by Lija Fisher
“Ow, son of a bat,” Clivo swore, rubbing his leg.
The digital reader came to life, the words BLOOD CAPTURED blinking on the screen. He watched a drop of his blood travel up a glass vial into the cylinder. Once it reached the top, there was a quick beep and the words NOT IMMORTAL blinked on the screen.
“Good to know,” Clivo muttered.
Finally, he pulled out the crypto-research manual, propped his back up on some pillows, and settled in to read, practically hearing Adam’s voice doing the narration:
Loch Ness Monster History
The Loch Ness Monster, or Nessie, as some knucklehead named her (I’d prefer something more foreboding, like Lochenstein), was originally documented in the first few hundred years A.D. The tribes that roamed the Scottish Highlands back then, collectively called the Picts, carved animals on the standing stones they erected. All the animals were recognizable, save one—wait for it—a large, dinosaur-like creature with a long neck and flippers. Thus the legend of a strange creature living in the loch was born and, two thousand years later, people are still enthralled with the poorly named beast.
The earliest written reference to Nessie (Amelia says I can’t call her Lochenstein or I totally would) is from a biography of Saint Columba, who, in the sixth century A.D., was in Scotland trying to convert the Picts to Christianity. Apparently the holy roller needed to cross Loch Ness, so he ordered one of his followers, Lugne Mocumin, to swim across and fetch a boat. Well, Lugne had just begun swimming when Nessie surfaced and lunged at the poor guy, her jaws open and ready for her snack. But Columba raised his hands and said something all medieval, like, “Hark! Don’t ye attack!” and the beast didn’t.
Modern interest in Lochenessie (What? It’s close enough!) began in 1933, when a road completed along the shore allowed clear views of the loch. A couple out for a drive saw a large animal cross the road in front of them. When they reported it to the local paper, the reporter called the creature “The Loch Ness Monster,” and thus the name was born.
Since then, thousands of people have taken photos and videos of what they think is Nessie, but most of the photos have been determined to be hoaxes or don’t show anything substantial enough to be considered proof. Still, over four thousand eyewitness reports have been recorded. Some are obvious hoaxes from nutters; others are pretty cool accounts from regular people.
Searches
Nessie is, by far, the most searched-for cryptid in the world. All in all, she’s been the subject of at least eight major expeditions using underwater photography and sonar. Each search yielded at least one unexplained sonar hit. Still, there is nothing concrete enough to warrant a definite claim of having found the creature. Thus, the mystery of Nessie lives on.
My Origin Story Theory (with a teeny-tiny bit of help from some other people already mentioned)
Okay, here we go: the good stuff. Most people think Nessie is either an old plesiosaur dinosaur or (according to someone clearly off their rocker) an alien dropped off from the mother ship. The alien theory doesn’t work because, well, it’s just cheesy. But what if, what if—and go with me here on this—what if Nessiestein is a plesiosaur that never went extinct? How, Adam? How could that be? you ask. Well, now listen. The loch was formed ten thousand years ago, at what just happened to be the end of an ice age. Isn’t it possible that a plesiosaur was trapped, alive, in ice sixty-five million years ago and once the ice melted, it was revived, happy as could be in Scotland? A total shock for the creature, seeing as how plesiosaurs are known to have lived in the warmer climate of Australia and it would totally suck to wake up in the dreary hills of Scotland with no coconuts anywhere to be found. But not impossible—after all, plesiosaur fossils have been found as far north as England, so Nessie wouldn’t have had to travel that far on the ice-train express. But still, how would such a thing be possible? Well, we have evidence of humans being revived hours after drowning in a freezing lake because the cold basically put their bodies on pause. Cryonics is a whole science we’ve barely skimmed the surface of. It’s a bit far-fetched that something could still live after being frozen for sixty-five million years, but we don’t have any proof that it’s totally impossible. After all, what do we really know about a dinosaur’s physiology? We know that they ate and roared a lot and had humongous bones; beyond that, it’s anyone’s guess what their bodies were really like.
