by Robyn Fraser

Sunrise, and a misty river. Three trout, hooked and thrown back. He preferred to fish humanely.
Something glittered in the reeds. He reached for it, and metal teeth clamped over his fingers. A line tautened and pulled him into the water, screaming and thrashing.
It felt like an eternity under there. His lungs were bursting, eyes bulging from his head. It seemed—but impossible!—something huge was holding him, measuring him, ripping the trap off his hand, and two fingers along with it.
He was flung up onto the rocks, vomiting water and fighting for air.
Caught.
And released.
Humanely.

Robyn Fraser

Robyn Fraser is: a South African living in Switzerland; a writer of horror fiction; a reviewer of dark books and films; a folklore enthusiast; the guardian of guinea pigs and feeder of rats; the cat’s mother.

Instagram @robynfraser66.