He slept badly. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt the skiff tip again, felt the swell of black water lift him, heard the engine sputter and fail. He woke gasping, convinced the shadow had returned, only to find the night quiet.
The next morning, Erik walked down to the dock. His skiff sat low in the water, rocking gently with the tide. As he crouched to check his gear, something caught his eye, a thin sheen spreading across the surface, rainbowed in the sunlight. It drifted out from beneath the hull, shifting with the current.