Contributed by Martyn Green Coordinator, Baywater Anglers

“Go on,” whispered Cruncher, his shrewd little eyes glinting a peculiar shade of red...

The smell of the delicious meat he was offering caught Wilbur’s attention at once. His dorsal fin snapped to attention, the sharp little spines quivering, and his mouth watered. Ragworm, not just any old worm, but firm, tasty flesh in its prime. “Go on,” whispered Cruncher, his shrewd little eyes glinting a peculiar shade of red, so he did, wolfing it down greedily. And then the world exploded! An invisible force gripped him by the lip and dragged him upwards till he erupted from the surface of the pond. Massive claws, somewhat paler than the ragworm, gripped him tightly, replacing one pressure with another, and then, just as abruptly as he was dragged from the water, he found himself back in its soft embrace. But the world about him had changed. Instead of rocks and wide-open spaces he found himself facing a smooth, red surface in a strange and alien pond. Frantic, he lashed himself forward, but the pond was so tiny he simply bumped his nose and retreated in confusion. This wasn’t right! It wasn’t! What was going on? A splash, close at hand, alarmed him, but it was only Cruncher, entering the water with a sudden, dramatic dive. His ever-present grin, however, instead of reassuring Wilbur, suddenly seemed more menacing than he had ever imagined. His chuckle, that had once seemed so amusing, brought no sense of relief, but only a nagging sense of worry and a deep sense of foreboding. “Don’t worry, Wilbur,” he purred, clicking his claws together hungrily (or so it seemed to the frightened young wrasse). “I have been through this many times before. You will be fine.” His grin widened. “Of course, if you are not, my friends and I will still take care of you. Won’t we, lads?” Startled at the tone, Wilbur glanced down, pausing in shock as he noticed the many pairs of eyes looking back at him from where dozens of crabs heaved and writhed and reached upwards, their claws clicking and clacking in greedy anticipation. “Of course we will,” they cried. “We likes a bit of fish!” Cruncher chuckled. “Don’t mind the lads too much,” he advised. “There’s only been a few times when the fish in the bucket has died. And we has to eat, don’t we boys?” There was a roar of agreement. “After all,” he whispered, his eyes demonic in the eerie red light, “we’re friends, aren’t we?”

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