Fisherman Vanished on Shasta Lake Under STRANGE CIRCUMSTANCES — What Took Him?
Lake Shasta in Northern California is a vast man-made sea with hundreds of miles of rugged coastline and dark deep water. It is known for its beauty and excellent fishing. But it also has another reputation. The lake is reluctant to give up its drowned victims. Bodies can disappear without a trace here.
But the story of Brian Wells is not just about another missing fisherman. It’s about what his boat left behind. It’s about a discovery that didn’t fit into any police report and turned a standard missing person case into something completely different, forcing even the most hardened skeptics to ask questions that still have no answers.
July 2012 was a hot month for 53-year-old Brian Wells, a retired engineer. It was the perfect time for his favorite hobby, fishing. He was an experienced and extremely cautious man. He knew Lake Shasta like the back of his hand, all its bays, sholes, and deep pools. He was not a risk-taker. His wife, Linda, always said that Brian approached fishing with the same methodical approach he had once used to design bridges.
He had a small but very stable fishing catamaran, a vessel that was almost impossible to capsize in calm water. And he had a safety ritual that he never deviated from. A GPS beacon was installed on the catamaran which automatically sent a message with precise coordinates to Linda’s computer every 30 minutes. For Brian, it was not just a gadget, but a guarantee of his family’s peace of mind.
That morning, he got up before dawn as usual. He kissed his sleepy wife, grabbed a thermos of coffee, and drove to the marina. Everything was normal and peaceful. The first signals from the beacon arrived on schedule. 6:45 in the morning, Brian was in his favorite spot in a quiet bay off a rocky shore known for good fishing. 7:15 in the morning.
the second signal. The coordinates had hardly changed, which meant he had dropped anchor or was drifting slowly and fishing. Linda woke up, saw the marks on the map, and calmly went about her business. She waited for the next signal at 7:45, but it didn’t come. At 8:15, there was still silence.
At first, she chocked it up to a technical glitch. Perhaps reception was poor in this particular cove surrounded by cliffs. But when another half hour passed and there was still no word or signal from Brian, she began to feel uneasy. She called his cell phone. Long beeps, then voicemail. By 10:00, Linda was beside herself.
She called the Shasta County Sheriff’s Office and reported her husband missing. She gave them his last known coordinates, and a patrol boat was immediately dispatched to the lake. Around noon, the sheriff’s deputies found the catamaran. It was drifting a few hundred yards from the last signal coordinates, slowly rocking on the water at the foot of a sheer cliff.
From a distance, the scene looked perfectly peaceful. Too peaceful. The catamaran was not overturned. The motor was off. There were no signs of a struggle or panic on deck. Two fishing rods stood in their holders, their lines trailing into the dark water. A nearly full thermos of coffee sat in a cup holder.
Brian’s cap lay on the seat. It looked as if he had gotten up and walked away for a moment, but there was nowhere to go on a catamaran in the middle of a lake. Two officers climbed aboard. They called out loudly several times, “Brian!” But only the echo reflected off the rocks answered them. Looking around the deck, one of them noticed something that made him stop.
On the starboard side of the catamaran, deep scratches were visible on the white fiberglass. These were not scuffs from the dock. Four almost parallel grooves started at the very top of the hull and curved down toward the water. They were fresh. The paint and top layer of gel coat had been scraped down to the fiberglass. The officer, an avid fisherman himself, ran his finger along them.
The width between the scratches was too wide for the claws of a cougar or a bear, and the shape of the damage was strange. It looked as if something huge had been clawing at the boat, trying to climb aboard or pull it underwater. This discovery prompted them to examine the vessel more closely. They began checking the interior storage compartments.
One contained life jackets, another a box of tools. Everything was in order. But when they opened the bow locker, the largest compartment for gear and supplies, they smelled something strange. A strong musky animal smell of wet fur, but unlike anything they had ever smelled before. And then they saw the source of the scent.
In the corner of the locker, tangled in a ball of rope, lay several dark, almost black lumps of wool. It was thick, dense, and very rough to the touch, entirely unlike the fur of any of the local animals they knew. It was wet and matted. The officers looked at each other. What was it? How could it have gotten inside a closed compartment on a boat in the middle of a lake? They carefully gathered the shreds of wool into an evidence bag.