Now, the next question: How is it that she’s now been alive for ten thousand years? Answer: She’s not alive, she’s slowly dying. After living sixty-five million years, her body basically forgot how to die, or the process has been majorly slowed down, but she will die. Her body just has to remember how.
How Nessielochenstein Hides
This one is a bit unclear, but yours truly does have some theories. First of all, sonar sometimes sees Nessie, sometimes not. That’s easy: the floor of Loch Ness is filled with eighty feet of soft sediment. All she has to do is bury herself within the muck, much like a stingray does, and she will avoid detection. Next: visual sightings of Nessie drastically dropped off after the late 1980s. Did she die? Did she swim to the ocean through one of the many rivers? Nope. Let me offer you an alternative explanation: Chernobyl.
After the nuclear reactor in the Ukraine melted down in 1986, the wind carried a layer of radioactive material to the loch. Do you know what a dose of radioactivity can do to something? Now, I’m not saying—but I might be saying—that I’ve heard tales of super-secret experiments done on (unwilling) volunteers with high doses of radiation. Weird crap happens, man. One of the side effects is what it does to the skin. What if, what if Nessie, because of all her digging in the sediment to avoid detection, developed an ability, through the radiation, to puff out her blubbery skin. That would accentuate her goose bumps, for lack of a better term. Since her massive body is mainly made of water, her skin bumps would fill with water, thus creating a reflective illusion. In essence, she would be invisible by mirroring her surroundings. Far-fetched, but you come up with a better idea, Wren.
Clivo paused for a moment, wondering when Adam had had the time to personalize this document for him. Then he realized it had been meant for his dad; Nessie was going to be his next catch. His chest tightened with the wish that his dad were still around, that he was the one sitting here instead of him. But his dad was gone and it was now up to him to find the immortal cryptid. The enormity of what he was doing settled on him, and things suddenly felt horribly real. He could practically hear Douglas yelling at him not to mess it up.
Extra Proof
Now, in case you think this is all a bunch of malarkey, it may very well be. A hypothesis is just a theory until proven, and the only concrete proof is to have Nessie in your hot little hands. However, beyond my nifty little idea, we also have some data that back up our intelligent deductions. Stephanie was able to hack into the National Science Foundation’s computer system, and we found something very interesting. Now, normally our government doesn’t get involved in cryptid research (waste of money, they say—don’t get me started) but sometimes they do (on the down-low of course).
In the 1970s an organized series of searches for Nessie took place. We’re talking the works: underwater strobe-lit cameras, full sonar canvassing, radar instruments up the wazoo. And this wasn’t a crazy group of yahoos, either. No sir, these were bona fide scientists from Concord, New Hampshire’s Academy of Applied Science, including a bunch of smart MIT folks. After trolling the loch for days on end they never found Nessie, but they did uncover some unexplained stuff. Most of it we know about—inexplicable large hits on the sonar, a fuzzy picture of what looks like a flipper, bizarre underwater noises. But they also found something else that was never released to the public because scientists like to hog all the good stuff for themselves. Several different water samples were taken around the loch and analyzed. Nothing of interest showed up except in one little beaker. Upon close examination, cells were discovered whose DNA we’ve never seen before. It might be dinosaur DNA, the first complete sa
mple ever discovered. The phenomenal thing is that the cells were living. They found living cells chock-full of dinosaur DNA! They must be Nessie’s cells, sloughed off her skin or something.
The MIT researchers handed the find over to the NSF, and now who knows what the NSF is doing with the sample. Hopefully they’re trying to clone the cells to bring back the dinosaurs, ’cause that’d be sweet.
Clivo closed the packet and rubbed his eyes, amazed by what he had just read. Was it possible that Nessie was an ancient, thawed-out, radioactive dinosaur?
With any luck, he’d soon find out.
