Ol’ Man Croaker's Arc

Chapter 4 of 12

Croaker spent the afternoon watching Stryker set up a tent near the dock. She'd claimed a patch of ground between two cypress trees and worked without speaking, hammering stakes and tying canvas until vines from the nearby trees started creeping over the fabric. By evening, she had papers spread across a crate inside, sketching the skeleton from different angles. Croaker brought her coffee once. She took it without looking up and said, "The keeper's ribs show teeth marks. Something bigger than your catfish." He didn't argue. He just asked what she planned to do with the information. She pointed at the glowing barrel. "Find out what breaks a seal like that. And whether it's still hungry." Croaker returned to his boat and sat with the barrel between his knees. The paint had worn through in places, exposing rusted metal underneath. He'd thought it was just trash when he first hauled it up. Now he understood it was a failed promise — something built to hold the Scaled Gem that hadn't been strong enough. His grandfather had fished these waters knowing this thing existed, knowing the stories were real, and had never said a word. Croaker ran his hand over the barrel's surface, feeling the pitted metal. He'd wanted proof of the catfish his whole life. Now he had proof of something worse, and it changed what fishing these waters meant. Stryker appeared at the edge of his boat again, holding one of her sketches. She set it down in front of him — a drawing of the skeleton's skull with measurements written along the jaw. "Your grandfather didn't just see the catfish," she said. "He saw this thing alive. And he knew what it was protecting." Croaker looked at the drawing, then at the barrel. He'd spent decades chasing a story he thought would prove his family right. Instead, he'd found evidence of a silence they'd chosen on purpose. He folded the sketch and handed it back to her. "Then I'm done hiding it," he said. "People can look at this barrel and the bones and decide for themselves." Stryker nodded once and walked back to her tent. Croaker stayed on the boat, staring at the barrel. He'd crossed a line the village had held for generations, and there was no going back. The catfish was still out there — but now he knew it wasn't the only thing worth fearing.