It was the strangest and most inexplicable find in their careers. The catamaran was towed to the pier for a complete forensic examination. At the same time, a full-scale search operation was launched. Divers began diving in the area of Brian’s last coordinates, but the work was almost fruitless. The water in the lake was dark and cold, and the bottom was a jumble of rock debris and submerged trees left over from the construction of the dam.
Visibility was practically zero. Teams with sonar devices scanned the bottom for several days. Still, only countless tree trunks resembling human bodies flashed on the sonar screens. Finding anything in this underwater forest was almost impossible. At the same time, investigators studied any available video footage.
Cameras at the pier where Brian had left only confirmed the time of his departure. But then they stumbled upon a recording from a surveillance camera installed on a private house high on a hill which overlooked a small section of the bay. The quality was terrible, and Brian’s boat was just a tiny silhouette at the edge of the frame.
But computer analysis of the footage revealed a strange detail. During the time when the beacon signal had already disappeared, the boat was in the frame, but it wasn’t moving as it should have been. It wasn’t being powered by the motor or drifting with the wind. Its movement was chaotic and erratic, as if something was pushing and pulling it from side to side.
In the official report, the expert wrote a dry sentence. The movement of the object does not correspond to standard drift patterns. Abnormal lateral shifts have been recorded. In simpler terms, something was dragging the boat through the water. Brian Wells disappeared. His body was never found, but he left behind an empty catamaran with deep scratches on the hull and clumps of unknown dark wool inside.
Investigators sent the wool to biologists for analysis, hoping to get an answer that would shed light on this mystery. They did not yet know that this answer would only make it more profound and more mysterious. While divers and sonar operators searched the dark depths of Lake Shasta without success, other work was underway at the California Department of Fish and Wildlife’s forensic laboratory.
Everyone was waiting for an answer to the main question. What kind of animal had left its fur in Brian Wells’s boat? Investigators were confident that the answer would be simple and prosaic. Perhaps it was the fur of a dog that Brian had once transported or an exotic animal from a private managerie. But days turned into weeks, and no information came from the lab.
When the preliminary report finally landed on the lead detective’s desk, it did not clarify the situation, but only confused it further. The results were negative on all counts. The samples did not belong to any known North American mammal. It was not a bear, a cougar, a coyote, a deer, or any domestic animal.
The hair structure was abnormal. Under a microscope, it was incredibly dense and coarse with a unique cuticle pattern that did not match any sample in their extensive database. The experts went further. They conducted mitochondrial DNA analysis to determine the species. Again, they hit a dead end. The DNA fragments they managed to extract confirmed that it was biological material of animal origin.
Still, it did not match any known taxonomic group. It was somewhere off to the side in a blind spot on the genealogical tree of life. The lab sent requests to federal and international databases, but the result was the same. No matches. This was an animal that from a scientific standpoint did not exist. And then something happened that turned the mystery into a conspiracy theory.
The final report on the biological examination was classified. The sheriff’s office issued a short and vague press release stating that the origin of the biological materials found at the scene could not be determined. Journalists and Brian’s family were denied access to the full version of the document.
This move raised a barrage of questions. Why classify a report that says we don’t know? Were the authorities hiding something more specific? Something so out of the ordinary that they were afraid of causing panic? Detectives working on the case were given access to classified information, but were bound by a non-disclosure agreement.
Their comments became even more evasive. It became clear that they knew more than they were saying. At the same time, work was underway with other pieces of evidence. Forensic scientists made precise casts of deep scratches on the catamaran’s hull. Analysis showed that it would have taken tremendous force to leave such gouges in the sturdy fiberglass.
The distance between the gouges indicated that the object that left them had claws or teeth spaced nearly 10 in apart. No animal in California had such characteristics. Experts tried to reproduce the damage using bear claws, shark teeth, even steel hooks. Nothing produced the same clean arched cut. It was one powerful sliding strike.
At a dead end with the animal theory, the investigation was forced to return to the human factor. Perhaps it was all a complex hoax covering up a common murder. Detectives re-examined Brian Wells entire life. They interviewed dozens of his friends, former colleagues, and neighbors. All of them described him as a calm, friendly, and completely non-confrontational person.
He had no enemies, no debts, and no dark secrets. There was no motive for murder. And most importantly, even if we assume that someone killed Brian, why would they stage this spectacle with the fur and scratches? And where would they have gotten the fur of an animal that the country’s best experts couldn’t identify? The human intervention theory fell apart, stumbling over inexplicable clues.
