by Max Brallier
Annie buttoned up her coat and pushed open the pub’s heavy door. Here goes nothing.
Inside, it was dark and smoky and crowded and loud. Scottish flags hung from the walls. Annie came up to just about waist-high next to everyone inside. She had never felt smaller in her life. In the back, an old man—Captain McCullough, she assumed—was throwing darts. He held a large drink in one hand that splashed on the floor every time he tossed a dart. A kindly looking gentleman stood behind the bar, watching Annie curiously.
“Ahem,” Annie said, pretending to cough into her hand, trying to get the crowd’s attention.
It didn’t work.
“Ahem!” she said, louder now.
No one turned.
“Hel-lloo!” Annie shouted.
That got them. Everyone stopped what they were doing, heads turned, and the pub went silent. Okay, now Annie had never felt so small in her life. She wanted to disappear. But no, she had to press on!
“I’m looking for the captain of the submarine down by the loch,” Annie said. “I’d like to commission him to take me in search of Nessie.”
Crickets.
“Um. Nessie?” Annie asked. “The Loch Ness Monster? Ring a bell?”
Another moment’s silence and the entire bar erupted in laughter. The old man throwing darts, Captain McCullough, turned to look at her. He spoke, silencing everyone. “Aye. That’s my sub. And I know where ole Nessie sleeps.”
“Great!” Annie exclaimed. “How much to take me?”
“Nothing!” McCullough barked.
Annie beamed. “Oh, great! You’ll do it for free? That’s so awesome of you—”
“No!” McCullough growled. “I mean nothing ’cause I dona’ plan on going! I’ll be taking no girl like ye.”
Again, the pub exploded in laughter.
Annie narrowed her eyes. She stepped forward and reached up, yanking the dart from McCullough’s hand. Someone gasped.
“You’re pretty good at darts, huh?” Annie said.
“That’s right. I’m the best of ’em,” McCullough said in his thick Scottish accent.
“You think I’m any good?” Annie asked.
McCullough laughed. “A little girl? Good at darts? No, I dona’ think ye would be.”
“Well, how about this. If I throw a bull’s-eye—one shot only—you take me to get a photograph of Nessie.”
No one was laughing now.
McCullough eyed her. “All right,” he said, after a moment. “Have at it.”
Annie brushed through the crowd and stared down the big round board.
She gripped the cool metal dart tightly.
Her eyes focused on the bull’s-eye.
She aimed.
And then she threw. . . .
Into the Loch . . .
Bull’s-eye!
“Holy geez,” Annie said, her eyes wide. She had nailed it—right in the center! She hadn’t expected to even hit it. Really, she was really just hoping the captain would think she had guts, gusto, and plucky resolve, enough so he’d agree to help her. But—BAM!—she had stuck it good!
Everyone was silent. So silent that, for a moment, Annie could hear the soothing sound of the loch water lapping at the grassy shore outside.
And then came an eruption of cheers!
“Well I’ll be . . . ,” McCullough said.
Annie smiled proudly.
“All right then,” he said. “I’m a man of my word. We’ll go as soon as I finish my glass.”
“I’ll be outside,” Annie said. And then, trying to sound very tough, she finished with, “And I’ll be waiting . . .”
Outside, Annie was breathing in the sharp lake air and trying to remain calm. This was it! She was embarking on her first cryptid hunt. She could hardly contain herself. If only my family could see me now!
“So you really hope to catch a glimpse, eh?” a voice said. Annie turned. It was the kindly pub keeper, stepping outside.
“Of course,” Annie said. “And I don’t just hope to, I will!”
The pub keeper smiled warmly. “Then take this,” he said, handing Annie a metal pennywhistle. “My auld pop used to tell me that if you blow it, Nessie will appear.”
Annie smiled and slipped it into her pocket. “Thank you.”
McCullough burst through the door. “Let’s go, mate!” he said loudly, and began marching down the hill to where the submarine was docked.
Annie waved good-bye to the pub keeper, then ran to catch up. “So you’ve really seen Nessie?” she asked.
