The police arrived five minutes later. They searched for a long time. Hours turned into days. Days into weeks. Weeks into months. Soon, ten years had passed. Brent, Summer, and John returned to Lake Shimmering Moon. They held a small memorial service. Brent sat down on the sand. Tears streamed down his face. Hugging his knees, he spotted a small patch of red in the murky green water. He squinted up his eyes, and stood up. He ran closer to the water. Searching for the spot where he had saw the red, he dove into the water; his clothes clinging to his wet body. Finally, after what seemed like hours of searching, he stumbled upon a small fault in the sand. The fault was leaking a strange, red liquid. Blood, he thought to himself. He dove down, and grasped something. It was a hand. He pulled it and, in return, it pulled him. He felt himself being dragged under the sand. Dragged deep down. Into another world.