Eyes from the Riverbank

It was a calm, humid evening when my friend Rex and I set out on my small fishing boat, aiming for a remote swampy river deep in the backwoods. The air was thick with the earthy scent of moss and stagnant water. We’d planned to fish one of my secret spots, a place known for its isolation and monster catches.

We loaded up the gear, tossed off the rope from the mooring post, and powered up the old motor. As the boat sliced through the dark, murky water, the quiet of the swamp settled over us — an almost unnatural stillness.

We anchored near the first spot, rods baited and cast. Minutes passed... no bites. No bird calls, no frogs croaking, not even the familiar buzz of swamp insects. Just silence.

Suddenly, Rex’s line jerked hard, nearly pulling him into the water. Whatever was on the other end was strong — too strong. He fought against it, sweat beading on his brow, as the line whipped wildly.

SNAP!

The line snapped, sending Rex sprawling backward.

“What the heck was that!?” he shouted, gasping for breath.

“Probably a big gator,” I muttered, though deep down I knew it wasn’t. I leaned over the side of the boat, peering into the murky depths. There was only a cloud of swirling silt where the struggle happened... no fish, no gator... nothing.

Uneasy, we decided to head farther up the river to another fishing spot. As we powered the boat forward, I heard a strange crunching sound... like twigs snapping along the riverbank.

It kept pace with us.

When we slowed, it stopped.

When we moved again, the snapping followed.

“You hear that?” I asked, my voice tight.

Rex nodded, scanning the dark, tangled tree line. Whatever it was, it was stalking us.

The river was a dark mirror, reflecting faint moonlight as we headed back toward the boat ramp. The night pressed down around us, heavy and suffocating.

Suddenly, Rex killed the motor.

“There... on the bank.”

I followed his gaze... and froze.

Something... massive... was moving through the shadows on the riverbank. It glided silently, its hulking frame blending with the darkness, except for the faint outline of spiny ridges running down its back.

“Let’s check it out,” Rex whispered, lowering the stealth motor into the water. Against every instinct screaming at me, I nodded.

As we drifted closer, Rex switched on the spotlight.

There it was.

The creature was 7 or 8 feet tall, its body covered in mud-slick scales that glistened with swamp water. Three rows of spiny sails jutted from its back like jagged blades, glinting faintly under the light. Its long, muscular arms ended in claws sharp enough to gut a wild boar.

Its legs, thick and powerful, resembled something from a prehistoric nightmare, with massive theropod-like feet half-buried in the swamp mud.

But its face...

It turned slowly toward us, revealing a human-like skull, stretched and twisted beneath scaly skin, with burning red eyes that glowed with malice... and intelligence.

It was watching us. Studying us.

The spines along its head flared like a monstrous mohawk as it tracked our boat with a slow, predatory turn of its neck.

Then it moved.

Its long claws flexed... its feet shifted in the mud... and I swear I saw its mouth twist into a cruel grin.

“GO! NOW!” I shouted.

Rex gunned the motor, sending the boat roaring down the river. My heart pounded as I twisted back, expecting to see it charging after us... but the bank was empty. The forest was still.

We didn’t stop until we hit the ramp, breathing hard, still gripped by fear... and awe.

It’s been years since that night. I still fish those rivers, though I always keep a knife strapped to my belt — just in case.

I haven’t seen the creature again... but sometimes... when the water’s still and the banks are quiet...

I hear the snapping twigs.

And I know... it’s still out there. Watching.