No Fishing

On an old country road, out in the hills, there's a lake.
For generations, fathers have taught their sons to fish there.
Unbeknownst to its visitors, the lake hides a secret in its murky depths.
A horror that has slept since the land was roamed only by the native tribes.
A rowboat glides over the lake's glassy surface, fishing gear in tow.
The sun has not yet risen, but something else stirs at the sound of oars gently drawn through the water.
It opens its eyes, bares its fangs, and rises from the silty bottom.
There'll be no fishing today.