* * *
Clivo grabbed his backpack with the gun and blood sampler and headed down to the loch. He was dragging with exhaustion from his travels, but was too nervous to even consider getting any rest. He pocketed the keys Mrs. McRory had given him and made sure to lock the front door to the inn as he exited, seeing as how the sun was going down and night would be falling fast.
Clivo was glad he had put on a heavier sweatshirt as the cool humid air sent a chill through his bones. It was a good half-hour walk to the loch through rolling green hills on a windy two-lane road where cars sped past him at breakneck speed.
He rounded a bend and was finally greeted by the magnificent sight of the loch spreading out before him. It was narrow enough that he could see the other side, but so long he couldn’t see either end. The water was a deep gray, reflecting the mist that hovered just above its surface. Along the shore, various campfires were lit, their flames dancing like tiny torches.
Clivo slid down a gravelly hill and stumbled across an old man sitting next to a bonfire, a rickety van parked off to the side. He turned his head as Clivo appeared. The man’s face was lined with wrinkles, and a scraggly beard reached to his chest.
“Oh, sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Clivo said, turning to go.
“It’s the best time to look for her, don’t you think?” the man said, gesturing toward the loch.
“Um, I don’t know, it’s my first time, actually,” Clivo said, stopping to talk.
The man’s eyes sparkled. “I remember my first time. I was here on vacation and something about the mystery of the loch just got to me. I tried to go back home and forget about this place and my fruitless vigil, but I couldn’t. It draws me back every year.”
Clivo looked at the loch again, where more campfires were springing up on the distant shore. “Are all those fires surrounded by people looking for Nessie, too?”
“Sure are,” the man said, stirring the fire with a stick. “This place tends to draw people who are looking for a bit of danger and magic in a world seen as being completely over-explored.”
“Have you ever seen her?” Clivo asked hopefully.
The man winked at him. “Sometimes I think I’ve seen a glimpse of her. Not much, but enough to keep me believing.”
“And how long have you been coming here, sir?”
The man cackled. “Twenty-five years. And I’ve loved every day of it.”
Clivo’s heart sank. Twenty-five years? Clivo had until Sunday to find Nessie. If Aunt Pearl returned home to find him missing, she’d have the entire army sent after him.
“I guess I’ll wander around a bit, then, see if she’s around tonight,” Clivo said.
“Here,” the man said, handing Clivo a roasted sausage in a bun. “Best to keep your energy up.”
Clivo took the food, realizing how hungry he was. “Thank you, sir. Good luck.”
“You as well, fellow explorer, you as well.”
Clivo wandered down the bank, the task in front of him seeming impossible. How was he supposed to find something that couldn’t be seen? That lived in water, no less? If all the fires were evidence of the number of people who were looking for Nessie but had never found her, how would he be any different?
He finally found a secluded spot on the shore, propped his tranquilizer gun on his lap, and waited.
The stars began to twinkle and the moon glinted on the water. He thought about his dad, about how he had found cryptids. Twelve of them. How had he done it? The Myth Blasters had helped him research which ones existed, but not how to find them. His dad had done that part, and he had been training Clivo to do the same.
His mind flipped through the training—how to fight, how to camp, how to travel over rough terrain. But those were all survival skills. How had his dad been training him to find the mysterious beasts?
He’d been taught how to observe things, how to track, how to see little things that were just slightly out of place. But how would that help him see something invisible?
A thought struck Clivo: he had to summon the creature. He couldn’t go to Nessie; Nessie had to come to him.
Clivo stood on the bank and began making whatever sounds he thought Nessie would recognize. He yelled, he bleated, he cooed like he had heard Jerry do to his dog. He patted the water and made noise until his throat was dry and his voice was scratchy.
But nothing came to shore. No head peeked above the surface, no curious eyes peered from the black water.
Clivo traveled up and down the shore of the loch, steering clear of the fires where people were gathered, everyone silently looking for the mystery that lay beneath the waves.
