Ol’ Man Croaker's Arc

Chapter 1 of 12

Croaker was cleaning catfish at his dock when the flat-bottom boat cut through the morning mist. He didn't look up right away. Visitors were rare this far out, and the ones who came usually wanted something he wasn't selling. Guidry tied off at the near post without asking. He stood in his boat, hands shoved in his pockets, not stepping up. "Don't go to the deep marsh this season," he said. No greeting. No reason. Croaker kept his knife moving along the spine of the fish. He didn't ask why, and Guidry didn't offer. After a long silence, the flat-bottom pushed off again, leaving only ripples and a warning Croaker had no intention of following. Croaker wiped his blade on his apron and looked out at the water. The deep marsh was where his grandfather had seen it, where the story started. If the catfish was anywhere, it was there. He set down the cleaned fish and reached for his tackle box. The lantern hanging from the dock post needed oil. He'd go out before dawn tomorrow, same as he always did. Guidry could keep his warnings. Croaker had waited too long to stop now.