Island of Mystery

By Crystal Grant

People said the island didn’t exist. But there it was.

A shiver of excitement and pride swept over me as I lowered my chopper. The mysterious disappearing isle had long been deemed a myth, but I’d spent months researching, interviewing witnesses, and hunting the landmass that never seemed to be where the sightings claimed.

I couldn’t hold back my cheesy grin. This was it! Such a discovery would put me in the books and gain the respect back from my peers. Years of failed projects at the marine lab had earned me the nickname Foolish Faye. No one would even pilot me to search for it anymore, so I flew myself.

But today, a lucky break. I’d flown smack-dab into a thick fog and, once it thinned, was stunned to see the egg-shaped island underneath.

The terrain—plain and unimpressive from the air—rose to a slight slope in the center—a mix of browns, greens, and grays, surrounded by leagues of ocean water.

I landed and gathered my equipment. It was time to prove to the world this island existed. But as soon as I stepped out and sucked in a lungful of excitement, I gagged. The air reeked of dead fish.

Thick seaweed carpeted the swaying, dipping ground. The place was creepy and lifeless, yet it seemed to breathe with years of its own mystery. Despite the stillness, the scanner showed a massive heat reading. Something here was alive.

The next hour was spent wandering around, taking a few random pictures. But there was no other sign of life beyond the kelp. Frustration gnawed at me. Discovering the island was great, but I wanted more.

I came to the edge of the land, where the up and down motion of the earth became stronger. The sloping bank was not sandy and shallow like a beach would be, but covered in slick kelp and dropped off suddenly. Upon a closer look, I spotted a large outcropping of the landmass beneath the surface of the water.

Dropping my bag, I pulled out my oxygen tank and strapped it on. It was risky going underwater by myself, but I had to find something of worth on this rock.

Taking my camera in hand, I eased myself down into the water between a large hunk of land covered in moss and another massive extension to my right, this one flat and thin. But the ground did not seem to go very deep, almost as if it was floating. But how? What kept it from breaking apart?

Something glinted in front of me, catching the light above the water. There in the middle of the green was a round, black spot twice my height. I swam closer to get a photo. My distorted reflection looked back at me, and my curiosity shot up. Here was something unusual.

I stretched my hand out to the smooth surface, but a thick, leathery shield dropped over it, sending my heart to my throat and my body in reverse.

The shield lifted again, revealing the glassy plane again. A weird feeling came over me, like I was being watched.

No. Way.

My nerves buzzed and I shot backward. I was staring into an eye as deep and dark as the sea itself.

This island is alive!

My heart skittered in my chest, and I clamped my mouth against a gasp. I drifted a little farther, trying to make out what stared back at me from beneath layers of seaweed. My gaze traveled back and forth over the length of the mass. The plate-like extension to my right materialized into an acre-sized flipper, swaying slowly and gently with the waves.

Shock streaked through my spine. Forget the island. I’d found a giant sea turtle!

Terror and exhilaration battled for first place in my mind. This was huge! And I wasn’t talking about the turtle. This discovery would do more than put me in the books. I could write the book. I could run the lab. Shoot, I could own it!

I snapped photo after photo. This was the evidence I needed for the breakthrough I’d been waiting on.

The turtle blinked at me again. I paused to gaze into that eye, pulled in by the depth of wisdom, experience, and years this old reptile exuded. She had grown, quietly and unobtrusively, for probably centuries, feeding on pods of whales and who-knew-what-else from the bottom of the ocean floor.

My stomach pinched. If I proved her existence, she’d become a living museum, a tourist attraction, a target of hunters and explorers.

A huge cloud of bubbles exploded from her nostrils, and her flipper dipped. She was preparing to go under. I darted to her neck and pulled myself up.

The surface bobbed up and down as I snatched my bags and ran to my chopper. The steam from her breaths clouded the air around me. So that was where the fog came from.

My heart tripped over itself as I threw myself and my stuff into the chopper. The blades picked up speed while the circle of land shrank, and the turtle sank deeper into the ocean depths.

The chopper lifted just before the waves washed in, and the turtle slipped out of view.

I peered out the window as I gained altitude. Resignation and peace tangled within me. My discovery would never be known to the world. I would rather endure the ridicule of my co-workers at yet another “failed” research attempt than bring any harm to this old girl. And I would make it my mission to make sure no one else discovered her.

The shadow beneath the waves grew smaller and smaller until finally it was gone. My chest tightened at losing her, but this was right.

Goodbye, old turtle.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Crystal Grant grew up LOVING books and stories and sometimes spent more time in her imaginary worlds than the real one. She spent fifteen years teaching first grade and shared her love of books with her students. Currently, she is writing curriculum and spends her spare time writing epic fantasy, watching old movies and TV shows, or reading books that sweep her away to another time and place.

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