The official investigation reached a dead end. The search of the lake was called off. The Brian Wells case joined the list of unsolved cases. But the story didn’t end there. It was just beginning. News of the mysterious disappearance, strange findings, and most importantly, the classified report leaked to the press and online forums.
The story took on a life of its own. Local residents began to recall old legends that had previously been considered mere tales for tourists. Stories about the monster of Lake Shasta had been passed down from generation to generation since the time of the Win Indian tribe who lived in these lands before the valley was flooded.
They told of a giant creature that lived in the deepest parts of the lake. Enthusiastic journalists dug through the archives, finding references to other strange drownings and disappearances on the lake over the past 50 years. Cases that had been written off as accidents now appeared in a new sinister light.
But all this remained at the level of rumors and speculation until the summer of 2013. Exactly one year after Brian Wells disappearance, the sheriff’s office received several calls. The callers were different people with no connection to each other. All of them were experienced fishermen who went out on the lake at night, and they all reported the same thing.
From the area of the bay where Brian’s beacon signal was last received, they heard eerie sounds. It was not a coyote howling or a bear roaring. They described it as a long, blood curdling scream or squeal that was unlike any animal sound they had ever heard. It was loud, piercing, and full of rage. Patrol boats went out several times to investigate, but each time they found only a calm surface.
The calls were logged but not added to the case file, dismissed as misidentification of wildlife sounds. But those who heard the cry knew they were not mistaken. Something was living in the dark waters of Lake Shasta, and it was angry. The Brian Wells case remained unsolved. But it left behind not only unanswered questions, but also a nagging feeling that the official version was just the tip of the iceberg.
The truth was hidden. Somewhere out there, deep beneath 300 ft of dark, cold water. Years passed, but for Linda Wells, time stopped in July 2012. The lack of answers was torture that proved worse than any certainty. She had no grave to visit and cry at. She had no criminal to hate. She had only emptiness filled with fragments of impossible facts, scratches, hair, a classified report.
She repeatedly tried to get the full report of that very examination published through the courts. Her lawyers filed requests citing the Freedom of Information Act, but each time they were denied. The authorities claimed that the case was still open and that disclosure of the materials could prejudice the investigation, a standard excuse that no one believed anymore.
Linda was convinced that the truth was being hidden from her, and this thought haunted her. She spent part of her savings on a private detective, a former police officer who enthusiastically took on the case. Still, after a few months, he hit a dead end, just like the sheriff. All leads ended at the doorstep of the laboratory that had issued the report.
Meanwhile, the story of Brian Wells disappearance became part of modern folklore in Shasta County. It became a local legend, whispered around campfires and discussed in bars. The bay where Brian was last seen was unofficially named Wells Bay, and many fishermen tried to avoid it, especially at dusk.
The story attracted the attention of not only conspiracy theorists but also researchers of anomalous phenomena. One of them, a former marine biologist named Dr. Alan Grant, moved to Reading and devoted several years of his life to trying to unravel the mystery of the lake. He bought equipment with his own money. He set up camera traps with motion sensors on the shore.
He lowered hydrophones into the water to record underwater sounds. Most of the time his equipment recorded only the everyday life of the lake, but sometimes he managed to record something that made him listen to the tapes over and over again. Deep clicking sounds from the deepest depths that did not resemble the sounds made by fish.
And then one autumn night, his hydrophone recorded a distorted but unmistakable cry very similar to the one the fisherman had heard a year earlier. The recording was unclear and full of interference, but it was there. However, no photographs or videos were ever obtained. Whatever lived in the lake was incredibly cautious and intelligent.
Time passed. The case was officially classified as cold. Linda Wells resigned herself to never knowing the truth. Dr. Grant continued his fruitless research. It seemed that the lake would keep its secret forever. But 7 years after Brian’s disappearance in 2019, a journalist writing a book about California’s unsolved cases received an anonymous email.
The author of the email claimed to be one of the biologists who had worked on the wool samples in 2012. He was now retired, seriously ill, and felt he had a moral obligation to reveal at least part of the truth before he died. He agreed to meet on condition of complete anonymity. His story was shocking. He confirmed that the wool and DNA did not match any known species, but he revealed details that had been hidden in the classified report.
