The surface of the water sparkles, drawing in the eye with the sunlight it has stolen. It dances and charms the watcher, coaxing them closer to the edge of the abyss. Just beneath the surface, the waters are teeming with scaly creatures of every size. The smaller ones are mostly harmless, only able to use their toothless mouths for nibbling at toes. Among them, however, are dark, hulking creatures that weave idly through the weeds. Their bulbous eyes rove and their hungry mouths gape wide, waiting for a surface dweller to encroach on their territory. Some say that these creatures are satisfied with the banal taste of stocky plants and the occasional slice of bread, but their maws are more than capable of devouring meat. A pigeon lingers too long on the edge of the water, refreshing itself. They strike with speed and draw their prey beneath the waves, to the murky depths where only the blind can see.
And yet, beneath all of that, the secrets of the darkest waters have not been uncovered by humankind. At the base of every lake, perhaps, lies some sinuous creature that devours the bottom feeders as easily as they gulp down scraps of bread. It twists in the depths, waiting for its opportunity to rise.
It’s a weird phobia, but very real. In the words of Star Wars’s Qui-Gon Jinn: “There’s always a bigger fish.”