“Sure,” McCullough said.
“Have you ever shown her to film crews or tourists or anything?” Annie asked.
“Never,” McCullough said.
“But you’re going to show me, right?” Annie asked.
“Maybe,” McCullough said, with a wide grin.
Annie groaned.
The submarine bobbing beside the dock was very old and very tiny. It appeared that it had once been bright orange, but it was now faded and spotted with rust. It was a testament to Annie’s bravery that she only hesitated for about nine minutes before climbing in.
The interior of the ship stunk of mold and something Annie guessed might be frozen pizza topped with wet dog hair. Annie slid into the passenger seat as McCullough plopped down into the captain’s chair and began poking at the control panel. McCullough flicked one large switch. The sub coughed and burped, and there was the strong smell of smoke—Annie thought it quite likely that the thing might just roll over and die right there on the spot.
McCullough worked the control stick, which reminded Annie of a joystick straight out of an old arcade machine, and pitched it forward. The sub submerged, diving down into the deep, dark loch. McCullough pulled a lever and one big, bright headlight flashed on.
“Argh, blasted thing,” he said, then he pounded the control panel. A second headlight lit up. The crisscrossing beams of light sliced through the murky water. A long striped eel crossed in front of the submarine’s thick glass bubble windshield.
“Eww, eels. Gross,” Annie said.
“They make for a fine dinner. If ye like, I can catch ye one.”
“Eh, I’m good,” Annie said.
McCullough snickered as he pitched the stick forward, sending the sub deeper. Annie kept her eyes glued to the depth gauge: 547 feet, 562 feet, 597 feet . . .
At 601 feet, Annie’s ears popped for about the twelfth time. “Pretty deep . . . ,” Annie said, trying to not sound nervous.
McCullough turned and grinned. “Ya scared yet?”
“No. Are you?” Annie shot back.
McCullough laughed. “It’s just a little farther now.”
Annie felt butterflies in her stomach. She could hardly believe it. The Loch Ness Monster! She was going to see it! For real! She’d dreamed about this moment—the actual sighting of a cryptid—for as long as she could remember. And now it was about to happen!
But then she remembered something . . . It was called the Loch Ness Monster. Not the Loch Ness Teddy Bear or the Loch Ness Cuddly Sue. The Loch Ness Monster . . .
“Hey,” Annie asked. “It’s not—um—it’s not going to, like, eat the sub or anything, right?”
“What, ole Nessie?” McCullough laughed. “No, no. A pussycat, she is.”
“Okay,” Annie said, not quite convinced.
The water turned darker still as the ship dove deeper. Annie eyed the gauge again: 732 feet deep . . .
McCullough pulled a lever, there was a loud clanking, and the sub began gently drifting through the water. McCullough flicked a switch and the headlights went doubly bright. A school of salmon dispersed. Through the scattering fish and the gently swaying lake plants, a large object came into focus.
“There she is,” McCullough said, pointing. “Ole Nessie.”
Annie leaned forward on the control panel and squinted. She could make out a large figure with a very fat, very round body and a long, extended neck. But even with the help of the submarine’s headlights,
it was hard to see exactly what was what.
“Get closer,” Annie whispered.
“I can’t,” McCullough said. “It’s too dangerous. Ye’ll have to snap your photo from here.”
“I can’t see anything! You promised me you’d show me Nessie, and we’re not going anywhere until I see Nessie. Closer!”
McCullough muttered something, but he did as he was asked and pushed the stick forward.
Annie watched with bated breath. She saw eyes. A mouth. Scaly skin.
It’s real . . .
She could hardly contain herself.
But—
She also saw what looked like rust. And was that? Words on the side? Yes . . . GREAT SCOT FILM GROUP.
Hmm . . .
“Hey!” Annie said, suddenly realizing the truth. “That’s not the Loch Ness Monster! That’s just a busted old movie prop!”
McCullough’s face went red. “Aye. It was from a horror film titled Nessie: Scotland’s Original Scream Queen. Quite scary, I thought.”
