it was quarter to two and we hadn't had lunch yet. "I'm hungry," I said.

"We'll stop in St. Croix Falls and get something," she said as she packed our cribbage board and cards into her backpack.

"Make us some lunch Sarah," I said dully.

"We need to leave, you said so yourself Luke, we'll eat on the way," Sarah said.

"We're not leaving, the canoe is gone and I'm hungry. If you won't make something then I'll just do it myself," I said getting up and heading for the cooler. As I opened the cooler Sarah ran over to the shore and then sat down on the grass by the water's edge. I could tell by the way her shoulders were rocking that she was crying again, but I didn't go to her. Instead I put the cooler on the picnic table bench and started to make a couple of ham sandwiches. I put each sandwich on a paper plate with a handful of chips and set two cold beers on the table. Then I went and got Sarah.

I led her back to the table trying not to look at the tear streaks on her cheeks. We ate in silence, just letting the whole situation sink in I guess. After she had eaten half of her sandwich and finished her whole can of beer, she got up and took two more beers out of the cooler. "So, what now? Can we swim across and then hike to our car?" she asked sitting back down and handing me a beer. I didn't open it, my first beer was still mostly full, and I wanted to keep my head clear.

"We might be able to swim across, but I really don't know this river well enough. There could be undertows and drop offs. It would be dangerous and we'd have to leave all of our gear," I said.

"Fuck our gear! It's only stuff Luke!" she said. I nodded in agreement, I really wasn't worried about our stuff, I was just feeling helpless and scared.
"Well, we have to do something! They took our canoe, we have to call the cops!" Sarah screeched at me.

"That's it!" I said jumping up and going over to the tree where I had moved our gear while I was making lunch. I started rummaging through my backpack until I felt the sandwich sized Ziplock baggie that held my cell phone. I took it out and pushed the button that activated the phone. I had turned it off before stowing it to conserve the battery, since I had only brought it as an after thought in case of emergency. Sarah had sidled up next to me and we both watched the phone as it ran through its startup data.

"How many bars?" Sarah asked squinting.

"None, it says no service," I said disappointed.

"Dial 911, it's supposed to work anyway isn't it?" she said hopefully. I punched in 911 and then hit send. Putting the phone to my ear all I heard was static and then dead air. "Let's try it from the rock over on the Minnesota side of the Island," Sarah said with panic starting to grow in her voice again. I looked up from the phone and noticed that a storm cloud had snuck up on us while we were distracted by the phone. Lightening crackled and flashed close enough for us to feel the static electricity of it.

Sarah latched onto me as thunder crashed around us and rain gushed down on us as if God himself had opened the floodgates. I hurried Sarah and the phone into the tent and then grabbed our packs and threw them inside. "Get in!" Sarah screamed over the pounding rain, but instead I ran over and grabbed the cooler and set the dry food keeper on top of it and then put them in the tent too.

I was soaking wet by the time I crawled into the tent. It was cramped with the cooler and stuff in it, but better than standing in the rain. "They're plastic Luke, you could have left them out there," Sarah said. She was still half yelling to be heard over the thunder and rain. The thunder was almost constant and we could see the bright flashes as lightening danced in the sky. Sarah leaned up next to me even though I was dripping wet and I wrapped my arms around her.

We sat like that for what seemed like forever, shivering and holding each other. At some point we started kissing and touching each other. I was amazed to find myself horney, but didn't question it, since Sarah seemed to be in the same condition. We literally tore each other's clothing off and came together like animals satisfying some primal need. The electric energy of the thunder and lightening around us seemed to be a part of us, making everything seem almost surreal.

Afterward, we lay together naked and sweaty on top of the sleeping bag, still out of breath from our passion and wordlessly listening to the storm blowing around. "I wish I was a smoker, because that really deserved a cigarette," Sarah said. Thunder and lightening still crashed all around us with no sign of slowing down. "Doesn't seem like this storm is gonna end any time soon," I said thinking that I really didn't want to swim across the river in this storm.