Analysis of the hair structure showed that it belonged to a mammal, perfectly adapted to life in cold water and low light conditions. The density of the undercoat was phenomenal, providing ideal insulation even in icy water at great depths. But the most disturbing detail was something else. Despite their differences from known species, the DNA fragments had an extremely distant but still traceable similarity to primate DNA.
According to the biologist, a wild unimaginable theory arose in the laboratory about the existence of a relic species in the lake. An unknown branch of primates that had adapted to a semi-aquatic lifestyle in the course of evolution. This explained everything. The strength needed to make such scratches, the intelligence to avoid humans, and the fur unlike anything else.
It was this part of the report, he said, that led to its immediate classification at the federal level. The prospect of a large predatory primate unknown to science inhabiting a large California reservoir, a popular recreational area could cause not just panic, but mass hysteria with unpredictable economic and social consequences.
Therefore, the authorities decided to hide the most inconvenient part of the truth, leaving everyone with the simple statement, “Origin unknown.” The information obtained from an anonymous biologist was never officially confirmed, remaining at the level of a journalistic investigation. But it put all the scattered pieces of the puzzle together into a single, albeit monstrous, picture.
The case of Brian Wells disappearance is still listed as unsolved. He is presumed dead, but his body has never been found. His catamaran was returned to his family long ago. Lake Shasta still attracts thousands of tourists with its picturesque beauty. But for those who know the story, its dark, calm waters will never look peaceful again.
They hide a secret. And from time to time on quiet moonless nights, sounds can still be heard coming from the old bay. Sounds that make even the most hardened skeptics start their engines and head for the light of the pier.
On the starboard side of the catamaran, deep scratches were visible on the white fiberglass. These were not scuffs from the dock. Four almost parallel grooves started at the very top of the hull and curved down toward the water. They were fresh. The paint and top layer of gel coat had been scraped down to the fiberglass. The officer, an avid fisherman himself, ran his finger along them.
The width between the scratches was too wide for the claws of a cougar or a bear, and the shape of the damage was strange. It looked as if something huge had been clawing at the boat, trying to climb aboard or pull it underwater. This discovery prompted them to examine the vessel more closely. They began checking the interior storage compartments.
One contained life jackets, another a box of tools. Everything was in order. But when they opened the bow locker, the largest compartment for gear and supplies, they smelled something strange. A strong musky animal smell of wet fur, but unlike anything they had ever smelled before. And then they saw the source of the scent.
In the corner of the locker, tangled in a ball of rope, lay several dark, almost black lumps of wool. It was thick, dense, and very rough to the touch, entirely unlike the fur of any of the local animals they knew. It was wet and matted. The officers looked at each other. What was it? How could it have gotten inside a closed compartment on a boat in the middle of a lake? They carefully gathered the shreds of wool into an evidence bag.
It was the strangest and most inexplicable find in their careers. The catamaran was towed to the pier for a complete forensic examination. At the same time, a full-scale search operation was launched. Divers began diving in the area of Brian’s last coordinates, but the work was almost fruitless. The water in the lake was dark and cold, and the bottom was a jumble of rock debris and submerged trees left over from the construction of the dam.
Visibility was practically zero. Teams with sonar devices scanned the bottom for several days. Still, only countless tree trunks resembling human bodies flashed on the sonar screens. Finding anything in this underwater forest was almost impossible. At the same time, investigators studied any available video footage.
Cameras at the pier where Brian had left only confirmed the time of his departure. But then they stumbled upon a recording from a surveillance camera installed on a private house high on a hill which overlooked a small section of the bay. The quality was terrible, and Brian’s boat was just a tiny silhouette at the edge of the frame.
But computer analysis of the footage revealed a strange detail. During the time when the beacon signal had already disappeared, the boat was in the frame, but it wasn’t moving as it should have been. It wasn’t being powered by the motor or drifting with the wind. Its movement was chaotic and erratic, as if something was pushing and pulling it from side to side.
In the official report, the expert wrote a dry sentence. The movement of the object does not correspond to standard drift patterns. Abnormal lateral shifts have been recorded. In simpler terms, something was dragging the boat through the water. Brian Wells disappeared. His body was never found, but he left behind an empty catamaran with deep scratches on the hull and clumps of unknown dark wool inside.
Investigators sent the wool to biologists for analysis, hoping to get an answer that would shed light on this mystery. They did not yet know that this answer would only make it more profound and more mysterious. While divers and sonar operators searched the dark depths of Lake Shasta without success, other work was underway at the California Department of Fish and Wildlife’s forensic laboratory.
