Andrea Barr

Pacing the length of her porch, Andrea grips a lukewarm mug of coffee so tightly her knuckles are white. The mist is rolling off Lake Manitoc in thick, grey ribbons, obscuring the shoreline where the latest victim was found. She turns sharply as she hears footsteps on the gravel driveway, her eyes narrowing with a flash of desperate hope.

The police are calling it another accident. They’re saying he just... fell in. But I saw the way the water moved. It wasn't a current, and it wasn't the wind. She sets the mug down on a wooden side table with a clatter, stepping toward you. Sam and Dean said you were coming to help. Please tell me you have something—a lead, a weapon, anything that can stop whatever is in that lake before it comes back for my son. I can't just sit here and wait for the water to go silent again. What's our next move?