[ IP ] Man looking out over Loch Ness

Oliver, he said his name was. No last name. He smiled at me with pipe-tobacco teeth and paid for his fare with bills so crumpled they felt like old clothes. When I helped him into the boat, holding his hand and supporting him under the arm, he passed quite close to me and I could smell him. Peppery. 
 
 We started out on the lake, me at the motor and him sitting in the prow, his back to the loch. The bitter wind made his long beard tremble. He laid an arm on the side and peered at the shore as it crept by. Some people want to try and talk over the sound of the engine, but I prefer it if they do n't. He never said a word. 
 
 The minutes stretched on and the shore receded away from us. On either side the loch was lined by trees that grew right down to the waterline, an advancing army that stood motionless at the water's edge. Overhead a featureless grey sky stretched from horizon to horizon. The loch itself was a darker grey, innumerable wavelets bobbing across its surface with their crests nearly black. 
 
 We reached the center of the loch and the old man, Oliver, stretched out his hand to me. I must have looked confused but he simply smiled again, pushing his palm towards me. I eased off the throttle and the boat coasted to a halt, its wake receding into the wavelets. Soon all was quiet but for the wind in the trees and the sound of the waves striking the side of the boat, a quiet ceaseless pattering. 
 
 Oliver stood in the prow. He looked somehow steadier on the boat than he had on land, his feet planted firmly among the stray sand and rope on the deck. Silently, he removed his grey suit. First the jacket, then the white shirt, then his neatly creased grey slacks. He folded them into a neat pile on the seat. Underneath his suit he was wearing something else, something glossy and furred. It contoured to his aged body perfectly, so that I could see his bones moving underneath it, his shoulder like a mossy rock that swiveled in place. He pulled a thin hood over his head, all the way over so that when he was done his bright eyes looked out at me from two small slits in the material. I think he winked at me then. 
 
 With a twist of his body that I would not have thought possible only minutes before he dove into the lake. I rushed to the edge of the boat and peered into the grey waters. A lithe form circled the boat once, twice. Then it dove down deep into the loch and was gone. 
 
 I sat alone in my boat for a long time after that, staring at the grey suit he had left behind. The wind grew colder, and eventually I had to head back to shore.
