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.
"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
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.