Scary Rednecks & Other Inbred Horrors Read Online Free

gave away to the combined pressures of the fish and the reverse pull of the boat.   Greg fell back hard, hitting his head against the metal rim of the canoe.   Trey stopped the engine immediately and managed to catch the rod before it fell in the lake.
    Greg sat up.   Tears flowed from his eyes.
    “Are you okay, Greg?” asked Trey, the wake of the fight still sending ripples across the still water.
    “Fuck me,” the little boy said, wiping his cheeks with the front of his T-shirt.   “I just hurt my head is all.”
    Trey watched him rubbing the growing bump and knew that it was a deeper pain.   He had almost caught the big one… he’d had it and it was gone.   But that’s what made fishing special and so unique.   You always tried for that bigger fish, every moment a chance.   When you lost it, it was forever lost and you had to start over, not where you left off.   When you finally caught it, the glory was so fleeting, it was no time at all before you went looking for an even larger one.
    “Shit.   That was a big one too.   Damn big,” said Trey.
    “Yeah.   Damn big,” repeated Greg, still staring at the water.  
    “I wonder if it has any brothers?” asked Trey.   “I still got my line in the water.   You better fix yours.”
    Greg spent a few moments staring longingly at the lake, then hurried to refit his line.
    Trey returned to his own line and argued with himself over the need to check the bait.   It was an important argument, one when many experienced fisherman made mistakes.   If you pulled it up as the fish was contemplating the catch, your chance was forever lost.   If you left it in the water with an empty hook, you were wasting the day.   It was a tough choice, but Trey decided to leave it be.
    It was right after they finished their egg salad sandwiches when Trey’s rod buckled.
    It caught Trey off guard and he almost lost the rod as it slipped and banged against the edge of the boat.   It wasn’t until the last moment that he managed to grip it, already half in the water.   He jerked the rod back out, partly to set the hook and partly because he stumbled back, knocking over Greg in the process.   He stood up and felt the thrumming tug of the line.   He immediately knew it was the largest catfish he had ever latched onto.
    Trey squatted by the motor and struggled to turn it on.   It gave a hum, but when he glanced over the edge, he saw the blades turning excruciatingly slowly, evidencing a dying battery.   He cast a glance over his shoulder and eyed the community dock, half a mile away.   With only one paddle, it would take forever to reach it.
    Trey decided against the motor and screamed for Greg to reel in his own line.   After a momentary look of annoyance, Greg complied and pulled his line in.   It took a few moments, but finally the two managed to change places.   All the while, the canoe was being pulled inexorably towards the pilings.   It was mere moments before the front of the boat hit the sticky wood and with his free hand, Trey grabbed hold.   It was better than being drug out into the lake, or even the weeds.   What he prayed for, however, is the fish wouldn’t wrap the line around the pole.
    Luckily, he didn’t have his usual trout rig, but the heavy-duty rig he had been given last Christmas and it wasn’t called the Ugly Stick for nothing.   The line was twenty pound test and could handle upwards of a hundred pounds if used skillfully.   The tip of the rod continued to dance and jump as he could feel a long hulk, struggling far below to get free.
    Suddenly, the line went slack. Trey momentarily stopped reeling and cried out, tears filling his eyes.   Almost as fast, he realized the fish could be attempting to surface.   He wiped his eyes and redoubled his fight, taking line in furious and quick.   He couldn’t match the speed of the fish, however, and when it surfaced, Greg screamed.   Its gaping maw, at least two feet across, snapped at the