The man in the black suit (28)
“Yes, sir, you did, but—”
“So if you didn’t dream catching it and if it was dead in the box,
something must have come along and eaten it,” my father said, and
then he grabbed another quick glance over his shoulder, eyes wide, as
if he had heard something move in the woods. I wasn’t exactly surprised
to see drops of sweat standing out on his forehead like big clear
jewels. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
I was for that, and we went back along the bank to the bridge, walking quick without speaking. When we got there, my Dad dropped to one knee and examined the place where we’d found my rod. There was another patch of dead grass there, and the lady’s slipper was all brown and curled in on itself, as if a blast of heat had charred it. While my father did this, I looked in my empty creel.
“He must have gone back and eaten my other fish, too,” I said.
My father looked up at me. “Other fish!”
“Yes, sir. I didn’t tell you, but I caught a brookie, too. A big one.
He was awful hungry, that fella.” I wanted to say more, and the words
trembled just behind my lips, but in the end I didn’t.
We climbed up to the bridge and helped one another over the railing.
My father took my creel, looked into it, then went to the railing and threw it over. I came up beside him in time to see it splash down and float away like a boat, riding lower and lower in the stream as the water poured in between the wicker weavings.
Taken From:Stephen king everything’s eventual