"That's a good thing, those townies won't bother us as long as it keeps storming out," Sarah said and then a little shrill laugh escaped her throat. I just pulled her closer to me and enjoyed the raw musky smell of her after sex hair. I just didn't have the heart to say what I was thinking. That a storm wasn't going to stop ghosts, and that was my last thought as I drifted off to sleep.

Sarah must have fallen asleep too, because the sun was setting when a loud crash woke us both up. We both sat up and I realized that Sarah was screaming just as she stopped. "What the hell was it?" she asked sounding close to hysterical. "I don't know, the rain has stopped though," I said reaching for my backpack and a dry pair of jeans. I started wiggling into them when Sarah grabbed my arm, "You're not going out there?" she asked digging her nails into my flesh.

"Yeah, the rain stopped, maybe the canoe floated back or the phone will work," I said trying to sound optimistic.

"But that crash, what was it? Don't go out there Luke, stay here, we're safe in the tent," she babbled. I looked into her ever-changing eyes, one of the things that had attracted me to her in the first place. She seemed to have mood ring eyes that changed colors whenever her mood changed. Sometimes they seemed blue or green, but other times they were mostly grey or brown. She claimed that her eyes were hazel and sometimes they were flecked with all the colors like hazel eyes were, but now they were a shade of blue that was so dark it almost looked purple. It was looking into a deep pool of water.

I pushed a lock of hair away from her face and gently traced my fingers around the shape of her face stopping under her chin. I kissed her forehead and knew then for certain that if we lived through this I was going to marry her and grow old with her. I could almost picture her hair slowly growing grey as fine wrinkles added even more character to her face. "We can't stay in the tent forever, it's no safer than outside. In fact it's more dangerous, someone could sneak up on us and we wouldn't even see them," I said regretting it as soon as it came out of my mouth.

It was as if we could both suddenly feel the thin vinyl walls of the tent closing in on us in a claustrophobic way. Sarah reached for her own backpack and frantically dug out a pair of jeans as I finished pulling mine on. I had the tent unzipped and was standing outside and zipping my jeans as Sarah popped out still naked and holding her clothes and my pack. She handed me my pack as she started to get dressed. I stood holding my backpack and looking at her questioningly.

"You need a shirt," she said.

"Why?" I asked.

"I don't know, just put one on!" she snapped at me. I pulled the shirt on over my head and then reached into the tent and pulled out the fishing hat and my shoes. With the hat perched on my head I sat at the picnic table and tied my shoes. Sarah was looking at me so hard I could feel it. "What?" I asked her.

"I thought you didn't like that hat," she said.

"Well, now I do," I said even though it was a lie. The hat scared the crap out of me, but I kept thinking that Zeke had shown up to warn us, and that maybe the hat was why. Whatever weird shit was going on with this Island wasn't Junior playing a bad joke even if that's what Sarah wanted to believe. I made my way toward the North end of the Island, with Sarah right behind me, to where I thought the loud crash had come from.

As I broke through the brush any hope of our canoe floating back was crushed, right along with the canoe that was lying under a giant Oak tree that had been split by lightening. "It must have floated here, but I swore we had it up on shore," Sarah said.

"It didn't float here," I said.

"You think Junior moved it here?" she asked.

"Maybe, no, I don't know, but it didn't float here, this is upstream from where we landed," I explained. We trudged back to camp not discussing our shared disappointment. When we got back to our camp the tent, cooler and just about everything else was gone. All that was left was one fishing pole, the bait bucket and my tackle box. All three items were set on top of the picnic table for maximum effect. It was my big rod that I used exclusively for catfishing. It had 40 lb. test line and the little copper bell still attached from the night before.

"The phone Luke! They took the phone," Sarah screamed at me as if it was somehow my fault. Then she sat on the bench of the picnic table holding herself and rocking while silent tears lazily traveled over her cheeks. I picked up the pole and bait bucket and walked along the shore in front of what used to be our camp, looking for a good spot to drop a line. Ten feet upstream from where our canoe had originally disappeared from I found a tree that looped it's big trunk out over the water about five feet. I could see where the current flowed out of the Trade River and into the St. Croix and figured if old Deadeye the devil catfish was anywhere it was probably there.

