Stranger on Wolf Lake

Maybe, because it was one of those late October mornings, when the cold night air challenged the warm lake waters, creating billowing mists as high as the trees; the sight of the lone canoe unnerved me. I could only make out a shadowy silhouette. Maybe, because when I yelled out a greeting, there was no reply, just the splash of the paddle as it moved towards the centre of the lake, but there was no mistaking the chill that ran down my spine.

Our lakeside community was small. We all knew each other, but it was late in the season and socializing was over. For all I knew, I was the only left up north.

The following morning I heard the zing of fishing line being cast and glanced through the window. The canoe was back.

By sunrise, the next day, I was waiting, a steaming mug of coffee as bait. I spotted him a few yards from the dock. When he didn't respond, I turned to leave.

I felt the sharp pain in the back of my neck as the hook dug deep. I heard the guttural laugh and finally the eerie voice, "I finally bagged the big one."