Everyone was waiting for an answer to the main question. What kind of animal had left its fur in Brian Wells’s boat? Investigators were confident that the answer would be simple and prosaic. Perhaps it was the fur of a dog that Brian had once transported or an exotic animal from a private managerie. But days turned into weeks, and no information came from the lab.
When the preliminary report finally landed on the lead detective’s desk, it did not clarify the situation, but only confused it further. The results were negative on all counts. The samples did not belong to any known North American mammal. It was not a bear, a cougar, a coyote, a deer, or any domestic animal.
The hair structure was abnormal. Under a microscope, it was incredibly dense and coarse with a unique cuticle pattern that did not match any sample in their extensive database. The experts went further. They conducted mitochondrial DNA analysis to determine the species. Again, they hit a dead end. The DNA fragments they managed to extract confirmed that it was biological material of animal origin.
Still, it did not match any known taxonomic group. It was somewhere off to the side in a blind spot on the genealogical tree of life. The lab sent requests to federal and international databases, but the result was the same. No matches. This was an animal that from a scientific standpoint did not exist. And then something happened that turned the mystery into a conspiracy theory.
The final report on the biological examination was classified. The sheriff’s office issued a short and vague press release stating that the origin of the biological materials found at the scene could not be determined. Journalists and Brian’s family were denied access to the full version of the document.
This move raised a barrage of questions. Why classify a report that says we don’t know? Were the authorities hiding something more specific? Something so out of the ordinary that they were afraid of causing panic? Detectives working on the case were given access to classified information, but were bound by a non-disclosure agreement.
Their comments became even more evasive. It became clear that they knew more than they were saying. At the same time, work was underway with other pieces of evidence. Forensic scientists made precise casts of deep scratches on the catamaran’s hull. Analysis showed that it would have taken tremendous force to leave such gouges in the sturdy fiberglass.
The distance between the gouges indicated that the object that left them had claws or teeth spaced nearly 10 in apart. No animal in California had such characteristics. Experts tried to reproduce the damage using bear claws, shark teeth, even steel hooks. Nothing produced the same clean arched cut. It was one powerful sliding strike.
At a dead end with the animal theory, the investigation was forced to return to the human factor. Perhaps it was all a complex hoax covering up a common murder. Detectives re-examined Brian Wells entire life. They interviewed dozens of his friends, former colleagues, and neighbors. All of them described him as a calm, friendly, and completely non-confrontational person.
He had no enemies, no debts, and no dark secrets. There was no motive for murder. And most importantly, even if we assume that someone killed Brian, why would they stage this spectacle with the fur and scratches? And where would they have gotten the fur of an animal that the country’s best experts couldn’t identify? The human intervention theory fell apart, stumbling over inexplicable clues.
The official investigation reached a dead end. The search of the lake was called off. The Brian Wells case joined the list of unsolved cases. But the story didn’t end there. It was just beginning. News of the mysterious disappearance, strange findings, and most importantly, the classified report leaked to the press and online forums.
The story took on a life of its own. Local residents began to recall old legends that had previously been considered mere tales for tourists. Stories about the monster of Lake Shasta had been passed down from generation to generation since the time of the Win Indian tribe who lived in these lands before the valley was flooded.
They told of a giant creature that lived in the deepest parts of the lake. Enthusiastic journalists dug through the archives, finding references to other strange drownings and disappearances on the lake over the past 50 years. Cases that had been written off as accidents now appeared in a new sinister light.
But all this remained at the level of rumors and speculation until the summer of 2013. Exactly one year after Brian Wells disappearance, the sheriff’s office received several calls. The callers were different people with no connection to each other. All of them were experienced fishermen who went out on the lake at night, and they all reported the same thing.
From the area of the bay where Brian’s beacon signal was last received, they heard eerie sounds. It was not a coyote howling or a bear roaring. They described it as a long, blood curdling scream or squeal that was unlike any animal sound they had ever heard. It was loud, piercing, and full of rage. Patrol boats went out several times to investigate, but each time they found only a calm surface.
The calls were logged but not added to the case file, dismissed as misidentification of wildlife sounds. But those who heard the cry knew they were not mistaken. Something was living in the dark waters of Lake Shasta, and it was angry. The Brian Wells case remained unsolved. But it left behind not only unanswered questions, but also a nagging feeling that the official version was just the tip of the iceberg.
