Teredos woke to the sound of frenzied scratching coming from the next room. It was an all to familiar sound. In the corner, next to a stack of moldy outdated fishing magazines was the source of the noise.A large rat was struggling to free itself from one of the many traps placed throughout the dingy shack. It's snout was pinched practically in two by the strong spring. With black buldging eyes nearly popped out of their sockets, it frantically clawed and gyrated, pushing the trap across the filthy floor. Teredos got out of bed and slipped on some work boots. He slowly walked into the other room to inspect his most recent catch. He stood for a few seconds looking down at the rat.
"Sayonara, Mickey." Teredos muttered as his boot settled heavily on the doomed rodent. The sound of struggling was replaced with the sound of crunching bones.
"One more for the stew pot." Teredos reached down and removed what was left of the rat from the blood drenched trap. He lifted the flat rat up by it's tail and carried it into the kitchen. From under the sink, he retrieved the five gallon plastic bucket which held his evil brew. He unsnapped the lid and dropped the rat into the dark thick syrupy gruel. A putrid stench filled the room. Any normal person would have been overcome by the rank odor and vomited, but Teredos was far from normal. He found the smell stimulating.
Teredos resnapped the lid and placed the bucket back under the sink. He looked at his watch. 4:30 a.m. Too late to go back to sleep. Too early for breakfast. There was nothing to eat in the house anyway. He decided to go down to the river and wait for the sun to come up. It was his favorite part of the day, and his favorite place on dry land. He got dressed, threw on a jacket and started towards the pier. On the way, he picked up a cane pole and a cricket box that he left laying against a live oak tree. At the end of the pier was an old folding chair set under a light bulb that dangled over the water. In the summertime, the humid night air around the light would be thick with every type of flying insect imaginable. Fish looking for an easy meal were always near. So were the alligators. The river was colder now, and the gators were seldom seen. Occasionally, one would pull up on a sandbar to warm in the sun, but in the cold morning air, they wouldn't pose a problem. Neither would the mosquitos.
Teredos eased himself into the chair, got comfortable, then reached into the cricket box. "Let's catch a big one, my jumpy little friend." He talked to the small insect as he forced the hook through it's body. Even this time of year, the smell of fish was strong in the air. In the spring, when the fish were bedding, the smell would almost be overpowering.
Teredos flicked the cricket out into the water and watched as it vainly tried to stay afloat. It was no match for the split shot, and sunk from view. The float moved slowly downstream in the sluggish current. A hot cup of coffee would be damn nice, but unfortunately, he had run out of that too. He settled for a cigarette. The silence was broken by the occasional splash of fish jumping somewhere in the fog shrouded distance. Suddenly, the line began to vibrate on Teredos' index finger. Something was on the other end, nibbling on Mr. Cricket's ass. The line tightened, and Teredos set the hook. Whatever it was, was testing the limits of the cane pole. Fishing without the advantage of the cutbait was refreshing for a change. He was enjoying the moment. Teredos played his catch to wear it down, which didn't take long. He lifted the pole, causing it to bend double. Judging by the weight, Teredos figured that he had a mud cat on the line. As he lifted the pole higher, his catch came into view. It wasn't a fish at all. Teredos had caught a four foot fresh water eel. It coiled and wrapped itself around the line, sensing disaster. Teredos cut the line and let the eel drop back into the water. He wasn't in the mood to fool with the slimy creature. Some folks ate the damn things, mostly Laotians and Vietnamese who had settled along the Gulf Coast after the Vietnam airlift. Teredos wasn't that hard up. Too much work for too little meat.
The fog was lightening up as sunlight hit the high cloud tops and reflected downward, bathing everything in a pinkish tint. Even the dark cypress trees lining the riverbank looked cheerful for a change. Teredos hooked up another cricket and chucked it back out. He had nothing but time on his hands, and not a care in the world. On the opposite side of the river, a great blue heron was fishing too. It stood perfectly still like a statue. Teredos watched as the large bird patiently waited for fish to swim within striking distance. For a bird of it's size, it was lightening quick. It wasn't long before the heron had a fish between it's long tapered beak. Score one for Mr. Heron. Zero for Mr. Teredos. Another nibble on the line got his attention. Time to even up the score. It was a good strike, and the hook was set. He let the fish run a minute, then pulled it in. Same as before, it was another damn eel, possibly the same stupid one. He hoisted the eel out of the water and dropped it on the ground. It slithered and twisted up in a ball. He watched it for a moment as it rolled in the dead leaves, debris sticking to it's mucous covered body. It was a pitiful sight. He was about to end i