First American Edition published in 2014 by Darby Creek, an imprint of Lerner Publishing Group, Inc.
Copyright 2010 by Jean Flitcroft
First published in Dublin, Ireland in 2010 by Little Island as The Cryptid
Files: Loch Ness by Jean Flitcroft
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Flitcroft, Jean.
[Loch Ness]
The Loch Ness monster / by Jean Flitcroft.
pages cm. (The cryptid files ; #1)
Summary: Vanessas dreams are haunted by cryptids, mysterious creatures that havent been acknowledged by science. She longs to complete her mothers search for Nessie, the most famous one of them all. Can she finally solve the mystery of Loch Ness? She gets her chance on a surprise trip to Scotland, but no one could have foreseen the consequences Provided by publisher.
ISBN 9781467726023 (lib. bdg. : alk. paper)
ISBN 9781467734820 (eBook)
[1. Loch Ness monsterFiction. 2. ScotlandFiction. 3. Horror
stories.] I. Title.
PZ7.F65785Ne 2014
[Fic]dc23
2013024083
Manufactured in the United States of America
1 SB 12/31/13
eISBN: 978-1-4677-3482-0 (pdf)
eISBN: 978-1-4677-5110-0 (ePub)
eISBN: 978-1-4677-5109-4 (mobi)
To my children, Oliver, Myles, and Callum, and to children all over the world.
CRYPTOZOOLOGY
The word cryptozoology comes from the Greek word kryptos, meaning hidden, and zoology, meaning the study of animals. Cryptozoologists study animals that may exist in nature, but whose existence has not yet been accepted by modern science.
The animals cryptozoologists search for are called cryptids. The Loch Ness Monster, Nessie, is the most famous cryptid of them all, with thousands of recorded sightings.
PROLOGUE
It was the last day of October. The light was fading fast and dark shadows rippled across the waters surface. A cold wind had picked up and, in the blink of an eye, Loch Ness had changed from a place of yellow sunshine and charm to metal-gray clouds and bleakness.
No one saw Vanessa Day fall. No one saw the tar-colored water close over her head. For a moment, she was stunned by the icy cold. Then terror gripped her and she thrashed about, kicking and slapping the water. She threw her head back, face to the sky, gulping at the air.
But for how long? Her clothes were already waterlogged and the pull of the water relentless. She grabbed at the upturned boat, but the wood was too slimy to grip. Within a few heartbeats, the cold had worked its way into her muscles, and her kicks began to grow feeble. In just a few more, her body sagged, and then, limp as a ragdoll, she went under.
As she sank, she twisted and turned, a slow and deadly dance. Long strands of her black hair were matted across her pretty face. Well before Vanessa reached the bottom, her mouth was wide open and her eyes shut tight.
CHAPTER 1
It is hard to imagine just how deep Loch Ness is. There is more water in it than all the other lakes in England, Wales, and Scotland put together. Enough room to fit every person on this earth three times over. Certainly enough room for a few mysteries.
Vanessa crept across the landing. The chill in the early morning had already made its way through her thin cotton nightdress, and she wished she had put a sweatshirt on over it. She hesitated for a moment, listening to the stillness of the sleeping house. When she moved on, the silence was broken only by the sticky patter of her bare feet on the wooden floor. She twisted the ring on her middle finger as she walked, anxious in case her footsteps might wake someone. Maybe not her brothersthey would need an earthquake to rouse thembut her dad was a different matter. He had always been a light sleeper, and the big fight last night would not have helped matters.
Once she was inside the guest bedroom and onto the thick carpet, she closed the door in slow motion and leaned against it to look around. She hardly ever came into this room and was surprised now at how pretty it was. It was so uncluttered and ordered compared to hers. Looking up, she saw the trapdoor to the attic. Now, where was that long wooden pole with the hook on the end that she needed to open it? It took a couple of minutes to find it under the bed and then much longer to actually hook it through the metal clasp on the trap. Her hands were cold, and she found she was shaking with the effort. She twisted and turned it back and forth until it finally flopped open. Next, she had to hook the bottom step of the ladder and pull down hard. The grinding noise was terrible as the ladder unfolded out of the attic, and Vanessa froze, cursing furiously under her breath. That was itshed be caught now.
She waited to hear a door open, footsteps on the landing, but there was only silence. She placed her feet carefully on the cold metal and wobbled up, one step at a time. At the top she stared into the gloom. Please, God, let there be a light, she thought, as she searched frantically around the opening. She smiled to herself as her fingers found the switch and a harsh white light filled the dusty space.
Vanessa pulled herself up the last step and sat on the floor of the attic, her legs still dangling down through the opening. Row upon row of neatly stacked boxes filled the room. Her heart sank; they all looked identical. Where on earth would she start?
She stood up, crouching over because of the low beams, and looked closely at the lids of the first few boxes. She was relieved to see that each one had a small white label, and she recognized the neat italic writing as her fathers hand: Maries history books. The words were like punches to her stomach. One, two, and a left hook. Her heart took off, pounding so fast that she felt as if she might faint. Maries travel books.Maries research. Her mothers life packed up in boxes. Hot tears filled her eyes and spilled over. Neat boxes labeled and catalogued and stacked in an attic. Her mum would have hated her stuff like this; she had loved jumble and chaos and life life. Vanessa felt the sudden urge to overturn every single one of the boxes. Why hadnt she guessed she would feel like this? Why had she come up? Sitting down heavily on one of the boxes, she put her head in her hands and shut her eyes tightly.
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