After hours of calling, when it must have been well past midnight, he sat down in exhaustion. Howls from up and down the shore pierced through the night air. His calls must have spurred the other searchers to do the same, but he doubted that wolf howls would draw Nessie to shore.
He hung his head and sifted through his memories for any nugget his father might have taught him. A vision of them sitting around the campfire on one of their mountain excursions popped up—his dad preparing a hearty meal to warm their bellies after a day spent in the snow.
“How’s your dinner, C?” his father asked as they enjoyed roasted beans and potatoes.
“It’s great, Russell, thanks,” Clivo said as he wolfed down the meal. His dad had just returned after having been gone for over a month, and it was almost like they were getting to know each another again.
Russell stared off into the distance, his eyes sad and his spoon forgotten in his bowl. It seemed like he wanted to say something—something important—but he shook his head and simply said, “Just remember, C, everything needs to eat. Food is the one thing that brings everybody to the table.”
Clivo’s head snapped up. Food. Nessie needed to eat. Obviously she had been eating in the loch for the past ten thousand years, but what did she eat before that, when she was a dinosaur? Maybe she missed the food she had eaten sixty-five million years ago.
Clivo quickly picked up his things and dragged his tired body back to the inn. The road was empty of cars at this late hour, and all was silent save for the baaing sheep wandering in the fields. The tiny village was quiet as well, with all the windows shuttered for the night and the only light coming from the twinkling stars.
Clivo quietly unlocked the front door to the inn and crept to his room, wincing at every creaky step. He flipped open his computer and did a quick search for what plesiosaurs ate, a triumphant smile coming to his lips.
He collapsed onto the downy fluff of his pillow, thinking about where he could find the treats in the village. As his mind was racing through the possibilities, he fell into a deep, jet-lagged sleep.
Thursday
XIII
The following morning Clivo shuddered awake to a gentle knocking on his door. He opened his eyes and for a moment had no idea where he was. He crawled out of bed and opened the door to find a smiling Mrs. McRory wearing a red dress even brighter than her hair.
“Oh, good! Y’er alive! I thought perhaps the cold Scottish weather had finished ya off.”
“No, Mrs. McRory, I guess I’m just not used to jet lag,” Clivo said with a yawn, shocked that it was already morning.
“Well, if you’d like I can bring in a tray of breakfast if ya need a few more minutes of shut-eye. Otherwise y’er welcome ta come down and meet the other gu
ests. Just a nice couple from Amsterdam and a fellow monstah seeker like yourself from Luxembourg.”
Clivo stopped midstretch. Luxembourg? Hadn’t Douglas said something about there being a cryptid catcher from Luxembourg? It could just be a coincidence, or the guy could have followed him here.
“When did the guy from Luxembourg check in, Mrs. McRory?”
“Oh, last night, shortly after you. I told him there was an American monstah seeker here as well and he seemed very excited by that. I put him in the room right next to ya,” she said, pointing to the wall opposite Clivo’s bed.
Clivo swallowed. Douglas had said the catchers from Luxembourg were idiots, but that didn’t mean much coming from Douglas. Douglas thought everyone was an idiot. What Douglas hadn’t mentioned was if they were dangerous or not. They were going after something that promised immortality, after all. People would probably put up quite a fight for that. For the first time, Clivo wondered if his dad had taught him jujitsu so he could protect himself from dangerous cryptids, or from dangerous people.
Clivo considered making a run for it. There was probably a back door he could slip out of and … what? Run away? Give up on the hunt? He considered it, strongly. But running before he was even in official danger didn’t seem to be the bravest choice. Smartest, yes. Bravest, no. If the Luxembourger attacked him, however, then he could reconsider things. Douglas could hardly expect him to put his life at risk battling other catchers.
“I’ll come down for breakfast, Mrs. McRory. I’d love to meet the other guests.” If he wasn’t going to make a run for it, he at least wanted to see what the other catcher looked like, just in case the guy tried to follow him.
