Near every lake, beneath docks and boats, behind fish tanks in city apartments, there are Linebinders. Always more than one. Always watching.
They drift through the dark spaces beneath water and glass, a quiet order of string-weavers and fish-hangers, their cloaks damp with lake fog, their arms trailing with nets of knotted line. Their eyes are small, glassy like the fish they carry, and their fingers move constantly, looping, binding, tying knots that no one taught them, but that they have always known.
Dead fish dangle from their cords. Trout, perch, minnows, goldfish, it does not matter what kind. The Linebinders do not eat their catch. The fish are their defense. Their veil. Their voice.
They string the dead like charms across their homes, lines stretched beneath houseboats, braided through reeds, hung behind aquariums in city flats.
The fish stare outward, as though to watch on behalf of their binders. Some believe the fish eyes are decoys, distracting predators from the small, fragile Linebinders beneath.
Others whisper the Linebinders speak through the fish, that the bubbling, popping noises in a pond at dusk are not frogs at all.
But this is certain:
Where fish rot on string, Linebinders are near.
Though they favor the deep quiet of lakes, young Linebinders adapt when water is scarce. In fishless towns, they gather around glass tanks, pressing themselves into the shadows beneath sinks or squatting behind shelves. Pet stores are sacred to them.
Shattered aquariums, vanished guppies, filters clogged with line, these are their work. But they do not break things from malice. They break to see what happens. To find space for their string. To hang their fish where fish should not be.
A single fish hanging beneath a dock.
Fishing line tangled in the reeds like a web.
A goldfish, stiff and glassy-eyed, tied to the handle of a bucket.
These are their marks, warnings, or perhaps invitations.
They are not cruel, but curious and territorial.
They do not want you gone, but they need you to know:
This water is theirs.
This tank is theirs.
Eucalyptus is their tether.
A scent that soothes their restless fingers.
A leaf that reminds them they are seen.
Fishers tie eucalyptus to their nets, not to keep the Linebinders away, but to promise cooperation. Pet owners tuck it behind fish tanks, whispering: “This is yours, but let it hold.”
When respected, the Linebinders are quiet neighbors.
When slighted, they are persistent.
If you find fish hanging on a line,
Do not cut it.
Do not throw it away.
Lay eucalyptus on the water.
Let the fish stay.
And know you share this place with the Linebinders.
They were here before you.
And they will string the depths long after you are gone.