I sat down and straddled the tree trunk and scooted out over the water with the pole in one hand and the bait in the other. Just as I got the biggest shiner on the hook, I heard a twig break along shore. I looked up and saw Sarah crawling onto the tree trunk holding the handle of the tackle box in her teeth. I reached out and took the tackle box from her and she settled onto the tree trunk a few feet from me. I lifted the rod and cast my line right into where the two currents met

I looked over at Sarah and she gave me a weak smile and said, "Catch that bastard!" We sat like that for over an hour and watched the sun slowly make its way behind the trees to the West side of the Island. As streaks of red, orange and purple, began to stretch across the sky, the tree trunk started to feel hard against our tailbones. Nothing even nibbled my bait, so I turned to Sarah as I started reeling in my line. "Let's move a little more upstream," I said. I handed her the pole and I carried the bait bucket and tackle box.

We found a spot about fifteen feet upstream where the bank created a kind of natural bench so we could sit on soft grass with our feet dangling over the water. I put a fresh shiner on the hook and cast out my line. "Maybe we should try to light a fire," Sarah said looking up at the ominous darkness that was spreading over our heads as the sun continued to inch westward. "No matches," I muttered without looking at her. I couldn't look at her, it was my fault she was stuck in this nightmare. I brought her out here and now I couldn't even build her a freaking fire.

I had been hearing soft thudding noises coming from the center of the Island since before we'd left the tree and as the sun set the sounds slowly grew louder. It had started out as what sounded like the occasional beat of a drum, but now was developing a faster rhythm. Sarah was sitting so close to me that I could hear her breathing and almost felt her rapid heartbeat. She put a hand on my thigh and whispered, "Do you hear it too, or am I going crazy."

"I hear it, it's getting louder," I whispered.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Sounds like a drum," I said.

"I think it's more than one drum now," she said. She was still whispering and her voice trembled with fear. A savage voice made what sounded like an Indian war cry from somewhere near where the drumming sound was coming from. Sarah jumped and moved closer to me so that our thighs were pressed tightly together. The drums thundered and another cry rang out just as something took my bait and almost pulled the rod out of my hands. I tried to ignore the sounds coming from the center of the Island as I started working on landing the fish.

"Is it him, the catfish I mean," Sarah asked as I fought to reel my line in.

"I sure hope so," I said as I scooted backwards and worked my way up onto my knees. Soon I was standing as the fish lunged deep into the river pulling yards of line with him against all of my efforts to reel him in. My pole was bent over even farther than Sarah's had been the night before as she fought the Muskie. "Don't loose it!" Sarah squealed and then quickly looked over her shoulder hoping the phantom drummers hadn't heard her. "Oh my God Luke, look!" Sarah said no longer trying to be quiet.

Keeping a firm grip on the pole, I looked toward the center of the Island and wondered if we could swim to shore in the dark. A bright reddish light glowed and flickered from what must have been a gigantic bonfire. "Try to be quiet and don't look at it," I whispered to Sarah, but she couldn't hear me over the drums and cries that now sounded like chanting, so I repeated myself louder. "Catch the freaking fish Luke so we can go home!" Sarah demanded. "I'm trying" I said as I fought to reel in another foot of line.

I fought that fish for what seemed like forever, but was probably only a couple of hours. The chanting and drums became louder and louder until the entire Island seemed to shake. As I finally reeled that fish to the riverbank I noticed that the bonfire had grown large and bright enough to light up even our dark corner. I was about to hand Sarah the pole and try to reach down and lift out the fish when a man's voice spoke from below me. I looked down and a small fishing boat appeared out of the darkness. "Boy hold that pole tight, I'll work the net," the old man in the boat said.

