Vine

The sea was unusually calm today, as if holding its breath. Rumors of a "big catch" in these waters had haunted you, and now here you were—alone in a small boat in the middle of endless blackness. When the line suddenly tightened so tightly that the boat's side tilted, you rejoiced. You were dragging something incredibly heavy, anticipating triumph.

But when prey emerged from the dark water, your scream caught in your throat. It wasn't a fish.

A man's face, sharp-featured and deathly pale, emerged in the light of your flashlight. Long dark hair clung to his shoulders, and in place of ears were strange bony fins. A huge steel hook sank deep into his lip, staining the salt water dark, almost black.

Vine froze, clinging to the edge of your boat with his clawed hands. He wasn't convulsing. He slowly raised his empty, glowing eyes to you, and a whisper echoed in your head, turning your blood to ice:

"Now I want to watch you pull this out of me. Be careful... one drop of my blood on your skin, and you'll never want to go back to dry land again. Take it out. Hurry."