Annie glared at him. “You’re trying to put one over on me.”
McCullough shrugged.
“We had a deal. I want to see the real Nessie,” Annie said, “now.”
McCullough waved her off. “Ye think I know where Nessie is? Of course not!”
Annie’s heart sank. She glared at the captain.
“Let me out!” Annie said, finally.
“What?”
“You scammed me! If you’re not going to show me where Nessie is, I’ll find her myself!”
“No, no. I can’t do that,” McCullough said. “Yer just a little girl—ye can’t be out here all alone. I’ll take ye back to the shore.”
Annie leaned over and looked very serious. “I said let me out.”
McCullough frowned, but did as she asked. He pulled back on the stick, and a minute later, the ship was surfacing. It was dark except for the moon above when the little submarine emerged at the southern edge of Loch Ness. The hatch clanged open, and Annie climbed out. McCullough followed. He looked around. “I don’t even know where we are,” he said, scratching his head.
Annie didn’t care. She was too furious. Not finding the creature was one thing, but she had been duped like a sucker! That was ten times worse!
Annie jumped off the submarine and landed on the muddy, mucky shore.
“Ye can’t just go wandering around trying to find Nessie!” McCullough shouted.
“Oh yeah?” Annie shouted. “Watch me!” Then she turned her back to McCullough and marched into the dark night.
Two Blows on the Whistle
Annie walked along the shore for hours. Her legs were tired, and her heavy backpack made her shoulders sore. She replayed the Fact File in her head, trying to recall some clue that might help her find what no one else had. The Fact File had said, “Some say that Nessie sleeps in a small body of water off the loch, one that has never been seen by man.” But Annie saw no body of water connected to the loch.
A chill blew off the water. Annie buttoned up her coat. She felt so far from home . . . Trying to stay warm, she stuck her hands into her pockets. She felt something cold. The pennywhistle! She pulled it out.
There were words engraved on the whistle! How had she missed them before? Annie held the whistle up to her eyes and squinted.
When dawn is upon ye, and the water is low
Only then will Nessie finally show
At that very moment, warmth washed over Annie. The sun was coming up over the distant mountains, and bright rays of light shone down on her. It was morning! Annie hadn’t realized how long she had been walking on the shore.
When dawn is upon ye . . .
“Well, it is!” Annie exclaimed.
Annie squinted and peered out at the lake. She spotted the tide marker jutting high out of the water. The water was low!
Everything was lining up. But what did it mean?
The answer, Annie realized, was right beneath her! She was standing in a streambed—but there was no stream! When the tide was low, the stream was just a muddy path. A bright ray of sunlight lit it up.
Annie waded along the path. She was walking down. The path was actually the entrance to a very small and very narrow canyon! The streambed ramped farther downward. With both the tide low and the sun at its current position, something was visible . . .
An entryway!
Annie’s feet splashed in the wet mud as she ran toward the opening.
She found herself in a pitch-black tunnel. The streambed at her feet and the tunnel around her grew wider and deeper and murkier. There was water in the tunnel, and it was soon up to Annie’s waist. She began swimming.
This is no stream. It’s a full-blown river, and it’s underground!
The dark tunnel wound around a corner. Annie glimpsed a small light at the end. She swam faster—she was close! She could feel it!
Finally, she came out of the tunnel. She was soaking wet and exhausted. She crawled up onto the shore.
And there, entirely hidden beneath tall, overhanging trees, was a small lake.
Whoa.
“Whoever would have thought that tunnel would lead to this?” Annie said. The water was calm and quiet and serene. She wondered when the last time a person had been here was—it looked completely untouched by human hands.
But there was no Loch Ness Monster.
The pennywhistle!
Annie pulled it from her pocket, whipped it around to dry it out, and then lifted it to her lips.
Here goes nothing.
She blew twice—hard and sharp. The shrill sound cut through the quiet morning air.
Nothing happened.
She waited a moment, holding her breath—hoping—but still, nothing . . .
