June 2006

Icy Cold Was The Summer

We are now taking orders for the second printing of Icy Cold Was The Summer by Carol L. Allen.

Beginning in the United Kingdom, moving to Arizona, and ending in San Diego, Calif., this novella of twisted fate and events is based on a true, chilling story.

$17.95 U.S.

$19.95 Canadian.

Send orders/queries to icycold@azbw.com

"Sometime in the middle of the night, terrible dark hands shook me awake. Crawling fingers scratched at my eyes and shoved my face into the port-hole window. As if it were a television screen showing the most gruesome of horror movies, the window displayed images of the dead. They paraded horribly in front of me — but just their faces; Glenn’s vacant stare and gaping mouth were first, then the blood-spattered white head of Mrs. Eaton. Next appeared the smiling, sweet face of Kinberly Clarke, but cinched to tightly around her head was a yellow polka dot scarf.

I struggled to free myself from this horror show at my window, but there was more. Next appeared a bandaged, bearded head — the MacGuinness man? Then there were two identical skulls, dangling tangled red hair and strands of seaweed. They grinned at me, and I went mad!

I pushed myself away, tumbled out of the bunk and screamed for Jim, for anyone. Without thinking, I ran onto Kelsee’s deck and shouted for help. But the storm drowned my cries. Ferocious wind and waves and crashing thunder surrounded me. Only the stark flashes from angry lightning above revealed forms on the pier.

I thought I saw Jim and one other man bending near The Star Song, trying to secure lines against this maniacal storm. And a dog — did I see Sheba there with them? All I knew was that I had to get off this boat, away from the grotesque images, away from all that was driving me mad! I lunged for the ladder. My bare feet slipped on the slimy rung, and as I reached frantically for a handhold, I missed and — fell — and fell — and fell.

Dark, heaving water closed over me, and strands of kelp tangled my body as I tried to kick toward the surface. My lungs were bursting with their panic for air. But, I couldn’t take a breath. No. Not now. Not yet. Hold on, Carol Climb to the surface. Then breathe. Stop racing my heart. Relax. You’ll float, and the air will be waiting.

But, I could no longer hold the trapped air in my lungs. I gasped and filled myself with the brackish, deathly sea. It was over. So this was drowning. I gave in to the chilling, choking, churning water of the harbor depths.

And, the last thing I remember was my final epitaph — this one for me.

Icy cold was the summer,

Colder still the ocean deep;

But the dark, dark waves become her,

For she has peace in final sleep.