He lifted a giant net on a five-foot pole out of the boat and looked up at Sarah. "Git in the boat gal and hold it to shore so as yer feller can git in with ol' Deadeye," the man said. A cigarette glowed from the corner of his mouth as he dipped the net into the water. Sarah had crawled down the bank and was waist deep in water holding tight to steady the boat as I sat on the edge of the bank reeling in my line as I worked my feet into the boat. "Eeeeha! I got the bastard!" the old man hollered as I steadied myself into the boat and put the pole between my knees to help him lift the fish into the boat.

All around us the drums thundered and voices howled in the night. As soon as the fish was in the boat I reached out my arm and pulled Sarah into the boat. "Them freakin' Banshee's is gittin' restless, we gotta git the hell outta here!" the old man yelled over the din coming from the Island. Sarah was curled up on the floor over the boat chanting, "thank you God, thank you Jesus," over and over again. Suddenly the drums pounded in a new faster frenzy as the bonfire seemed to brighten and climb high enough in the sky to singe the moon. Sarah screamed and the old man pulled the ripcord on the boat's motor. As the engine sputtered and then roared the drums and voices abruptly stopped and all was silent except for the motor.

"Fuckin' Goddamned shit boy push us away from that portal to Hell!" the old man shouted and I reached out and pushed us away from the bank just as the bushes by where we had been sitting started to rustle. I saw dark shapes break through just as we floated back far enough for the old man to shift gears and back us into the center of the river. Howls and screams chased us over the water as the drums started again and the flames sparked toward the stars again. I tried not to look at the Island as the old man turned the little boat around and headed downstream full-throttle.

Sarah lay curled up in the fetal position and silent in an inch of water on the floor of the boat as the Island grew smaller behind us. Screams of defeat or anguish rose in the night behind us and I shifted my body to look back just as the old man touched my arm. "Don't you look boy, or they'll snatch us back," he said. So I kept my eyes focused on the darkness in front of us as we worked our way closer to the Wisconsin shore. Ten minutes later we were pulling up to Nevers Landing and I could see the outline of my explorer in the soft glow of a sodium floodlight.

"What the hell was that?" I asked the old man as he ran the boat up onto shore. I stepped over Sarah and jumped out of the boat glad to feel land under my feet. "Hold on boy, gotta take a picture," the old man said handing me one of the first models of Polaroid camera's ever made. I held up the camera as the old guy held up the big slimy black fish. I pushed the button and was nearly blinded by the flash. "Eeeeha, we got him boy, oh yes we did!" the old man hollered. Sarah was sitting up in the boat looking dazed. I reached out and lifted her onto shore.

"C'mon and help me git him to yer truck boy," the old man said standing up. I grabbed the tail end of the fish and followed the old man to the tailgate of my Explorer. We set the catfish down on the gravel as I crawled under the truck and felt around for my hide-a-key. I opened the passenger door first and Sarah pushed past me, climbed in and locked the door behind her. I went to the tailgate where the old man stood waiting and smoking a filter less cigarette.

"You can keep the fish, just tell me what the Hell that was back there?" I asked him.

"Boy, there's some things in this world that's more old and more evil than the devil hisself. I ain't quite sure what they is, but they was here before the Injuns and maybe even before the dinosaurs. They come out once a year and whoop and holler and dance 'round that Hell-fire and if'n they catch ya, you don't live to tell the horrors they do," the old man said.

"Well thank you Sir," I said holding my hand out to shake. Instead of shaking it he put the Polaroid picture in my hand and closed my hand around it. "Boy you keep the picture and ol' Deadeye, but I'll be needing my hat back," old Catfish Charlie said. I took off the hat and handed it back to him. He shook it out and put it on his head before turning around and heading back to the boat. I looked down at the fish and noticed that it did indeed have one milky dead eye hanging out of the socket. When I looked back up the old man and the boat where gone without a sound.

I put the picture in my back pocket and then unlocked the tailgate. I grunted like an old man myself as I lifted old Deadeye into the back of my trunk and then I walked around and unlocked the driver's side door. We were all the way back in Stillwater Minnesota before either Sarah or I spoke a word. Then I reached over, squeezed her hand and said, "Let's get married."

"Okay," she said.