The Misanthrope's Manor
Note: Image associated is from Ironage.media, specifically their prompt, 'The Estate'
Gregory had lived his entire life on the edge of Lake Therisil and had never seen a fog this thick or stubborn upon it. Perhaps he should have heeded Mathilde's fears this morning. They were, after all, somewhat more warranted than her usual concerns for his safety while fishing. Their Reeve, Sharina, had been missing for a fortnight now, and none had heard the howl of her wolf, Dareena, for days. At first, they'd assumed she ranged further afield than expected, but she had never once spent an entire week away. As the sixth day gave way to night, people began to worry, rumour and anxiety bubbling among the more wary-minded folk. The fog that came in the morning of the eighth day only added to the incubating fears in the town.
On the tenth day, the Manor across the Lake was swallowed in the thick gray soup, and that evening, unnoticed by the sleeping people, shadows were dancing in the dark.
Gregory removed the inane gossip from his mind as he cast out his lines and his grandfather's small net, freshly repaired by Mathilde. Now, he waited, hoping the fog would encourage more activity from the fish below rather than inducing lethargy. Luckily, his hope proved correct, and his lines were more active than he'd ever seen. Gregory seized upon the most active line, sensing that it had the biggest fish from the slight drift of his boat. Swiftly, the quiet battle between fish and fisherman consumed him. The constant pull of his quarry had him entranced, the delicate dance of tension all he could reckon with, as the fish dragged his boat about the Lake despite his anchor.
As he held his own against its strength, he marvelled at his prey's power and stamina, wondering if he was the latest to catch the 'monster' fish thought to hide in the depths. Gregory was so lost in the fight, so focused on the possible rewards of catching the largest fish Therisil had ever seen, he didn't notice the fish had made a beeline for the Manor until his line stretched out and rose up, as something distinctly mannish escaped the water's embrace. He froze for but a moment as he forced himself to blink, the creature pulling his boat closer by his fishing line. Its smile, the same smile he'd worn only seconds ago, broke his shock, and without the slightest bit of forethought, he dove into the frigid waters.
On any other day, the water would be a death sentence. Today, it was his best chance against whatever abomination had successfully pulled Gregory so close to its lair. As his teeth began to chatter, his legs and arms thrashing in the water, struggling to obey him against the numbing chill, he couldn't banish the creature's visage from his mind. It had the countenance of a corpse, with black veins in its ice-blue eyes as it stared him down. And despite its wiry, thin body, strength undoubtedly preeminent to his own. Yet it made no noise as he made his desperate escape. No scream, no curse, nothing. Gregory dared look back as he swam faster than he thought he could, and no such creature stood on the bank, nor was there a trace of anything on the rocks at the base of the three-story Manor. Had he imagined it? Had the fog left his mind too keen to wander? He slowly swam back to his boat, and just before he could pull himself into the relative safety of her planks, a pale grey hand clasped tight to his ankle and dragged him beneath the water.