The truth was hidden. Somewhere out there, deep beneath 300 ft of dark, cold water. Years passed, but for Linda Wells, time stopped in July 2012. The lack of answers was torture that proved worse than any certainty. She had no grave to visit and cry at. She had no criminal to hate. She had only emptiness filled with fragments of impossible facts, scratches, hair, a classified report.
She repeatedly tried to get the full report of that very examination published through the courts. Her lawyers filed requests citing the Freedom of Information Act, but each time they were denied. The authorities claimed that the case was still open and that disclosure of the materials could prejudice the investigation, a standard excuse that no one believed anymore.
Linda was convinced that the truth was being hidden from her, and this thought haunted her. She spent part of her savings on a private detective, a former police officer who enthusiastically took on the case. Still, after a few months, he hit a dead end, just like the sheriff. All leads ended at the doorstep of the laboratory that had issued the report.
Meanwhile, the story of Brian Wells disappearance became part of modern folklore in Shasta County. It became a local legend, whispered around campfires and discussed in bars. The bay where Brian was last seen was unofficially named Wells Bay, and many fishermen tried to avoid it, especially at dusk.
The story attracted the attention of not only conspiracy theorists but also researchers of anomalous phenomena. One of them, a former marine biologist named Dr. Alan Grant, moved to Reading and devoted several years of his life to trying to unravel the mystery of the lake. He bought equipment with his own money. He set up camera traps with motion sensors on the shore.
He lowered hydrophones into the water to record underwater sounds. Most of the time his equipment recorded only the everyday life of the lake, but sometimes he managed to record something that made him listen to the tapes over and over again. Deep clicking sounds from the deepest depths that did not resemble the sounds made by fish.
And then one autumn night, his hydrophone recorded a distorted but unmistakable cry very similar to the one the fisherman had heard a year earlier. The recording was unclear and full of interference, but it was there. However, no photographs or videos were ever obtained. Whatever lived in the lake was incredibly cautious and intelligent.
Time passed. The case was officially classified as cold. Linda Wells resigned herself to never knowing the truth. Dr. Grant continued his fruitless research. It seemed that the lake would keep its secret forever. But 7 years after Brian’s disappearance in 2019, a journalist writing a book about California’s unsolved cases received an anonymous email.
The author of the email claimed to be one of the biologists who had worked on the wool samples in 2012. He was now retired, seriously ill, and felt he had a moral obligation to reveal at least part of the truth before he died. He agreed to meet on condition of complete anonymity. His story was shocking. He confirmed that the wool and DNA did not match any known species, but he revealed details that had been hidden in the classified report.
Analysis of the hair structure showed that it belonged to a mammal, perfectly adapted to life in cold water and low light conditions. The density of the undercoat was phenomenal, providing ideal insulation even in icy water at great depths. But the most disturbing detail was something else. Despite their differences from known species, the DNA fragments had an extremely distant but still traceable similarity to primate DNA.
According to the biologist, a wild unimaginable theory arose in the laboratory about the existence of a relic species in the lake. An unknown branch of primates that had adapted to a semi-aquatic lifestyle in the course of evolution. This explained everything. The strength needed to make such scratches, the intelligence to avoid humans, and the fur unlike anything else.
It was this part of the report, he said, that led to its immediate classification at the federal level. The prospect of a large predatory primate unknown to science inhabiting a large California reservoir, a popular recreational area could cause not just panic, but mass hysteria with unpredictable economic and social consequences.
Therefore, the authorities decided to hide the most inconvenient part of the truth, leaving everyone with the simple statement, “Origin unknown.” The information obtained from an anonymous biologist was never officially confirmed, remaining at the level of a journalistic investigation. But it put all the scattered pieces of the puzzle together into a single, albeit monstrous, picture.
The case of Brian Wells disappearance is still listed as unsolved. He is presumed dead, but his body has never been found. His catamaran was returned to his family long ago. Lake Shasta still attracts thousands of tourists with its picturesque beauty. But for those who know the story, its dark, calm waters will never look peaceful again.
They hide a secret. And from time to time on quiet moonless nights, sounds can still be heard coming from the old bay. Sounds that make even the most hardened skeptics start their engines and head for the light of the pier.
