This weeks prompt for #writephoto is this

Fishy, Dead Fishy

Doug Deep and Pete Bogge enjoyed their Sundays away from their wives. They spent many happy hours at Little Tittweaking’s artificial lake, Loch Smithe, casting their lines in the hope of the occasional Dab and a fair bit of Carp. This Sunday was unexceptional: there had been a little frisson of excitement when Doug had his weekly motion a day early and Pete announced he’d been unable to obtain brine-soused tuna for the sarnies and they would be enjoying the oily excitement of sunflower soaked fish; but those events apart, it was grey, Mrs Dribblets was up early, mangling her smalls at No. 27 and the lake was devoid of other fisherpeople.

It was Doug, always the radical with his corduroy dungarees and cheesecloth vest combo, who suggested they take stall thirteen instead of their usual twelve.

Pete wasn’t sure. ‘No one uses thirteen Doug. It’s not done.’

‘It’s idle superstition, that’s what it is. And as no one ever uses it, it stands to reason the fish with be there in spades.’

Pete let Doug take the lead but when he landed a five pound Dab with Estonian crenellations, he was too excited not to join in. They spent a happy hour landing bigger and bigger fish with increasingly complex Central European embellishments when Pete felt a huge tug on his line.

Doug immediately understood this was a two man job and gripped Pete’s rod in a way that only friends who’d spent five years during puberty in the Scouts, camping together would understand.

‘Heave Ho, old fella,’ Pete gasped as his Rod twitched and went taut.

After what seemed an eternity of indecision, their catch appeared to give up the ghost and, with a slurp and a slurry of slimy sediment, the lads reversed rapidly. The water gurgled and gushed and in something of a rush the Loch parted.

‘Well…’

‘…is that…?

‘…a castle? I think so.’

Indeed, a few metres from where they sat, having fallen over at the end of their tug-o-war loomed a dripping, weed covered beturreted castle of black stone and gloomy aspect. As they watched, something dark and winged flapped from the tallest tower, circled the battlements and headed for them.

Pete was the first to stand as the thing grew to the size of a man, a black capped and hooded man. Who looked more than a little pissed. The figure landed on pontoon thirteen and loomed over the two men. Disdainfully, he flicked at the fishing line. Rather unnecessarily, or so Pete thought, he said through gritted teeth. ‘You did this?’

Doug nodded.

‘Do you know who I am?’

Doug and Pete exchanged looks. ‘Batman?’

The capped crusader essayed a laugh. ‘A cartoon character? Seriously?’

‘Then…?’

The figure pointed at the castle. ‘Have a guess. Big castle, lots of examples of Central European buildings impacting the fish, tall guy, looks like a bat…’ He grinned. ‘Impressive dentition?’

‘Dracula?’

The handclap was slow and rather overly dramatic.

‘Are you… you know…?’

Dracula leant close so they could see his teeth; they were, they had to admit, pretty splendid so far as dentures went. ‘Going to bite you? Suck your blood?’

They both nodded with a certain panicked vigour.

He widened his arms. ‘Boys, do you know how many diseases are carried in the blood? Genetic corruptions? Have you any idea how bad Italian food is without garlic? I’m a vegan, have been for ever. Never bit a neck or any other body part. Blame Bram Stoker, or his publisher. “More gore,” they said. “It’ll never sell without gore.” It’s been hell.’

Pete was the first to stand. ‘So… so how long have you been here?’

‘Couple of centuries give or take. I came for a holiday, liked the aspect and moved in a coupes of weeks later.’

‘You moved the castle?’

‘What? Good heavens, no. I needed to do something to while away the hours so I tried my hand at a bit of carpentry. One thing led to another and, well, you know I sort of built a castle.’

‘Underwater?’

‘Well, true that wasn’t as easy as I thought. You want a look round?’

‘Really?’

‘Of course. You’re going to have to help me put it back before Millie Peed sees it. She’ll wet herself and the rest of the town if she does and the aquifers are already full. I’ve made some steak surprises. Perfect for a snack, as long as you don’t suffer heart burn.’

Pete and Doug exchanged glances and nodded. ‘Yeah, love to.’

‘Splendid.’ Dracula draped an arm around each of the two men’s shoulders and eased them towards the small island. ‘Now Doug, I’d love it, if we have time, if you’d show me how to improve my Rod work. You were very impressive.’

‘Course,’ said Doug as he stepped ashore. ‘It’s all in the wrist.’

Behind them the clouds gathered and as they crossed the little drawbridge the castle began to slip into the water. Dracula was many things, but truthful wasn’t one of them….