“I don’t believe it!” she cried out. “I would have sworn this was it! It felt like I was—”
Annie stopped. She squinted and looked out at the water. Something was happening. The water was being drawn to the center of the lake, like someone had yanked the plug from a drain. And then, suddenly, it reversed! Water began rushing out from the center of the lake, out toward the small shore where Annie stood. Water splashed up over her sneakers.
And then it—she—appeared.
Nessie. The Loch Ness Monster.
She began to rise up out of the water.
Nessie looked very old. She was green and gray, with a face like some kind of dinosaur. Strings of pond scum hung from her mouth.
She looked out at Annie through thin, lizard-like eyes.
Annie was suddenly very scared. Don’t eat me, don’t eat me, don’t eat me . . .
But then the big beast smiled and blew a stream of water at Annie, soaking her.
Annie laughed. Aww, it’s sweet!
Very slowly, keeping one eye on the massive cryptid the entire time, Annie reached into her bag and pulled out her waterproof camera. Her finger found the shutter button and she snapped a photo.
KA-KLICK!
Seconds later, Mews’s state-of-the-art camera spit out a photo. Instant proof!
Annie then sat with her back to a tree and rested for a short while, enjoying the peace and quiet and the view of a creature that she had dreamed about her entire life.
She had done it.
She had found her first cryptid.
And she had proof.
Or not . . .
There was a sudden roar above Annie. A helicopter was chopping through the sky, just barely visible through the towering, leafy trees.
“Gretchen!” Annie said.
The mechanical roar of the helicopter frightened Nessie, and the animal splashed in the water. Annie watched Nessie dive and disappear beneath the surface.
When Annie looked back up, there was a boot in her face! Gretchen, rappelling down a rope through the trees, was upon her!
Gretchen landed right on Annie’s head—bonk!—and sent her stumbling back.
“Thank you, my dear,” Gretchen said, and yanked Annie’s photo out of her hands.
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“Hey, that’s my proof!” Annie cried.
“I’m afraid it’s mine now,” Gretchen said with an evil grin. Annie ran toward the villain, but Gretchen tugged on the rope, and in a split second she was yanked back up to the helicopter. Annie could do nothing but watch her go . . .
« NEWS FLASH! »
Howdy, listeners! Illinois Johnson here with an update on Harold Mews’s cryptid contest.
The daredevil fortune hunter Ervin “the Machine” Makow took his souped-up motorcycle to Wisconsin in search of the cryptid known as the Goat Man, but he was forced off the road by a freak storm. That was two days ago, and it’s still raining! Some suspect that Gretchen Grimlock is using her infamous TTT—Targeted Thunderstorm Technology—to keep the Machine sidelined.
Meanwhile, Flawless Frank Gomes successfully made it to Africa—but is now trapped in a tar pit! A sticky situation, indeed.
But the real news is young Annie Perkins and her back-and-forth battle with Gretchen Grimlock. Everyone’s favorite young cryptid chaser was onto something BIG: authentic photographic evidence of that famous Loch Ness lake monster, Nessie—but Gretchen ripped the proof right out of her hands!
We’ll be back with more contest news as soon as we get it. Don’t touch that dial, adventure fans!
The Goat Sucker
“I had it!” Annie exclaimed. “I had a real photo of the real Loch Ness Monster. And Gretchen stole it!”
Annie was behind the control stick of the whirlybird, flying low over the Scottish coastline. On the video monitor, Mews frowned.
“You must press on,” Mews said. “I never said it would be easy. You know, the whole situation reminds me of some work I did on an island for a strange doctor named H. G. I had completed my work, but he took credit and tried to feed me to a puma! I barely escaped—had to build a raft out of banana peels! And by the time—”
“Mr. Mews!” Annie exclaimed. “We don’t have much time!”
“Right, sorry,” Mews said. “Tell me, Annie, what do you know of the Chupacabra?”
Annie gulped. The Loch Ness Monster was a gentle beast—every report had said so. But the Chupacabra? That was, like, a for-real monster. “Um, I know it’s scary,” Annie said. “Like creepy carnival-clown scary.”
