Blorpal

Fine tuning his hydrophone to filter out the soft sound of the muffled boat motor the police dive-master listened intently. Sergeant Tompkins’ team had been circling the lake in widening circles for ninety minutes. The girl, 19 year-old Lucinda, had gone camping in the nature preserve ten days back. The last anyone had heard from her was a text eight days ago saying she had met a guy named John and was going to a bonfire by the lake. No other details. Unfortunately, the text was sent at 12:30 a.m. when her parents were asleep: Otherwise, they would have told her not to go.

A search party had combed the woods for two days, finding only the remains of Lucinda’s still intact camp. No sign of struggle. She had just disappeared. Eventually they had decided to search the lake. Generally a body would bloat with gases and float to the surface in warm, shallow water within two to three days. Unfortunately, the lake was deep enough and cold enough for a body to remain submerged indefinitely.

On the shore watching anxiously, Lucinda’s parents huddled in each other’s arms, praying. Their worry and concern over the mystery of their beloved daughter’s disappearance was palpable. Sergeant Tompkins hoped he would be unsuccessful in the search. Both for their sake and his own.

Thinking he heard something Sergeant Tompkins waved for his teammate to cut the motor. There it was; a distinct gaseous blorpal sound directly below. “Suit up,” he ordered.